Wary

 

More and more I feel concerned about the convergence of the current crises: the climate crisis, the coronavirus crisis, the racism crisis and the looming economic crisis. It’s hard to know where to turn, let alone what positive next steps to take. Lately, when people have asked me how I am doing, I say I feel wary.

Wary was the word that came to my mind when I first ventured into a grocery store after weeks of self-isolating. I felt wary. And I felt everyone looked wary, partly because of our masks, but even more because of our tentative behaviour. Were we standing too close? Moving in the wrong direction? Could we get through our shopping quickly, avoiding any unnecessary contact?

The word wary, according to my etymological dictionary, has as its origin Old High German war, whence “attention, to take note, pay heed, perceive.” It’s not a bad thing for us at this time to take note and pay heed. To be careful. And, when I look up the word careful, I find that its roots are in Old English carian, cearian which has to do with anxiety, grief and concern, with the word careful meaning full of concern and thus applying attention, being painstaking and circumspect.

Given all the crises we're facing, I think we must all be wary and careful. And, as an old and privileged white woman who has enjoyed a mostly very comfortable life, I feel I must step back. I’d also like to step up, but I really don’t know what that would look like. I was talking about this with a smart young woman today and she said she believed we had to be prepared to give up our privilege and work towards an equitable society. I agreed, but wondered where to begin. She proposed that we need to start by allowing ourselves to feel very uncomfortable with things as they are. 

I remembered that a long time ago somebody said, “The enemy of good is not evil but comfort.” I think it’s true, and I believe that, if we are to survive the climate crisis and the economic crisis, we will have to move towards an equitable world which will mean that we privileged people will have to become a lot more uncomfortable.

We're starting to become much warier and more careful in reaction to the coronavirus. Perhaps this behaviour will help us deal with the other challenges we're facing. Being wary makes us pay attention and take heed. When someone in a line-up gestures to let us know we need to move back, it helps us to become aware of boundaries, our own and those of others. And when we pay attention to others, we may experience anxiety and concern about the differences we perceive. We notice the inequities that must be addressed, and we recognize the need to prepare to give up some of our privileges.

The first privilege to renounce could be that of privilege-splaining, the habit of offering all the answers and giving the directions. Doing this may be uncomfortable for those of us who are used to being the talkers.

And being uncomfortable, being quiet, looking and listening, could help. We might begin to see things differently and perceive a bigger picture. 

We might learn to see the whole forest as well as the trees. And then we might just let others tell us what the next steps must be.

What will We Become?

Who will we be without our great concert halls, theatres, galleries and museums? Without gathering together to enjoy theatre, music, art, and culture, what kind of creatures will we become?

Some might argue that such pleasures are the pastimes of privilege and thus unnecessary, but that's not the case.  All over the world and through the centuries, rich and poor people have gathered and performed in theatres, sung and played musical instruments, admired paintings and sculpture, and witnessed the work of their ancestors. These activities have been essential for our development, individually and culturally.

It’s not just about enjoyment. The arts are often challenging, provocative, even disturbing, and they help us to see ourselves, our lives, and our world, in new ways. Some years ago, celebrated Canadian author Sheila Watson spoke "about how people are driven, how if they have no art, how if they have no tradition, how if they have no ritual, they are driven in one of two ways, either towards violence or insensibility."

In a recent article, American theater director, author, playwright and educator Carey Perloff writes about the importance of those working in the arts as providing essential services. She proposes that the arts have always been essential not merely to provide comfort and entertainment but to shake up traditional thinking in ways that “wakes up our minds and empathy to alternative ways of seeing.”

Has there ever been a time when we were in greater need of alternative ways of seeing?

Perloff is speaking specifically about the need to support theater artists whenever or wherever they return to work, but this article (https://www.clydefitchreport.com/2020/06/artists-theater-acting-company/) is well worth reading with regard to our current attitudes towards the arts and the gig economy more broadly.

Persuasive arguments are often made about the economic importance of festivals such as Stratford, Shaw and Bard on the Beach for their ability to attract thousands of tourists who spend their money to stay and eat and shop in the places they visit to attend theatre festivals. That’s one good reason to support the arts organizations -- but the role of the artists who work in those industries are often forgotten!

