We were watching the evening news one night this week when a really neat story about a heart transplant recipient was featured. Ray Bruce was living on Vancouver Island when he had a heart attack in late Fall of 2019.  He needed a heart transplant and was put on the donor recipient list.  About a month later, when he and his wife were staying with their daughter in a remote part of Vancouver Island, a heart became available, but the medical staff, led by Dr. Jamil Bashir, head of Cardiac Surgery at University of British Columbia, could not reach him.

Knowing time was of the utmost importance, the team had to get creative.  Someone had the brilliant idea to involve the RCMP, and as luck would have it, one of Canada’s finest, Constable Tyler Jensen, happened to answer the call and made it his mission to track down Ray Bruce with the news of the available heart and the quickly approaching deadline.  The sensitive timeline was made, and today Ray Bruce is enjoying a full life with his new heart.

Because of Jim’s heart issues, I found the entire story to be intriguing, and I was particularly struck by the comments made by Dr. Bashir.  When pressed as to why they worked so hard to track down Ray Bruce, Dr. Bashir said, ‘We had in our possession, a gift.  This is the kind of gift that just has to be delivered.’   

No question, it was the link to Jim and his heart, along with my complete understanding that ‘There but for the grace of God go we’, that caused me to continue thinking about this comment long after the news was over.

I was still thinking about it as I hiked on Tuesday.   Actually, I wasn’t thinking so much about hearts, although mine certainly was beating as we climbed high in the foothills in deep snow, as I was thinking about gifts.  I’ve heard it said over and over, and I’ve coached this idea using slightly different wording, that the best gift we can ever give is the gift of being completely ourselves.  It’s taken me a long time to come to terms with this. 

I don’t think I’m the only person in the world who might have doubts that being myself may not win first prize in the ‘Best Gift I Could Give the World’ category.  I think there are a lot of people who could join this club with me.  Many people who know me would likely say I am true to myself; that I do bring my true self to the table.   The fact is, for the longest time, I couldn’t even figure out what it might look like for me to be completely myself.  I would often observe what worked for others and try to incorporate bits of it into my being.  Over time, some of this stuck, and some parts were let go.  Other times, I would minimize certain of my traits, having self-judged myself and found these traits to not be quite up to snuff.

As Brenda and I climbed, we were following some footsteps in the snow.  About two-thirds to the top of the mountain, the footprints stopped.   Upon close examination, we figured out the person actually turned around and returned the way they had come.   From that point on, we were making a new trail.  I was in the lead to start, so it was my foot strikes that left the marks in the deep snow.  Some time later as we trundled along, looking for the side trail that would take us to our breathtaking ‘lunch room’, we checked our handy phone app and realized we had overshot our mark.  We needed to turn around and head back down the way we came, this time with a sharper eye out for the illusive trail.

Turning down, I was again in the lead and following my own footprints.  But no matter that these exact prints had been made by me only minutes earlier, I found my steps no longer fit comfortably in either the prints I had made, or in the prints Brenda left.  I was flummoxed.  How could it be that I could not fit right into the very prints I myself had made?

As I walked along, more downhill now that we had turned, I thought about trying to walk in these footprints.  I could certainly do it.  But it wasn’t a perfectly comfortable fit.  If I wanted to use the ready-made prints, I had to adjust my step.  In other words, I had to become, ever so slightly, someone who wasn’t quite the new me; the walking downhill me.

This very small moment in time has had quite an impact on me.  I’ve been wondering how often in life we are unable to give the world the gift of being ourselves because we are caught up in either being the person we think others expect us to be, or being someone we used to be and still think we should or can be.  We are trying to fit into footsteps that are not ours to fit.  In the case of hiking, I had already changed in only a few minutes.  So, the best version of myself was no longer the girl who had marched up the hill, it had to be the girl who was navigating the downhill.

Most of us will never donate our heart to someone else.  Most of us will never be called to donate a kidney or bone marrow, or part of a liver.  Many will never even donate the gift of blood.  Yet every single day we have the chance to simply show up in the world, to donate to the world, the gift our ourselves.  Even typing this I hesitate, trying to override old teachings about not becoming too full of myself.   I remind myself that being fully myself does not mean I need to be better than I was yesterday, or better than anyone else.  It is simply an acknowledgment on my part that by showing up as myself, I am showing up as who I was put on this earth to be.

Last week we welcomed little Baby Andy to our family.  He is simply beautiful.  Several people have wondered if he is like Ben.  If you’ve read even one little blog of mine about Ben, you will know I think Ben is absolutely perfect.  But I hope Andy is not ‘just like Ben’.  I have no doubt Andy has his own trademarks of absolute perfection.  I will champion them both to live into their full selves.  No one else in this world can be better at being them than they can. 

The same goes for the rest of us.  Paraphrasing the wise words of Dr. Bashir, ‘We have in our hands a gift.  This is the kind of gift that just has to be delivered.’

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What gift am I delivering?’
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Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to deliver your gifts.
 

Even the energy in the air feels like it has new life in it.  Little ones have traded clunky snow boots for slip on runners; it’s much easier to maneuver a bike or scooter when wearing these.

In our home, while we’ve been observing our ritual of anticipating and noticing new life this season, we’ve been doing it closer to home.  We’ve had our minds on one particular new life.   At the writing of this blog, our daughter and son-in-law, Kaitlyn and Matt, Ben’s parents, are expecting their second child.  Understanding that new life reveals itself following its own calendar, we are practicing patience as one overdue day rolls into the next.  What I know for sure about new life is it’s always worth the wait.

