My life has become something of an incomprehensible jumble of traveling from work to volunteering to visiting one friend or another for crisis management or fun with an occasional stop at home to restock clothes and meds and usually one day a week at home to get caught up on errands and studying (in theory, anyways). Consequently, this post is a series of mostly unrelated topics which you can read through or skip over at your leisure because my primary motivation for writing is simply to try to sort out my muddled thoughts.
Lobbying for Social Justice, Simplified
Starting now and running until the end of December, the Alberta government is taking public input on how it should spend it's money in 2008. To make this easier, the government has a web-site explaining how the 2007 budget was allocated and offering an
on-line poll regarding how you believe the 2008 provincial budget should be distributed. It doesn't take very long to fill out, being mainly ranking-type questions with a few spaces for written comments. If you're confused about what each category would include (as I was), read through the whole survey first-most categories list a few general components. For example, apparently "infrastructure" includes not only roads but also schools and hospitals.
Guys, you can call me a geek all you want to but I was soooooo excited when someone introduced this web-site to me. I have this "guilt list" on my fridge, which has been reminding me all summer that I ought to write well-researched papers on social justice issues ranging from my peeves with everything from housing issues to health care and education to the environment.
My rants are directed as follows:
(1) To the municipal government for failure to (a) put out a temporary rent cap, (b) failure to put a moratorium on destroying low-cost housing down-town to build luxury condos and apartments instead, and (c) failure to either build its own subsidized housing or allow the Mustard Seed to build subsidized housing on the down-town land proposed.
(2) To the provincial government for (a) putting a cap on wind energy and allowing tar-sands development despite complaints from local residents that their water sources are being poisoned with methane gas as a result and (b) for limiting entry to special needs schools for the disabled only to those with severe
physical disabilities (due to the new Amber rating system) and (c) the insufficient financial support afforded to those on AISH or fleeing from abusive relationships or the professionals expected to help them.
(3) To the federal government for charging foreigners huge amounts of money to enter our country and then not allowing them to use their degrees in health care, education, and industry once they've arrived, thereby impoverishing them and maintaining worker shortages.
Anyways, all these things can be directed to the provincial government without the inconvenience of buying postage. Even if they refuse to accept responsibility for various issues themselves, the provincial government will at least be motivated to lay the buck on someone else and the issues should (hopefully) still receive attention
somewhere.
Terrifying the Paramours
Funny story.
So my cute little sister Melanie has been un-dating this guy from work for months now. If you're wondering what the term "un-dating" could possibly mean, then let me clarify: it means you're guess is as good as ours and unless you want to be ninja-kicked to the South Pacific then you should neither ask Melanie to define the relationship nor attempt to label it for her. Back to my story: The Un-dated came to our door last night to pick up Melanie so the two of them could go out for dessert at BP. My dear, friendly, hospitable mother told him she was going to go get some grass-hopper pie for me and her self and asked him if he'd like to come in for some as well, then proceeded to walk out the door. She laughed until she couldn't breathe at his stupefied facial expression of horror and after retrieving the dessert from the second fridge we have in our garage, left Melanie to explain that Grass Hopper Pie is actually a green-coloured chocolate and mint marshmallow square. This, of course, comes the night after our dad jokingly gave The Un-dated some fine dating advice and nearly caused the Un-dated's brain to explode with wonder at the first dad ever to
encourage him in a serious relationship with his daughter.
Before you get the false impression that this is an evil conspiracy by our parents to stun unsuspecting prospective paramours into marrying their children, let me assure you that it's truly a full-family venture. Nolan, for example, gleaned suggestions for over 50 intrusive and ridiculous-want-to-get-to-know-you-better-competition questions to ask his girlfriend from each of his siblings plus 3 of his under-age cousins (Ben, Adam, and Joel).