Just as academics ARE the academy, artists ARE the organizations in which they perform. These are the essential workers.

Some people seem to think that artists are “a dime a dozen,” and certainly there's no shortage of talented young people who want to work in theatre. But how much better might they be if they were encouraged, supported and valued, and perhaps given a degree of job security? 

I’ve heard people dismiss such questions with the rationale that “they love their work.” But, really, I’ve known doctors and dentists who appear to love their work while still enjoying hefty salaries! You can enjoy your work and still get paid for it.

As Perloff suggests, now is an opportune time for us to think about what it is we value and what we consider to be essential.  At this time of profound change, the arts may turn out to be much more essential than many of the other things we have considered necessary.

Transitions

 

 

 

I have not always given my son-in-law credit for the many good things he does. For example, when I was publishing my first book, he gave me a terrific photograph he’d taken which we used for the front cover but I neglected to acknowledge that in the book. People loved that cover and I often told them that my son-in-law had taken it, but it should have been noted in the publications. There are many other such examples.

But I must give him credit for a great idea he recently had when my granddaughter had to complete her Grade 12 year online and have her graduation event by ZOOM.  It was a bit of a disappointment which was made worse with the realization that she would not be going away to university but would have to stay home and complete her first year digitally.

However, her father cleverly proposed that, since this was an important transition that needed to be marked, perhaps it would be a good idea to transform her room so as to make it a really good space for her online program.  She jumped on the idea, quickly cleaned out her room, and packed up boxes for storage or donation. After lengthy research, she chose the perfect colour for repainting the room and now has it nicely set up with a well-placed desk and appropriate bookcases. It was a brilliant suggestion, one that might be good for many 2020 grads.

We do need to mark transitions, especially these days as we are now living in a time that requires attention and will involve a profound culture change.  Many of us feel that we are already being altered by the convergence of the Covid crisis, the climate crisis, the critical need for anti-racism activism, and the anticipated economic crisis. The changes within us are happening gradually and not always observed.

I don’t know how we will mark the transitions that must take place in all these areas, transitions that, I believe, are beginning to take place. Most of us are trying at least to make a start. Maybe we need to set goals and establish targets and timelines. Maybe we should all keep journals of our individual progress. Maybe we ought to have periodic townhalls for discussion and exchange of ideas. Maybe we just need to say less and listen more. Give space for change to happen.

However we go about it, I feel sure that our transitions need to be marked.

And that good ideas and actions should always be acknowledged.

 

 

 

21 Seconds

 

 

As my friend Lyse noted the other day, Rarely have 21 seconds of silence said so much.

Earlier this week Prime Minister Trudeau was asked about U.S. President Donald Trump’s use of tear gas against protesters to clear the way for a photo. And, the reporter added, If you don’t want to comment, what message do you think you are sending?

I was moved by what Trudeau said, and even more moved when he didn’t speak immediately. In his 21 seconds of silence, we were able to see his reflective and thoughtful reaction with regard to the message he would wish to send.

Trudeau’s silence showed us that a leader doesn’t always have to talk. Sometimes he can show us his feelings.

Some situations leave us at a loss for words but, when he did speak, our Prime Minister said We all watch in horror and consternation what’s going on in the United States. For me, that was an appropriate response that summed up what we’ve all been feeling. Horror and consternation. I thought it was also appropriate for him to then focus attention on racism in Canada and the need for us to act to correct injustice in our own country. And I was glad that, given the tense situation with the US –the extent of the virus there and the border being closed – he didn’t trigger a dangerous reaction from the American President, which could easily have happened.

Trudeau sent a good message. I heard it as a heartfelt response to an appalling situation, and also as a call to action.

We all need less talk and to take more well-considered action.

I’ve always been a bit of a blurter, but I’m trying to change. I recall what an indigenous friend told me many years ago: Use your eyes until you have seen what there is to see. Use your ears until you have heard what there is to hear. And, then, use your tongue.