As I’ve lain awake many hours of the night waiting for my cue to drive over to watch Ben, so his mom and dad can head to the hospital, I’ve pondered the significance and impact of new life.  Certainly, a baby, a brand-new life, will soon join our family.  But even bigger, and more impactful will be all the new life created by his or her arrival.  Yes, there will certainly be a beautiful baby.  There will also be much more new life to marvel at.

Kaitlyn and Matt will begin a whole new life, a life with one more person to consider, with one more child to love and raise, with new financial considerations, new likes and dislikes, new habits, and new joys.

Greg and Cara too will start a new life.  When little Ben was born, they were living in a different part of the country.  Their relationship with this new baby will form part of their new life. 

So too will Ben’s life be new.  He’ll now bear the title of big brother; a completely new concept for him.

And Jim and I too, we will have new life.  We’ll expand the dining room table to include one more.  I have no doubt my heart will also expand; no doubt to just the right size to house the love I’ll have for this baby.

As I’ve pondered all the new life that will spring from this one little new life, I noticed we each have opportunities to regularly create new life.  We can do it with simple things such as changing a habit, or an attitude, or a tone.  We can welcome a new joy to our life; singing or birdwatching or hiking.  We can open our lives to not-yet friends and long-loved friends.  These all bring new life.  We can close doors, or at least tuck away in closets, things that don’t encourage new life.

At a time in history when we can’t create new life through travel, gathering for sports and cultural events and through gatherings with loved ones, it will serve us well to remember we have it within us to continue to grow, to encourage new life, and to celebrate it.  Even in its tiniest form.

May you find and create new life this week.

P.S.  It is now Saturday, and we are joyfully celebrating the safe arrival of beautiful little one-day-old Andy.  New life.
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My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What new life needs celebrating?’

 Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to foster and celebrate new life.

I was talking to my friend, Kimasia, a couple of weeks ago.  She and I have known each other for over ten years.  We speak the same language.  We both love to look at the big picture of life, and to be active architects of our own lives.  As we caught up on each others news, she described the season of life in which she finds herself.   With a teenager, a just turned three-year-old and a brand-new infant, the architectural drawings she created five years ago are no longer relevant.  The amazing thing is she isn’t doesn’t fazed in the least.  She completely embraces the gift of her growing family.   As she talked about some of the challenges she has faced, both being a busy mom and with all the pandemic has brought, she talked about choosing to be at her creative best.

This has really impacted the way I am seeing my world.  The word creative is not one I’ve always used to when describing my top attributes.  I’ve never considered whether I operate at my creative best.  I think this is because I can’t draw.  Somewhere in my youth, I must have associated creativity with drawing, and when the best I could do was copy a picture of a brick building, using a ruler, I plopped myself firmly in the category of not-creative.  I don’t think I’ve ever reconsidered the idea that even though I can’t draw worth beans, I still might be creative.

Over the past month I’ve had my head bowed over my old sewing machine.  I’ve had my good old Kenmore machine since the very earliest days of our marriage.  It’s helped me create outfits to wear to school, in the days when teachers did such a thing.  Then it worked with me as I made cute overalls for our kids, then curtains for new homes, endless Halloween costumes, and Raggedy Andy for little Benjamin.  In the past few years, several quilts have been created with this oldy; it’s quilts I’ve been stitching lately.  My machine has no fancy features, but it’s dependable.  Kind of like me.

When I think of my machine, and many other things in my life I’ve bought and then used and used and used, never updating, I can understand why people might think I’m not particularly creative.  Perhaps they also think I’m set in my ways and not adventuresome.  I get it.  Sometimes being creative can be associated with being a free spirit, always trying new things, and wearing colourful and flowing clothing.  None of these describe me, me with my sensible bob haircut and black turtle neck sweaters.   Nor does my background in Mathematics and Computer Programing nudge me into the creative category.  Shiny new objects don’t grab my attention. 

Creative isn’t all about being a free spirit.  Nor is it about jumping from one thing to the next, although it can disguise itself as such.  When used as an adjective, creative means relating to or involving the imagination or original ideas.  When Kimasia talked about committing to being her creative best, it gave me a whole new perspective.  She was talking about finding herself in challenging situations every single day, and stopping, just for a breath, to figure out how to be her creative best in that moment; how to be imaginative and original.  I notice she never talked about being her best.  She simply talked about taking a pause in the moment to ask herself the question, “What is my creative best?”

When I consider this kind of creativity, when I think of it this way, I open the door to give myself more grace.  I give myself permission to think of myself as being creative.  What I notice is the very things others may point to as uncreative, my dependability, my strong values, my willingness to not upgrade to new and shinier models, my predictability – these are the very things allowing me room to be creative.  Because they are such a part of me, I don’t have to stop and wonder what my values are, and I can act creatively in the moment, assured I will not step on my values.  When I pull out my trusty old sewing machine, I don’t take any time to wonder how it works, and all my energy can go into making creative projects.  I attempt many more designs, knowing all my focus can be on the creativity, not the nuts and bolts functioning. When I pick up Benjamin to spend the day together, I don’t need to wonder about the basic flow of the day, and I can be creative within our routine.  This week floating popsicle sticks down the melting ice water on the side of the road felt pretty creative to him.

I was raised with a healthy amount of advice to always do my best.  There isn’t anything wrong with this, and the intention behind it was good.  But I’ve never found I can be my very best every single minute of every single day.  It can feel like a failure when I fall short.  The truth is, I hope I haven’t found my best yet.  If I have, I may quit growing.  I don’t want that to happen.  But I can be perfectly content being my creative best in most moments. 