Riding in Cars Without Boys
On Thursday night, I drove out to a very young, beautiful, small city just out-side Edmonton with a friend, whom I will call Sarah (because every girl and her ferret is named Sarah). We stayed with Sarah's parents until Monday to celebrate her young son's birthday. We will call her son Matt (because every man and his dog is named Matt). Matt, along with Sarah's daughter, are staying with their grandparents for a few weeks so they can go to a Christian camp nearby and give Sarah a much needed break from the life of single parenting. The party was fun, I was delighted to find out that despite my incompetency fears I
am capable of playing with children of a variety of ages for more than 10 minutes without accidentally killing them (ok, ok, so I wasn't the one responsible for planning games this time...), and I enjoyed the lively chaos so reminicent of my own family's gatherings. I was very proud of Sarah, too: despite her dire predictions of a total emotional breakdown over having her wallet (and potentially her identity) stolen Friday morning, the said melt-down never occurred and her stress was poured logically into contacting the proper authorities as soon as possible.
Still, Sarah and I were both ready to escape to the quiet and freedom of the open road home Monday, and after a few unforeseen delays we did. Long, unchallenging car rides, like time spent in the bathroom, are highly conducive to thinking about the more convoluted matters in life, and this particular drive had Sarah gravely musing alternately about the abusive and controlling relationship her "baby" sister has decided to remain in and Sarah's continued inability to find a willing Christian man to act as a mentor to her very difficult-to-handle young son. The topics sound disparate, but they're not; Sarah's brother-in-law is the sort of man Sarah used to be married to and is terrified her own son will one day become if not turned from his present course.
I grieved with her. Matt's lack of mentorship is not due to negligence on Sarah's part. After her former fiance decided that he could not conscionably marry her when he doesn't love her children, Sarah has asked men- responsible married fathers -at 3 different churches if they would act as a mentor just for an hour or two once a week to her son. Each time she was promised, "Oh, yes, yes, oh course we'll help you," then the brave male spiritual leader would meet with her son once or never at all. Sarah's own good-natured father has no patience for Matt and therefore spends no time with him; likewise, Sarah's beloved but busy brother has never paid any significant attention to Matt when he's around. Not even counting Matt's biological dad (who has "forgotten" to send child support payments 2 months in a row yet again), that makes 6 good Christian men who failed to meet the obvious need of a young boy for a father figure.
Now, I will be the first to admit that I am no Arwyn or Guinevere, but this case and many others like it beg the question:
Where are the Aragorns and Lancelots of the world, the leaders who fight for a cause greater than themselves and make it a priority to train less experienced hobbits and warriors to do the same? Where are the wise and venerable old Sages and Druids like Getafix in The Adventures of Asterix and Obelix or Old Rafiki in Lion King or Gandalf the Grey in The Lord of the Rings? They do exist- I have been greatly blessed to know a few. But they are a few and they're typically stretched to the limit doing the work of 20 men.
I don't want this story to end in despair. Despair is not from God. We prayed for Sarah's sister and brother-in-law, then I offered to read John Elridge's
The Way of the Wild Heart. I've felt like I was supposed to introduce Sarah to this book for some time. I bought this book because (a) it was on sale and (b) the question of where boys learn to become men when their own father is absent, insufficient, or down-right harmful has been increasingly on my mind for the last few years, especially since some of my newer best friends (like Sarah) are mothers to sons. I read through the intro, then chapters 1, 2, and 3 before my voice was so raw I couldn't read any more. Sarah drove and cried and occasionally made some comment to the effect of: "Ah, I don't think that applies only to men" or "My son is doomed, isn't he?"
In his book, Elridge states that boys must go through a series of stages in life to attain true masculinity, and that mastering each stage requires initiation by other more experienced men. He moreover charges that most boys and men today (at least in the western world) are lacking in initiation, and are for all practical purposes fatherless orphaned half-men/boys in men's bodies with men's responsibilities. Hence the "My son is doomed" comment from Sarah. But Elridge isn't a dooms-day prophet: he also proposes that God is our true Father and can teach boys how to be men and warriors and kings and lovers and wise sages using challenges, daily hassles, and people around them. And
that thought actually connects to my final muse. Read on, Bravehearts.