The virus has made us all edgy and now, more than ever, we need to pause, before sounding off.

Late in his life my husband was often depressed about the everyday violence and depravity of the world. I found these lines in one of his journals:

Gang wars in Prince George

Teachers armed in Texas

Unlock the heart

 

We  need to speak out and to act against violence and racism. Perhaps unlocking the heart is the place to start.

 

Enough said.

What Does this Garden Grow?

The pandemic has brought with it a great many surprises.

Way back in March, we were all surprised by the news about shoppers stockpiling toilet paper. Who would have thought that our initial response to a fast-moving deadly virus would be to ensure a good supply of TP? Grocery stores all over the world reported that there were now empty shelves where toilet tissues had been. The panic was so extreme that NT News in Australian newspaper printed an eight-page blank lift-out with cut lines to be used as loo paper in an emergency.  In an interview with the Guardian, the editor said, This is certainly not a crappy edition. It's good to note that tough times produce humour as well as innovation!

The next was finding out that stores had run out of flour. So many people -- men, women and children -- were taking up baking that the stores couldn’t keep up with the demand for flour. Talk about our daily bread -- it was everywhere! Every kind of bread. It’s been decades since I’ve heard so much talk about sourdough. Now, each day on Instagram, you can find photos of various sourdough loaves, with many people cooking so many that they have to make regular runs to deliver loaves to neighbours.

Recently we’ve been seeing the line-ups at garden stores and nurseries.  People are digging up their lawns to plant vegetables. Maybe they remember what Margaret Atwood is said to have said: In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt. Those who don’t have gardens are planting pots on their windowsills, balconies and patios. My own patio features big pots of lettuce, basil, chives, chard, and even one tomato plant. Last week my friend gave me a large pot of nasturtiums which are sporting red, orange and yellow blossoms, and today I found that my arugula seeds had sprouted, magnificently and almost magically. In the past, I have mostly grown only a couple of spindly geraniums. 

In these uncertain times, food security is a serious concern. Those of us who have private gardens and pots on our patios are fortunate, but for some it’s not so easy. That’s where organizations like Loaves and Fishes and Food Share and other social agencies are making a difference. Here in Nanaimo we’re lucky that the Nanaimo Foundation is overseeing a Community Response fund which is providing support to such organizations and others who may lack food and shelter and key services at this challenging time.  To learn more about what they are doing through funds from the Government of Canada and also donations from our local community, learn more from -- 
https://www.nanaimofoundation.com/communityresponsefund/
and maybe you’ll want to contribute to support this important work.

I often think of Minnie Aumonier’s line, When the world wearies and society fails to satisfy, there is always the garden. However, our post-pandemic gardening is not merely the result of weariness and dissatisfaction. Rather, it is the product of hope and resilience and creativity and generosity. Some people say they just feel better when they get their hands in the soil. Others talk about liking the feel of the ground beneath their feet. It’s grounding!

The pandemic has brought us many tragic things. Illness, death, economic devastation, fear, anxiety and grief. But it has also provided the gifts of generosity, creativity, day-by-day stamina, surprising resilience and positive new directions.

It’s a great treat to have freshly-picked garden vegetables. There’s nothing quite like a loaf of home-baked bread. And it’s never a bad idea to have a good supply of toilet paper on hand.

Birds on the Wire – Or, Thinking about Corvids at the time of the Covid…

 

I always liked that old song of Leonard Cohen:

Like a bird on the wire
Like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free

I liked it early on, and also much later:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BmPUu-rMpWA

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BGvwvxA83Cs

I’ve been really appreciating the sight and songs of all the birds near my patio, but recently that Cohen song took on a different meaning for me. I awoke early with my alarm system going off because of a power outage. (Because my alarm system is old and has all sorts of problems, it is mostly disconnected but it still connects when the power goes off, just long enough to set off a brief alarm.) I got up and tried to make the beeping sound stop, and then checked with BC Hydro online and found that the problem, as was the case with another outage two weeks ago, related to “contact with a bird.” A bird on the wire.