That said, for the record, I have ordered myself a new sewing machine.  
 
My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What is my creative best?’
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Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to be your creative best.

On Tuesday, driving to meet Brenda for our ‘Tuesday Trek’, I listened to an infectious diseases’ specialist, talking about all the complexities of the Covid 19 vaccination process.

We’ve all had a lot of information to try to process and absorb in the past months. A year ago, had there been a ready-to-go vaccine available, one that had been created for just this exact pandemic, I suspect we’d have had line ups around the globe.  However, we did not.  And so, for better or worse, we’ve all had a front row view of the vaccine-making process.  Up until this pandemic, I really hadn’t given much thought as to how vaccines are made.  I don’t think I can name the efficacy of the shingles or annual flu vaccine.  I certainly do not know which pharmaceutical company produces them.  But this year, with the Covid 19 vaccine, it’s a different story.

I’m now familiar with companies such as Pfizer, Moderna and AstraZenica.  I’ve listened to one news story after the next about which vaccine might be best for which age group.  Sprinkled in among these stories were stories of potential safety hazards.  Would the vaccines be safe?  Were the vaccines created too quickly? Which is best? And on and on.

Since Tuesday was the same day I had a booking for my first dose of the vaccine, I was fully tuned in to what the doctor had to say.  It wasn’t, after all, too late to change my mind should new pertinent data have surfaced overnight.  So, as I drove I listened carefully as the doctor explained some of the complicated controversy that has surfaced around the available vaccines, in particular, the AstraZenica vaccine, the one I was scheduled to receive in about 8 hours.

I found him to be both reassuring and comforting.  He also made me think.  One thing he said that stuck with me is that doctors take an oath to ‘Do No Harm’.  He explained that people often mis-interpret this to mean that when a doctor takes an action, that action should do no harm.  There should be no intention to do harm with the action.  Patients, and families of patients, tend not to be forgiving when a mistake in action is taken.

However, he explained there is another side to the oath.  He said it is also possible that a doctor may choose to not take any action.  Most people think this would be safe.  However, it is possible that by not taking action, harm is also done, thus breaking the oath.  The interesting thing is that people are more likely to forgive an inaction, than an action, even if both have a negative result.

He put this into context with the vaccine.  He understands that people have reservations, that they may think that by taking action, by receiving the vaccine, they may inadvertently do harm.  He also understands they may be using the faulty reasoning of by not receiving the vaccine, they could not be doing any harm. 

As I drove along, trying to absorb this new thinking, my mind began to think about places in life, non-Covid places, where we use this faulty reasoning.  We worry that by saying something we might do harm, and we reassure ourselves if we stay quiet, we could not possible hurt anyone.  We’ve all had opportunities to step up and do something or say something to help someone in need.  Sometimes we do or say the thing, and other times we’ve been afraid we might not know the exact right thing to do, so we’ve erred on what we thought was the ‘do no harm’ side. 

This belief of course has a serious flaw.  It is based on the assumption that by doing nothing, we can not possibly do harm, that by saying nothing, by not getting involved, by minding our own business, by bystanding, we will certainly not make a situation worse. 

This new thinking is not any easier for me to sort out than is all the information about vaccines.  Luckily, in the world of vaccines, I really don’t need to do all the thinking.  We are blessed with incredibly competent medical professionals in Canada.  In my own life, making day to day personal decisions around whether to take action or not, it’s a different story.
I know there have been countless times when I have spoken up, when I have said something to someone when it may have been easier to quietly walk away.  When people are in grief, or struggling with health or personal issues, it isn’t easy to know what to say.  Over the years, I’ve learned to be intentional with my words, and to not be afraid to show up in support.  I have found it much less easy when I notice an injustice being done, to find my voice.  I don’t have trouble finding my voice in a professional setting; it’s in those unexpected places, like the grocery store or on a city pathway, I notice myself reverting to childhood teachings of ‘mind your own business’.   I tell myself I am doing no harm, but today, in light of my new learning, I understand I have simply been rationalizing my behaviour.   I can think of many places when I have taken action, good, positive, action, and other places where I’ve chosen to become invisible.

Do no harm.  Three simple words.  Such a complex idea.

In order to live this, I have to become nimble.  I’m going to have to challenge that old belief of minding my own business, and not use it as my automatic go-to.  There will still be some great places for me to mind my own business.  There will also be places for me to take action, and places to continue to speak up.  There will be places where my action is not needed and places where my voice will not add anything of value.

There is no template for us to use in our lives to ensure we do no harm.  We cannot either always take action nor can we always stay silent.  We can however, begin to ponder, how best our actions and words, and our inactions and silences help us make our worlds better places.

On Friday I was sitting in a lab, getting ready for a CT scan.  I was required to drink a contrast dye solution prior to the scan; one cup every 20 minutes for two hours.  There was one other person doing the same thing.  She was a bit older than me and spoke very limited English.  She was there with her daughter who was translating for her.  We had used our eyes to smile at each other when she arrived but had not spoken.  At one point I noticed we were filling our glasses at about the same time.  I waited for her to fill hers.  She looked inquisitively at me.  To myself I thought, ‘Do no harm’, and I raised my glass toward her, smiled under my mask, and said, “Cheers.  To good health.” The corners of her eyes crinkled as she raised her glass to me.  “Cheers”, she said.

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My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How can I best do no harm?’
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to best do no harm.

