My 50th blood donation: brightness on a dark day

Yesterday, before the tragic events in Boston, I donated blood for the 50th time: 50 donations in 50 years.

The experience always gives me a lift. Attached to the machine, I look around and see human beings helping other human beings, not because there’s something in it for them, but because they want to help make life just a bit easier for someone else. Maybe even save a life. They get nothing (at least nothing physical) for themselves in return. In Canada we don’t get paid for blood donations, so every person donates for selfless reasons.

Twice in my life I sat at the bedside of friends receiving blood transfusions as part of their cancer treatment. I watched the blood of a selfless donor infuse my friends with renewed vigour. And I wrote previously in my post “The Gift of Life” about the night of my daughter’s birth.

I became a blood donor in my teens, long before I ever dreamed I would have young friends with cancer or give birth to children, and I am even more passionate about it now that I have witnessed needs fulfilled.

How disheartening, then, to watch the explosions of Boston unfold just hours later. The flip side. Humanity harming humanity for selfish reasons. But, the perpetrators, whoever they were, are small in number. The rest of us, the billions of the rest of us, overwhelm them with our help, support and healing.

Such stark evil only serves to highlight the brilliant good that exists in the world.

I give blood because I’m blessed with good health that I wish for others. I do it because it is what I would want others to do for me if I were in need, so it embodies the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

If you’re able, consider a blood donation.

Canadian Blood Services

1 888 2 DONATE
(1-888-236-6283)

Keep only that which is beautiful, or positive, or valuable

Whether we make resolutions or not, we can’t seem to stop ourselves from taking stock of our lives at the crest of a new year. I’ve spoken with a number of people in the past few weeks who have been bitten by the “declutter bug.” They resolved to, room by room, reduce, reuse, recycle. It put me in mind of a post I wrote two years ago, which I’ll recycle now.

Decluttering our lives

Years ago, when Vicki Gabereau still had her wonderful show on CTV, she had a guest who specialized in helping people declutter their lives. This woman, and how I wish I knew her name, advised people to keep only things that are beautiful, or positive, or valuable. This includes clothing, furniture, art, even friends.

At the time, I looked around myself and discovered I was keeping a surprising amount of stuff that was ugly, negative and not very useful.

Let’s say, for example, that you had a great-aunt, Myrtle, who had a habit of telling you things like, “You would be beautiful if you lost 30 pounds.” And let’s say that Great-Aunt Myrtle gave you a rather unattractive painting for your wedding. You hang it on your wall—in case she drops by. But every time you walk by this painting, your stomach churns, you think, “What an ugly painting,” and you feel somehow not quite beautiful. Who needs that kind of energy in their lives? Take the painting down and put up something beautiful.

When we cleaned out my mother-in-law’s house after her move into long-term care, the process involved the heart-wrenching work of deciding what to keep, or not. As we cleaned, we came upon her old typewriter.

Both my husband and I spend our careers typing and writing, so a typewriter is not a piece of equipment with which either of us would part easily. Then add in that it belonged to his mother, a woman we both adored. Then add in that she had typed all her favourite recipes on it (she made the best shortbread cookies on creation). We knew that we needed to keep that typewriter. We put it on a special table in the corner of our dining room, and every time I look at it I feel a warm glow.

Go through your belongings. Pick each thing up. Does your stomach churn? Get rid of it. Do you feel a warm glow? Keep it and put it in a place that feeds you. Do you have no strong reaction? Well, if something doesn’t do anything for you one way or the other, do you really need it?

Clear out the negative clutter and move in what is beautiful, or positive, or valuable.

Who’s the turkey? Or what to do with leftovers

Photo by Gregory Kohs

Although we’ve never met in person, MJ from emjayandthem’s blog is one of my favourite people. She wrote this blog piece about her turkey epiphany, and I enjoyed it so much, I’m sharing it with you here.

In her case, it was a Thanksgiving turkey, but I saved it for Christmas. See if you can toss your turkey carcass carelessly in the green bin after you read it. She even gives you her turkey soup recipe.

http://emjayandthem.com/2012/11/22/whos-the-turkey/

The miracle of replenishment

On the weekend my son played in a baseball tournament on a field of lush green grass. Miraculous. Not my son (although I like him quite a lot) or the baseball (they lost in straight games) but the grass. A month ago he played in a tournament on the same field, but then it was on shrivelled, brown, crunch-crunch-with-every-step grass.