BC Hydro was great; they posted regular updates and got a crew out to fix things quickly. But a power outage during a pandemic is worrying. It makes you wonder if maybe the infrastructure upon which we all depend might just suddenly disappear. And then I started thinking about that old Hitchcock film “The Birds.” Maybe the birds hate us, I thought. Maybe they will be glad when we are gone.

I was a bit aggrieved because, only a few days earlier, I had signed up to make monthly contributions to Birds Canada:

https://www.birdscanada.org/

However, I’m still glad to be supporting Birds Canada, because it’s an excellent organization the mission of which is to conserve wild birds through sound science, on-the-ground actions, innovative partnerships, public engagement, and science-based advocacy.

Birdsong is a great comfort these days, and the sight of so many birds lifts my spirits. I recognize that my feelings and fears with regard to the power outage were irrational and likely they have to do with an unacknowledged agitation I feel because of the virus and the uncertainty with which we are living these days.

We are all wired! According to my dictionary, that means being in a nervous, tense, or edgy state. It also means being connected by wire. For those birds on the line it might mean sudden death. For birds in a cage it might mean beating their wings against the wires as described so poignantly in Paul Laurence Dunbar’s poem, Sympathy:

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46459/sympathy-56d22658afbc0

Sometimes we are agitated, tense and fearful. Even Dr. Henry noted the other day that the situation was “nerve-wracking for all of us.”

We are birds on the wire. Occasionally, we need to acknowledge that.

 

Contract with the World

 

 

We’re all “100% in” for flattening the curve of the coronavirus. How we must do it is with “fewer faces, bigger spaces,” advises our Medical Health Officer, as we prepare for the May long weekend. This holiday weekend will be unlike the past ones which featured crowded beaches, big weddings, and huge conferences. It’s now all about space and bubbles. But, because things are going OK with the coronavirus numbers, we are getting to expand our bubbles a tiny bit, while still staying socially distanced.

Bubbles! “More bubbles, less troubles,” said Sandro Bottega when we visited his vineyard in Veneto, Bottega Spa, many years ago to taste and write about his outstanding prosecco wines and grappa. It was a heady time. We agreed that those bubbles made our troubles disappear. The word “bubble” has a different connotation now, not of an intoxicating and liberating libation but of an encapsulated and limiting confinement, yet the formula still works.

In a global pandemic, keeping within our bubbles is our contract with the world, our country, our province, our community and our families. Every night, people step outside to applaud and bang pots for seven o’clock tributes to essential services workers, but otherwise mostly stay home, staying safe and being kind. Following these directions is our side of the contract. We do sometimes raise glasses of prosecco across balconies and patios and gardens, but always keep two or three metres of separation.

I’ve been re-reading Jane Rule’s Contract with the World recently: partly because it’s told from the perspective of six characters, and I’m trying to write something like that; partly because it’s a good novel about the protests, upheaval and sexual politics of Vancouver in the 1970’s. That was a very different time, a freer time, yet the book still contains some relevant messages. At the end of the novel one character says, “All things fall and are built again,” and another observes that their lives “will change in ways she couldn’t predict.”

While reading, I’m breathing in the scent of a little bouquet of lily-of-the valley that a friend brought to me. The fragrance of this flower hints at spring and sweetness and everything that is green and growing. Lily-of-the-valley is the birth month flower of May, which is usually a month of many rituals and celebrations. But this year is different, and it is the strangest May long weekend I’ve experienced. There will be no May Day festivals, no parades, no maypole dancing, not much travel to holiday cottages, only distanced Mother’s Day visits and small weddings. And yet I can’t complain, knowing that a small number of us are a lot luckier than a great many of us on this planet right now.

The lily-of-the-valley symbolizes unity, humility, good fortune, and the return of happiness. Good things to think about. We’re paying attention to what these days are telling us. In her poem, The Lily, Mary Oliver writes that the lily may be “saying in lily language/ some small words/ we can’t hear.” I listen closely, trying to hear the flowers’ small words. I think they are probably saying “Stay home, stay in your bubble, and be kind.”

And maybe they’re also whispering, “Have a little glass of prosecco to celebrate the holiday weekend.”

Happy Victoria Day!