When Meghan Markle and Harry sat down with Oprah for her now famous Sunday evening interview, I don’t know whether they knew they would start a rumbling deep under the foundation of Buckingham Palace.  A rumbling that would grow stronger, into a shake, as it quickly spread up to street level and around the world as fast as people could log into their devices the next morning.  It’s hard to shake the very foundation of the monarchy, but shake it they did.

As the ‘fount of justice’, the Queen takes her role seriously, making every attempt to be fair and just.  For those who research the history of Queen Elizabeth, they will find she has tried to do this through all manner of hardship and obstacles, through personal tragedy, and through heartbreak.  The interview revealed, however, that no matter how firmly she believes in fairness and justice for all, there may still be cracks, weakening the foundation she has worked to hold strong. 

I’m just a casual observer of the Royals.  I love a great royal wedding and I, like many of my generation, was fascinated with Diana, and what she brought to the Royal family.   To say I am an expert on the Windsors would be an outright lie.  The Queen would not be amused.  But, because I’ve had my radio on this week, and watched some news, and read the paper, I’ve been thinking about foundations, their importance, and what it might take to both create a strong foundation, and to repair one, once it shows weakness.

Since the pandemic began a year ago, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say all of us have felt a shaking of our foundations.  We’ve found this both in the shake up in how we now move about with daily life, and in the shake down in terms of our mental health; our relationships, our values and our coping strategies.   There is, it would seem, a slight advantage to being my age at this time of pandemic.  It turns out I’ve had practice at shake-ups. I’ve had practice feeling like my foundational supports have been stripped away, without warning.  And I’ve had practice successfully using new skills to firm up my foundation again.

Ten years ago, if I had thought about a life without running, I could not have imagined it.  Running was my meditation, it worked my body exactly hard enough to bring me peace, and it gave me a place to unscramble my thoughts.  I solved many, many problems while running, even when I wasn’t consciously thinking about the problems while putting one foot in front of the other.  I believed I would run well into my late seventies.  I still hold this as a possibility, even though I haven’t really run seriously for several years now.  When my running came to an unwelcome, abrupt stop when I had a knee injury, falling unceremoniously while hurrying to my car after school one day, I first told myself my situation would be temporary.  By the time an MRI was complete and the word surgery was on the table, not as an option, but as a necessity, my old friend running, was not able to help me through.  I needed to make myself a new life friend.

The surgeon recommended biking and yoga.  These were only casual friends of mine and I wasn’t keen on letting them get any closer.  Understanding though, that the foundation upon which I’d built many of the other parts of my life, the same strong foundation that had kept me healthy, was weakening, I knew I needed to find new things to keep my foundation strong.

Flashing forward several years, I begrudgingly allowed my bike to come along with me as I ran.  To be clear, I never ran with my feet.  But in my mind, I was running along the pathways.  I’d give my runners wave to the real runners on the path, hoping they would recognize me as ‘one of them’.  I gave the same courtesy to the other bikers, (I am Canadian after all), although I did need to adjust my wave technique to fit in with this group.  Over time, I figured out ways to allow biking to become a solid, and welcome, presence in my life.  She began to feel like the best kind of friend.  Once I could relax with her, I could simply be myself.  My thoughts began to unscramble themselves and I was able to solve problems without thinking.  My trip biking trip to Jasper with Rhonda was as good as most marathons I have run. 

Running and biking are not, of course, the foundation of my life.  If I had to choose three things forming the foundation of my life, I’m not sure I could choose.  Family would be on the list, as would integrity, honesty, teaching, and many others.  Faith would make the cut.  Running and biking would not come before these, and at the same time, the top things on my list could never possibly be as solid as they are if I did not fortify my life with good friends of mine like running and biking. These friends help me when my foundation becomes shaky. 

None of us are immune from outside forces impacting foundational shifting.  I’m learning to feel less afraid of shaking, for among all the shifting and shaking, a most wonderful thing has revealed itself.  My foundation is strong.  No small, or even mighty rumble, has toppled it.  When I find myself feeling the rumblings, I remind myself of the foundational pieces of my life.  I picture the cracks in my foundation, and I imagine what I need to fill the cracks, making the foundation stronger than before.  The more rumbles I have felt, the clearer these repairs have become to me.  As it happens running and biking are excellent repair agents, as are hiking, yoga and dance.  I use them with reckless abandon. 

It’s also been revealed to me, whilst examining the foundation of my life, the reason the physical activities I love are foundational pieces, the reason they are so necessary for me, is they give me the mental clarity and physical stamina I need to ensure I can take care of my other precious cornerstones; my family, my coaching practice, my relationships, my values, my charitable foundation, and lately, my voice. 

Every one of us has things that help us repair the cracks that appear in our foundation.  Most people reading this will cringe at the thought of endurance activities being part of their list.  They should not consider them.  Instead, they will find their very best ingredients to create their own strong foundation.  They may choose music or cooking, photography or reading, a glass of wine with a friend or a reflective meditation. 

No doubt, if the powers that be at Buckingham Palace, can get beyond the fear invoked by this week’s Royal shake up, they will discover some cracks waiting to be filled.  Something is just waiting to be created.  May they choose well.

May we all.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What ingredients help firm my foundation?’
​
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to create a strong foundation.
 
 

With our windows open to let in some incredible warm air, this week we found ourselves believing that Spring might actually reveal herself a bit early this year.  It’s tempting to believe.  The familiar phrase ‘spring is just around the corner’ is being bantered about. 

Similarly, with the rollout of the Covid 19 vaccines, so many hopeful Canadians are whispering, ‘Getting back to normal is just around the corner’.