Ottawa, Canada where I live experienced a record-breaking hot spell and drought this year. Weeks and weeks of blistering heat passed with no rain. The province declared a state of emergency for the surrounding farm lands. Plants shrivelled and grass retreated into a straw-like dormancy that had the deceptive appearance of death. I looked at my grass and wondered if it was beyond healing.

Then it rained. Overnight the grass regained its green. A week ago my street landscape was brown; today it is green and lush like nothing ever happened. People in dry or desert regions might be accustomed to this kind of transformation, but for us, drought conditions are rare.

We marvel at the miracle of awakening that follows replenishment.

People are like that, too. With the right nourishment—healthy food, proper clothing, shelter, love and encouragement—people flourish and blossom. When deprived of vital nutrients though, they shrivel and retreat into a defensive dormancy that has the deceptive appearance of death or hopelessness. To look at suffering people, we could be fooled into believing they are beyond healing.

But, if we feed these people, clothe these people, give them clean water to drink, educate them, love them and encourage them, we see the miracle of replenishment. We see them slough off dormancy and reawaken to grow and flourish again.

A lesson from the green, green grass of home.

Science and the divine, in space

Did you know that Buzz Aldrin took communion just minutes before Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon for the first time?

When Apollo 14 astronaut Edgar Mitchell looked down on earth from space, he experienced an overwelming sense of cosmic connectedness. For a few blissful moments, he saw his atoms and all the atoms of earth and all living things on it as one synergistic whole.

Just a few weeks ago, before the launch of the Soyuz spacecraft, a Russian priest blessed the engines.

Why is it that scientific, logical and rational space exploration can’t separate itself from spiritual experiences ?

Why is it that scientific, logical and rational space exploration often inspires spiritual experiences?

This NASA video gives some insight into the moving spectacles of light and colour that inspire the spiritual sense of awe.

http://apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap120305.html

In an article in The Atlantic, “Communion on the Moon: The Religious Experience in Space“, Rebecca J. Rosen writes: “There is perhaps nothing more human than the curiosity that compels exploration. But paired with that curiosity is a search for meaning—we don’t want to know just what is out there, we want to turn it into something with a story, something with sense. We turn to the gods for that meaning, and we turn to them for our safety as we go. Same as it’s always been, same as it ever was.”

Should we add, “Same as it always will be.”?

It’s paradoxical. It seems the deeper and deeper that scientists delve into sub-atomic particles seeking secrets of the universe, the more awed they become by cosmic curiosities. And the higher and higher into space that astronauts soar seeking secrets of the universe, the more awed they become by cosmic connections.

Perhaps someday we will unearth all the scientific secrets of the universe. Perhaps someday those facts will arm us with everything so we will no longer need a story.

But I doubt it, and what fun would that be anyway?

If the physical world were just a reflection of ourselves, then there would never be surprises in science. But we are constantly surprised.   —Alan Lightman in A Sense of the Mysterious: Science and the Human Spirit

Let’s move back to the front porch

I am writing this on my front porch—one of the favourite parts of my house.

It’s sunny and hot today, but the shade on this covered front porch keeps me cool.  Bumblebees buzz around my bergamot, and blue jays chatter in the distance. My dog, curled up beside me, sniffs the air. Our chipmunk scurries around the side of the house, keeping a respectful distance from the dog.

My neighbour walked by with his dog. He stopped to chat for a while. (My neighbour, not the dog.) Because of this front porch I know people in the neighbourhood. I know who lives where, and I know the names of their children or their dogs. People driving by or walking down the street see our family on this porch. I write here. My husband and I sit here for happy hour drinks before dinner. Friends join us here for appetizers and chats. We sit and watch the drama of thunderstorms from the protection of our front porch roof. On sunny February days, we return from a day on the ski slopes, leave our ski clothing on and enjoy a post-ski beer in the fresh air and the sun.

My front porch makes me feel rich beyond measure, and I feel sorry for people who don’t have them.

Housing trends in recent decades led to houses crammed together on tiny lots with garages jutting out in front of the home. People have taken to hiding in fenced or hedged back yards. They have little connection to their neighbourhoods. Sad.

Yesterday my dog and I headed out for our usual afternoon walk. At a house on the next block, people were working in front of their house installing a front porch.

I smiled. Another convert.

Dear real estate developers: Consider adding some front porches to your designs. The homeowners and the neighbourhoods will be much happier as a result.