Houdini
It's been a good summer. Really. The last time I've played so much without trying to be 19 peoples' best friend was in grade 3. And I don't think I've ever had so little fear about being able to pay for the next year's tuition since I began University 4 years ago. I've enjoyed
visits from 3 old friends (Denise, Amy, and Val); I
held my new-born baby niece, proudly christened Rylee Anne Oash by her parents Jeana and Tyler; I went on my first independent
camping trip with Charis to the GIC Young Adults summer tenting excursion in the Waiporous/Ghost River area of the foothills (yes, complete with the traditional getting
lost component); I had my first taste of planning and experiencing a
back-packing trip in the mountains when Nolan, Samantha, Chasey and I had a sibling bonding trip at Ribbon Falls (
so beautiful there); I was privileged to attend my friend Skye's private
opera recital (she's
amazing); I went to the Calgary
zoo and got to once again experience wonder at the mysteries of captive nature with my friend Mel, two of her rambunctious sons, and her uber-cute baby-sitting charges; my friend Jen took me on a short
road trip to a place I'd never been before where I attended a
treasure hunt birthday party and saw the Lippizaner
dancing horses perform; I waded the moat at Riley Park to have an
island picnic lunch with Tachae; I painted a fence with my friend Mel; I played blind tag at a
pool party with Jen, her kids, and my boss, Dale; I've seen
Shakespeare in the Park's Tragedy of MacBeth twice- once with Melanie and her son Brady, then again with Amy after we had dinner at
Abruzzo's Italian; on a whim I drove to Cochrane with Melanie and two of her sons to eat at a restaurant I've never been to (
Sage Bistro), where I had a lunch I'd never tried before (lamb burger); I helped my dad and younger brother
build our deck one morning; I
weeded 4 rows of our garden for my mom one afternoon; I attended the Archer-Reist
family reunion where I taught distant relatives how to play
greased watermelon football and was invited to
sleep-over at my cousin Laurie's house; I went children's book shopping at
Word's Worth second hand book store; I taught myself how to use an
electric hedge trimmer at my boss' house; I took Jen's kids for an
exploration of the river banks of Glenmore Park in the pouring rain; I saw
Pirates of the Caribbean 3 for the first time with Jen and Dale and for the first time with my whole family; my friend Laurie took me for my first experience of the
Calgary Folk Music Festival, where I fell in love with the music of groups I'd never heard of before like Hawksley Workman, Sarah Sleen, and Moshav; I saw the very excellent
Bourne Ultimatum with Nolan, Andy, RJ, Jen, and Nathan last night; I visited the
Cross Roads Farmer Market and it's
Art Space Gallery with my parents (
Richard Freely's
kinetic sculptures remain my favourite); along with my dad I've read
Harry Potter I, II, III, and IV; on a bright, sunny afternoon I saw The
Passion Play for the first time in Drumheller with my parents, Nolan, Andy, and Sherry, after which we tried out dinner at
The Green Olive Italian where I tried mango curry chicken pasta; I've begun
reading John Elridge's
The Way of the Wild Heart and
Punk Monk by Andy Freeman and Pete Greig, the former due to the coinciding of a sale and a long-held desire and the latter on a whim from God; I've gone for specialty
icecream at Ice Zone with my parents, Chasey, and Samantha (I chose the Canadian Moose flavour); I finally got my
driver's license; I climbed a
ropes course with my sister Sam and mom at the YMCA camp in the mountains; I sat right up front on the curb to watch the
Stampede Parade with Jen, her kids, and her daughter's friend; I went on nearly ever adult ride on the
Stampede Midway with Sam before her shift at 5 (our favourite was
The Himalayas with the bubbles- wow I'm getting old); Mel and her family took me out for Vietnamese and then to see the Hong-Kong fireworks at
Global Fest (indescribably fantastic); I played in an out-door
soccer game with Melanie's husband's brother's team (woo-hoo!); I hung out with Jen Fietz at
Jono's annual birthday bbq fun-ness, where Nolan gave us a practical demonstration of the altruistic tendencies of ants; I bought 4
new c-ds and was given a cool mixed c-d by Nolan; and I'm going to visit my
grandparents in Didsbury with Nolan tomorrow. God, I'm spoiled.
So why don't I feel happy?