Just around the corner. 

We often use this phrase.  We use it to talk about time, about how we won’t have to wait long for something. We use it to describe the unknown, about how we can’t see around a corner to know what might be there.  I’ve been thinking about corners this week, how we look forward to rounding them, and how sometimes we can come upon them suddenly, finding ourselves unprepared for what is around them.  Every day of this week held corners for me to ponder.

Monday, I had a visit with our friend Steve.  Steve told us about an incident he had last week.  He was driving home from an appointment along a stretch of recently opened, brand new, road, part of the newest portion of the ring road around Calgary, when he rounded a curve and came face to face with a ridge of snow right in the middle of his lane, accidentally left there by a grater.  The conditions on the rest of the road were dry and bare, so there was no preparing for this unexpected obstacle.  I won’t do the details justice, so, suffice it to say Steve’s car did some spinning, an oncoming car joined in, both cars ended up on opposite sides of the highway, no one was injured, and there is at least one car that will never drive again.

Steve couldn’t possibly have known what was around that corner any more than any person could have. 

Tuesday morning dawned bright and I met Brenda and Rhonda for one of our Tuesday treks.  Brenda and I both arrived with bear spray.  Some weeks we have forgotten to carry it but with our deep woods, deep snow hike last week, we both felt we should have had some with us.  The bears are likely still sleeping, but cougars don’t rest in the winter.  We all laughed when we saw the two cannisters of spray.  You never know what you’ll meet around a corner, we thought.

On Wednesday morning we decided to take little Ben out to our friend, Shirley’s farm for one of our regular visits.  He was so excited to be going.  He only found out about our adventure upon waking in the morning.  We waited to tell him until we knew for sure the day would be a good one for the visit.  He loves visiting Shirley, loves being outside in the fresh air, he loves looking at all the machinery, and he loves saying hello to the animals there.  Last week when we were there, he ‘drove’ a big blue grain truck.  I was in the other blue truck beside him.  We each had our window rolled down so that we could chat as we ‘drove’.  I asked Ben where we were off to.  He told me he needed to pick up an elephant at the zoo and bring it to Shirley’s farm.  This week, we brought along a little toy elephant so we could complete our mission! 

As the morning wore on, I noticed Ben rubbing his eye.  This isn’t something he normally does.  He wasn’t keen on having me look at it so I waited for the right time.  Just after he had inspected one of the combines to make sure it was in top working condition, he came around the corner where I was standing.  I could easily see his eye was swollen and red, and his nose was running.  My heart sank.  Knowing runny noses and red eyes are two signs of Covid, I couldn’t help but worry.  A few hours later, after a call to Kaitlyn and a Covid test booked and completed, we settled in to await the results.  We were all trying to peak around the corner to see what we might be facing.  But corners, and life don’t work like that.

It’s a funny thing about corners.  There’s no avoiding them.  No matter how we try to anticipate them, or circumvent them, some still sneak up on us catching us off guard.  Try as we might to predict what lies around them, more often than not we haven’t a clue.  Many times, we round corners with trepidation.  We fear there is something not on our ‘bucket list’ waiting for us there.  Other times we confidently stroll around a corner, thinking we know exactly what we’ll find, and end up face to face with unexpected news, unwelcome diagnoses, or startling events.

There are still other times in life when we go around the corner and are greeted with unexpected events of the absolute best variety.  I’ve opened emails to find a message from a friend I haven’t heard from in a while.  I’ve had invitations to work for organizations I never dreamed possible.  We’ve had announcements of pregnancies, engagements, recoveries, new jobs and other milestones.  We’ve had children move away, toward incredible opportunities, and return home, to share their adventures.

I’m learning to accept corners.  More accurately, I’m learning to fully appreciate my complete inability to predict what is around the corner, and also my complete ability to choose how I will navigate it.  Some of them feel scarier than others.  It’s a work in progress. 

A final update; at about 5:00am on Thursday morning, Kaitlyn received a text from AHS saying Benjamin’s COVID-19 test had come back negative.  Another corner safely rounded.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How will I navigate this corner?’
​
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to navigate corners.
 

I don’t fancy myself a gourmet cook; however, I do love to add new recipes to my repertoire.  In the good old, pre-pandemic days, when we shared meals with others, I especially loved to taste the creations of others and then get their recipe to try myself.  One easy little appetizer recipe I got from Greg and Cara – Greg made it the night we had it, but it may have been Cara’s recipe, was for toasted crostini bread, topped with cream cheese, a slice or two of fresh strawberry and drizzled with a balsamic vinegar reduction.  Fancy?  Not really.  Difficult?  Not at all!  Delicious?  Yup!

Before watching Greg make this about five years ago, I would have skipped right past any recipe asking me to make a balsamic reduction.  I would have simply assumed this was far above my skill level.  It turns out, the reduction is so simple, I can’t believe I might have missed out.  All it requires is to pour some balsamic vinegar into a shallow fry pan and gently heat it until the water evaporates off, and a beautiful thick balsamic reduction is left.  It might take slightly more than five minutes, but it won’t take a full seven. 

A reduction, it turns out, is exactly what it is advertised to be.   It is something that is made smaller or less in amount, degree or size.  I also like to think of it as something that has been reduced to its essence. 

My friend Brenda, and I have been heading out on Tuesday Treks since late last summer.  We meet every Tuesday morning, with a new trail mapped out, ready to spend a day with our friend, the great outdoors.  This past week, Brenda recommended hiking a trail we’ve only done once before.  Last July, we navigated Tom Snow and Ridgeback 1, 2 and 3, but we haven’t done it since there has been snow on the ground so we assumed it would be a nice new adventure.  We were not disappointed! 

With a fresh falling of snow Monday night, there were no tracks to guide us.  The trail is fairly well marked at lower altitudes and we each have an app on our phones allowing us to use GPS to make sure we stay on track at higher elevations when the trail is impossible to pick out.  We thought we had all our bases covered.  We had our phones, we had our trail downloaded onto our app, we had food and water and great hiking gear.  We left our start point and route with Jim and Daryl, and we left early in the morning with a good forecast ahead of us.  What we didn’t account for was this: when it snows 10cm in the city, more often than not, the mountains where we hike get about triple that amount.

As the hours marched by, and we marched higher and higher, our memories about snowfall amounts became much clearer.  By the top third of the hike, we were pushing through snow well above our knees.  We knew we’d come to a ‘road’ at the top that we’d walk along for about 1.3 km before beginning our descent.  We were looking forward to the reprieve for our tired legs.  Surprise doesn’t begin to describe what we saw at the top.  Not only were there no footprints anywhere, there was no sign that any human had been to the top all winter.  The only thing that told us we were on a road was there were no trees on it! We were now well above our knees, surrounded by the beauty of it all.

As we finally reached the summit, we heard the sound of motors approaching.  We knew it could not be a car or truck, since the road was impassable for vehicles.  It turns out it was two snowmobiles, driven by workers heading to remote gas, pumphouse station near where we were.  We waved as they slowly went past, working hard to push through the deep snow.

We knew our trailhead back down was located near the pumphouse station.  However, it wasn’t until we got near the snowmobiles that we recalled how difficult it had been to find the trailhead in July, even with clear ground, uncovered by snow.  In the deep, untouched snow, it became much harder.  With our most confident expressions locked on our faces we headed toward what we thought was our best bet. 

In snow now up to the top of our legs, it took some time to get far enough to recognize we had made a mistake.  Had we continued we’d have had to cross a significant ravine.  We had no way of knowing the depth of snow in the ravine, so erring on the side of good sense, we decided to retrace our steps back up to the road, get to the other side of the ravine, and head down again.  As luck would have it, the two workers were still at the transfer station collecting their data.  We didn’t want to appear as though we were having trouble (how could they possibly guess?!) and Brenda mentioned she wished they had left already.  As we got closer, with our legs absolutely burning from the climb, I said in a quiet voice, “Ok, Brenda.  Look calm, act casual”.  That was all it took; with exhausted legs, bruised egos and a healthy sense of our own silliness, we were both gave in to gales of laughter.   Everything else just stripped away and we embraced this unexpected but welcome reduction.  We’d been reduced to exactly what we aim to do each Tuesday - find a way to fully feel the incredible gifts nature can offer; peace, acceptance, joy, beauty, friendship, simplicity, escape, and health.

Pondering reductions has given me some needed insights this week.  I spend a lot of time in my head.  My busy little mind can create and follow multiple stories at once.  I can wrap myself up so tight in the doing of life, it’s easy to forget the importance of it sometimes. Not the importance of my busyness, but the importance of exactly what, when I’ve reduced it to its most pure form, I am trying to accomplish, what impact I am trying to have.  When I am thinking and rethinking the exact colour to use on a quilt I’m designing for a special person, I can get bogged down with all the possibilities.  When I reduce it to remembering what I’m really sewing is love in a blanket form, the hamsters in my head can rest.

I don’t ever want to be reduced by others; to be reduced to a sentence or a proclamation about me.  No one appreciates this kind of reduction.  This is diminishing.  It doesn’t acknowledge all of the bits and pieces that make each of us who we are.  The kind of reductions I find helpful are the ones where I can reduce my actions to a basic intention.  These reductions provide clarity and sometimes even grace.

I had some devastating news about one of my most precious friends this week.  I’ve been shaken to my core.  I want to fix things. I want to know magic and miracles. I want to know just the right thing to say and do.  When I’ve allowed myself the grace of using my recipe of reduction, not the one for strawberry crostini but reductions for life, I know what I really want to do is make sure they know how precious they are to me, and how loved.  That’s it.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What reduction is needed?’
​
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to create spectacular reductions.

Jim and I didn’t have any particular plans for Family Day this year.  This is partly because of our continuing restrictions in Alberta where visits indoors are still prohibited, and partly because outdoor visits, while not prohibited, didn’t feel like a viable option with our sub -25°C temperatures.  We hadn’t really talked about what we might do during the day this past Monday.  The good news is, that meant we weren’t disappointed when our day got very busy, very fast.

When I came down the stairs in the morning I came with an armful of laundry.  I threw it in the washing machine and then proceeded to sit at my desk and catch up on a few things.  I did hear a not-quite-usual water sound as I typed away.  Normally, I’d instantly go check things out.  For no good reason, on this morning I did not. 

Luckily for us, it wasn’t many minutes later that Jim opened the door to the laundry room on his way to the garage, and stepped into a lake of water.  He called out, I came running, we got the machine turned off and set to work.  The floor wasn’t just a bit wet; it was a lake.  Using a bucket and mop, one of those spinning kinds we had purchased after an impossible-to-resist demonstration at the Stampede one year, we were able to get most of it up.  We still didn’t really know where the problem lay.   Our first suspicion was the machine itself.  But once we pulled it out from against the wall, we could see the lines drawing water into the machine were completely dry.  Jim suggested I turn the machine on again so he could locate the source of the problem.