Because I'm Houdini. Or maybe Houdini's messed-up protege, since I'm always trying to escape perfectly safe and pleasant situations, as opposed to dangerous and discomfiting ones. Stress, boredom, apathy, and disappointment can all be left behind, perhaps in a fictitious book, or in a movie, or even in the stories in my head. Oddly though, for all my imagination I still can't pretend myself happy in any other life. Instead, I cry out with Macbeth (Act 5, Scene 5):
"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
creeps in this petty pace from day to day
to the last syllable of recorded time,
and all our yesterdays have lighted fools
the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
that struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
and then is heard no more; it's a tale
told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
signifying nothing."
I'm sure it's not good to empathize with that passage. MacBeth was a traitorous murderer who consulted witches and evil spirits for his ruling decisions. He deserved all the trouble he got and more. But 'consulted with witches and evil spirits' catches my mind's eye. Evil spirits informed MacBeth that he would never be killed by any man born of a woman and MacBeth fancied himself immortal. We're so fascinated with the idea of the invulnerable un-dead: I am both a zombie
and a vampire on facebook. The emo girl sitting in front of Amy and me at
MacBeth had a sparkly twin red cherries barrette with a silver skull on one of the cherries. I was simultaneously repulsed and attracted to it- what a great symbol of both life and death. Yet, there's something deceitful about half-life, and Amy stomped her foot on it well: "I hate that emo stuff! You have to
choose!" She's right, you know. When Moses brought the 10 commandments down from Mt. Sinai, he gave the Israelites an ultimatum, a choice of being that would lead either to life or to death. Not both. And remember Banquo's early warning to Macbeth (Act 1, Scene 3):
"But 'tis strange;
and oftentimes to win us to our harm,
the instruments of darkness tell us truths,
win us with honest trifles, to betray's
in deepest consequence."
True, no man born of a woman killed Macbeth. But a man taken from his mother by cesarean section could and did. The helpful little demons failed to mention that possibility to him. So where is the half-truth, more accurately termed a half-lie, in escapism?
The answer calls...from Narnia, one of my favourite fantasy lands to which I escape. One of the most profound but over-looked details of both C. S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia and J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter series is that no matter how amazing and action-packed the magical adventure is, by the end of the book the children heroes still always have to return to the world we call 'real'. The trick, according to Aslan, is learning to recognize Aslan's different form in the real world. And it is tricky. It's so easy to love that great, good lion in Narnia. Amy loved him long before she ever became a Christian. My little brother still reads the Narnian Chronicles, which are coloured in metaphors of biblical truth, over and over again, despite his deeply held conviction that "God is a bastard" since only a negligent God could leave the world to hang itself in evil and misery.
Why do they have to go back? Why do I have to go back? For all the real world's mini pleasures, there's also a lot of starving children, oppression, injustice, and suffering. Even if I don't experience it directly, I still feel it. Like Frodo in The Lord of the Rings, I feel the weight of it crushing me, blinding me to everything else and closing me off until there's nothing buffering between me and the evil eye. I have no hope of returning to my carefree childhood garden. All I see before me is suffering in darkness. And while I'm committed and driven irreversibly to complete my task, it's not something I'm looking forward to. Amy told me that when she was at her most sick this year- physically, emotionally, and spiritually- she asked God to please just let her die so she could go be with him and not have to stay here where everything is dead. As Denise pointed out, this is the essence of emo culture: depression with atrophying apathy.
Well, God refused to kill Amy off. In fact, he rebuked her for asking. He told her she needed to get to know him here before she could come home; moreover, that the first step in healing would be to learn to live in the moment instead of day dreams and fantasies, which are not truth. At approximately the same time Amy was given that answer, I was given a very similar message (through the controversial Harry Potter books, of all things): fantasy is only of God insofar as it is used to explain and clarify reality so that you can better understand and act in the real epic battles of everyday life. I most often use fantasy to run from those every day battles. I shouldn't. Like Ron in the stout-hearted and hospitable Weasley family, I was put in my family, home, resources, and generation for a reason and it is my responsibility to be my self (not my fearless older brother or the innumerable women I meet who are more graceful and beautiful than I am) and recognize and fight the semi-hidden and unacknowledged demons of my time with the people, skills, and wealth God gave me. I need to trust not only that God is not an imbecile director for putting me here in this mess of a play, but also that God is my Father who wants to Father me and give me good gifts, like fireworks synchronized to kick-ass music with loving friends. No more Ms. Houdini. My name is Faye.