It took mere seconds to discover that the water draining from the machine during the spin cycle, was flowing down the tube which went into a pipe, and there it met up with a completely frozen pipe, causing it to back up and spew everywhere.  We both had the same thought; we definitely had a frozen pipe, and it was possible it had burst.  This led us to the basement, to the room directly under the laundry room.  Sure enough, there was water, water, everywhere here too.

Again, we mopped and dried and tried to see if there was still an open source.  There did not appear to be.  As we took a minute to figure out next steps, Jim turned and spotted another problem.  I won’t give the exact quote but suffice it to say he did NOT say, ‘Oh wow, isn’t that a coincidence!  Our hot water heater is also leaking all over the other end of the floor’.
That’s kind of how the day went.  Water, water everywhere.

Much, much later that day, once the floors were dry, the plumber had come and gone, the new hot water tank was ordered for Tuesday, and we were sitting dumbfounded, I picked up something to read.  I read about a vineyard in Oregon.  It sits at the base of a large mountain.  One of the things giving it its value is the water draining off the mountain, has, for hundreds of years, been providing rich nutrients to the soil, allowing it to produce incredible grapes used to make valuable wines.

I had to chuckle to myself.  Even in my attempt to escape the day, I found water. 

Water drips into all our lives.   Sometimes we get lucky and experience the predictable and steady runoff of nourishing comments, acceptance, compassion, and uplifting encouragement.   Even if we have one person who provides such a steady and positive influence in our lives, we know we hold a gift.  Sometimes we experience more than a drip, we experience a rush of water, so much of it we can’t quite process it all at once.  My friend Betty found herself in this position last week after she was deluged with kind calls and emails following a medical procedure.  Sometimes in our surprise at this kind of outpouring, we start to mop up the ‘mess’, trying to get back to normal, before we can even absorb the beauty of the gestures.  Luckily Betty had the wisdom to remind herself to ‘be a gracious receiver’, as she accepted her calls and visits, texts and emails.

The flip side of the water dilemma is that we also drip onto others.  In a perfect world, we’d each drip kindness, love, acceptance, compassion, tolerance and steadfastness.  We’d do this regularly.  It would become part of the fabric of who we are.  Alas, in a world that has taken more from us than she has given this past year, many of us find ourselves dripping attributes we wouldn’t want used to describe us too often.

Jim and I were able to find a good solution to our water problems.  The frozen pipe is thawed, and the new hot water tank installed.  These drips were temporary.  Some of the other drips we receive and offer up to others are not so fleeting; words last, actions have consequences and feelings endure. 

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What am I dripping?’
​
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to be a drip – a great drip!.
 

I took a brave step this week.  I called my friend Carey Gruber, person extraordinaire, and director of the world-travelling, and I assume world-famous, Big Rock Singers.   Carey and I worked together for many years when I taught at RDL.  Carey worked with students in crisis as our family support liaison.  She and I spent hours together in her office creating plans to help students.  Between us, many a tear were shed as we figured out how to best help our at-risk students.  Truth be told, there were a few times when we met there to create a plan to help one or the other of us too!

After my surgery in November, I was warned there could be some impact on my vocal chords.  I knew this might be temporary or permanent, serious or mild, or none at all.  Given the tumour they were removing from my thyroid was wrapped around the nerve supplying the vocal chords, and considering the tumour was tennis ball in size, and pressing right up against the trachea and forcing it well off course, it might have been too big an ask to think my poor vocal chords would survive unscathed.

The first week after surgery I had plenty of hoarseness, but this was an expected outcome for any throat surgery.  Now, however, after a few months, the picture is coming into sharper focus.  I’ve been lucky.  My speaking voice is pretty good.  I can carry on an easy conversation with no difficulty.  However, my voice doesn’t have any strength.  I couldn’t, for instance, hope to address a large group, like I often did, and hope to do again post-pandemic.  Even more unsettling to me, (since I know there are microphones that might make up for my speaking voice shortfall), is my singing voice has been reduced to a range of very few notes.  Very few.

The good news is, this won’t affect my paycheck.  I haven’t ever fancied myself to be a professional singer.  That doesn’t give me much solace.  It just means I will continue to not sing professionally as I have always not sung professionally.  No change. The thing that does bother me is this; I love to sing.  I love it.  I love to sing in the car where I have my favourite playlist at the ready.  I love to sing while I’m doing mundane tasks.  I love to sing with my sisters and brothers.  I love my memories of singing from my past, around campfires, in choirs, in our living room, with our cousins, at Christmas time, at Betty’s Kitchen Party and on and on.  There is something about music, and about singing good lyrics and tunes, that sooth my soul.  I feel like I’ve gone home when I sing.

Needless to say, I miss it.  I also fully realize that in the larger scheme of things, this ranks very, very low.  I understand this.  Yet it feels like a great loss to me. 

I have a suspicion this is not permanent.  I’m hopeful because while in the first month I might have had a total of about four notes I could reach, last month I’d say I had a solid 6, and sometimes, if I sang very, very quietly, I could even reach more.  Like all of do-re-mi more.

My first lesson with Carey was on Tuesday via Zoom.  I knew I had made the exact right decision the moment her beautiful face appeared on the screen.  My eyes filled, as did hers.  To simply lay eyes on such a dear friend was wonderful.

I amazed absolutely no one at my lesson.  I know I have months of practice and exercise ahead.  I’m perfectly fine with this.  I’m thrilled to be strengthening my voice and to be working with Carey.

More than finding my singing voice, it is just as truthful to say I was also finding my voice when I sent my very first email to Carey, inquiring about the lessons. 

Sometimes when people think about finding their voice, their thoughts run to the idea of firmly, sometimes loudly, stating their opinion.  This can sometimes feel like they are defending themselves, or challenging someone or taking a defiant stance.  There is a different version of voice-finding worth considering.

We each have a little voice inside ourselves that is always calling to us.  Sometimes it is a whisper, one we hear but push to the background as we get on with the busyness of our lives.  Sometimes it is stronger, and is accompanied by a potential opportunity.  Sometimes it is a feeling, a knowing that acting on it will bring us much closer to our true self. These little voices are reminding us what makes us who we are.  The voice reminds us how to find our ‘home’, our truest self. 

Over the years I have thought of calling Carey about singing lessons many times.  For a while I convinced myself I was too busy.  The truth was, I was busy, but I was also concerned about judgement by others.  For another while I believed it was too late, but I still felt the nudge.  This time, when I recognized I could lose this part of my life I love so much, I followed the whisper. 

I have found so many voices over the years that have called me to be in alignment with who I want to be.  I’ve been lucky to be able to discard some of the things holding me back.  I love to create through my quilting and knitting, I love to be in nature and I have found incredible ways of satisfying this through biking and hiking, I love to move my body through dance and yoga, and I love to experience the feelings that I can’t seem to reach any other way except through music.  

Each of us has voices inside us, begging to be heard.  Luckily for us, they are persistent, they are wise and they help us become the best versions of ourselves.

I am full of gratitude for the gift of Carey, for the six little notes I can sing, and the hope for more to come.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What voice is calling to me?’
​
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how find your voice.
 
 

I received a message from my friend, David, last week.  David, or Kamishina, as he is known in his Kenyan community of Ewaso Ngiro, has been one of our partners in the Building Hope project since its inception over ten years ago. 

David was verifying that the money we had wired for teachers’ salaries, and for one new cow! had safely arrived.  Building Hope Academy, the school we raised funds to build, and now support, has suffered in the same way as the rest of the world in this global pandemic. Perhaps in some ways, their struggles with the pandemic have been greater; just as their day-to-day struggles for school supplies, food security, personal safety, and opportunities are greater.  To add to their stress this year, donations for teachers’ salaries have understandably greatly diminished as donors in Canada have also had their share of financial hardship.  It’s been a month-to-month guessing game to know where the next months worth of teacher’s salaries are coming from.  My approach remains as it has always been; the right people will appear at the right time to help. 

In David’s message he not only confirmed the successful transfer of our funds, but also updated me on the growth of the new herd of cows.  This herd will eventually become a source of income for the school.  David’s message is as follows:
Halo Liz.  Thank you for the teachers salaries.  I received it and also Emma’s gift of the cow.  Pass my great appreciation to her and my love to her family.  The school herd is surely growing.  Thank you so much for the support this new year.  The Encowment project cows are now 14 in total.  May God bless your generous hands. Stay safe.

Generous hands.  These two words have been rolling around in my head since then.  Generous hands.

I have never stopped to think about whether my hands are generous.  I know my hands don’t work quite with quite as much dexterity as they once did.   I know I love to use my hands.   I love to create things through knitting and quilting. I love to cook for my family. I love to make my chocolate chip cookies.  I love to hold Ben’s little hand. I love to write.  I’ve never really stopped to think whether my hands are generous.

I found myself looking for generous hands as I went about my life last week.  I had another procedure done at the hospital; a bronchoscopy, to check out my lungs.  The experience in this operating room was completely different than the last.  Whereas the last time the room felt clinical, this time it was welcoming.  One of the respirologists recognized me from the previous day when I had been in for some different testing and he acted as though he was delighted to be in on my procedure.  The anesthetist was engaging with his easy conversation about his family and he was curious about mine.  His question, ‘What music would you like me to play for you?’ completely surprised me.  What a simple but generous gesture.  Generous were his hands that cared for me.

When Dr. D entered the room, the staff was clearly delighted to see her.  She immediately asked how everyone was and then noted it seemed cool in the room.  Her comment, ‘I think you’d feel better with a warm blanket’ got my attention, but not as much as the fact that she went to retrieve it on her own.  She did not send one of the nurses or aides.  No authority was exerted by her; only generous hands.  It’s no wonder she is respected and admired.

Two days after the procedure, although it was bitterly cold outside, I needed to get out for a walk to try to clear my head.   Jim and I bundled up and made our way through the neighbourhood.  Not many people were embracing the frigid temperatures.  As we walked along the main street, with only our eyes exposed, two people walking together, approached from the opposite direction.  They were having an animated conversation.  The woman was looking intently at the man as he spoke.  This struck me since Jim and I were both really just looking at the ground trying to avoid slipping on the ice.  I noticed he had no gloves and wondered how he stood the cold.  As they got closer, I saw he was using his hands to sign his words to his walking partner.  She was carefully ‘listening’ to his hands.  What generous hands had he.
We are limited in so many ways during these months of endless restrictions.   Luckily few restrictions have been placed on our generous hands.  While we are discouraged from shaking hands and touching common surfaces, there is so much more we can do.  We can still text and make phone calls.  We can wave.  We can take photographs and share them with others.  We can leave flowers on a doorstep of a friend.  We can create beauty.  We can be good people.

I’ve been more mindful of my hands this week.  I worry less about what they cannot do and wonder more about their capacity to be generous.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How generous are these hands?’
​
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how generous hands increase satisfaction with work and life.