When I was growing up, bologna (baloney) sandwiches were a regular fixture at our lunch table. I liked mine with mustard.  The meat in our sandwich wasn’t exactly a choice; we didn’t have a lot of options to choose from.  Our parents did not believe in making separate meals for everyone, so if bologna and mustard was on the menu, bologna and mustard it was.  None of us gave it a second thought.  As I recall, I liked it.

I don’t know if it was a step up or down, but in my teenage years, I can recall Dad buying, and preparing for our supper, a bologna ‘roast’!  Yes, a roast.  It was a large chunk of unsliced bologna that he cooked on our barbeque, on the spit!  He even scored the top to make it look extra fancy, kind of the same as I’m trying to make it look fancy by spelling it bologna, instead of baloney!

In our house, baloney was a food so versatile we could have it at any meal.  If Dad fried us up some for breakfast, he told us we were being treated to Nova Scotia bacon.  He, being from New Brunswick, found this to be hilarious.  He was perfectly serious though, when he served us the esteemed fried baloney sandwich, on toasted bread.  What a special treat!

By the time I moved out and had my own home, I didn’t think much about baloney.  I didn’t buy it for lunches, or for supper or breakfast for that matter.  I didn’t dislike it, nor did I look down upon it, I simply discovered how many other options were available.

This week I’ve talked and laughed about baloney more than I have in many years.  One of our dancing sisters, Donna, was unable to attend a couple of practices.  She let us know this in an email and said, “When I come back, I’ll have to be the bologna for awhile.”  Since I’ve often used this expression when talking about dance, I didn’t give it a second thought. I knew exactly what she meant. But the others in the email chain were flummoxed. Bologna?  Did she mean baloney, as in full of it?  Did she want this for her new nickname?  Was there a hidden meaning?

I knew exactly what Donna meant.  I’ve requested being the baloney at dance many times.  Donna meant that when she returned, she’d like to dance in the middle of the group until she learned the new steps.  She’d be the baloney, and the others, who know the dance better, would take up the outside positions, the bread.  That way, no matter what direction Donna faced, she’d have dancers in front of her from whom she could get her cue.

In dance, there is no shame in being the baloney.  In fact, it’s a most wonderful feeling.  It’s a feeling of knowing others have our back.  When we ask, call for, or move into this position, magic happens. Most often not a word is said.  Seamlessly, the dancers shift around to position the baloney.  Instinctively, everyone around the baloney understands their role.  They are the bread.  The bread supports the baloney; it prevents it from falling or slipping.  More importantly, it is the bread that assures the baloney is not alone.

Bread is a humble food.  We think of it as a staple.  It’s a food we need, but one that doesn’t ask for too much flair, or to be the centre of attention.  Bread knows its job.  It sustains us.  It fills us up.  It’s a food we share with others – breaking bread we call it.  According to the Urban Dictionary, when we break bread, we affirm trust, confidence and comfort with an individual or group of people.  What a crucial role bread has.  And what an absolutely precious thing it is to be the baloney when such support surrounds us. 

I used to think it was somehow better to be the bread than the baloney.  Better to give than receive, or something like that.  I don’t feel like that anymore.  I prefer to cherish my moments of being both bread and baloney.  I cherish being surrounded by support, both when I recognize I need it, and when I don’t, but others do.  I cherish trusting others so much, I can tell them I need help, knowing with complete confidence I will get it without a side-serving of guilt or shame. 

I also cherish being the bread.  I take it seriously when my job is to provide support until it is not needed any more.  I like it when I’m part of a group giving support, but I also know that even an open-face sandwich is a great one.  Sometimes, we are called to be a support all by ourselves.

At dance this past week, I noticed a new twist to role of the baloney.  We were learning a new dance and as always, we needed several repeats of the steps.  Our instructor, Reba J, who often leads from the front, or from one of the perimeter walls, moved into the centre.  She became the baloney.  We could all easily see her and follow her.  It turns out, sometimes the baloney provides support for the bread too.

During the same dance class, Suzie, one of our most excellent dancers who had seen my hiking pictures from earlier that day, commented, ‘You are so lucky to have such good friends who show up for you week after week’.  This comment resonated with me and I thought of it all through the dance class and on my drive home.  In hiking, just like in dance, just like in life, I am so lucky.  I have an abundance of baloney sandwiches.  And in hiking, just like in dance, sometimes the best part of the sandwich is the mustard; the spread of laughter, the nudge of encouragement, the acknowledgement of success, the enveloping of friendship.

I thought I had given up baloney sandwiches years ago. I thought they were something we had because they were something we could afford.  I may have stopped having them because I could afford other foods.  It turns out, they continue to nourish me.  I’m going to serve them more often.  I can’t afford not to.
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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 and has expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to find out how to serve a delicious bologna sandwich.
 
 

This past week we celebrated a special day; Ben’s fifth birthday. 

Five.

It’s beyond my comprehension to figure out how five years can possibly fly by so quickly.  It makes me acutely aware of the unlikelihood of the next five going any slower.  Or the next five.  Or the next.  I’ve been teasing Ben about becoming five.  I’ve told him that I am ok with him becoming five, but that is it.  No more growing up!  In return, Ben says, ‘Oh Gramma, after another year I will be six.  I’m going to be all the numbers.’

The thing is, I do want him to become ‘all of the numbers’.  The trouble is, I enjoy each of the numbers so much, I want them to last and last. 

To celebrate this special number five, I picked Ben up after his morning school program, brought him home for lunch, and then Jim and I took him to see a movie.  He was thrilled to be going.  He’s been to a few movies previously, so I figured he knew the drill, and he did.

We bought our snacks before finding Theatre #7.   Ben wanted his usual, a kid pack.  This is one of those little square boxes that holds a kid size amount of popcorn, a small drink and a little treat (from the top row of treats).  Since Jim and I each ordered some popcorn and a drink, I asked Ben if he was able to hold his own box of treats.  He was quite confident he could.  In the meantime, I was holding his coat, watching to make sure Ben was ok with his special snacks, and trying to hold my popcorn and drink, , so I asked Jim if he could manage both bags of popcorn.  Somehow in the transfer from my hand to his, as he tried to grab onto my bag and hold it with his pinky finger, one of the popcorn bags slipped and fell to the floor.  Despite it falling right side up, the impact with the floor still caused about one hundred beautiful popped kernels to land all over the floor. 

Yes, there was a little line up watching this unfold.  Yes, they were amused.  Yes, we tried to be too.

I picked up the bag, told the cashier what had happened, apologized, and followed Ben, who was following Jim to the ‘straw and napkin’ counter.  As Ben carefully walked along behind Jim, with his clear voice, he offered one of his little pearls of wisdom.

“Grampa.  If you walk nice and slowly, like this, you won’t leave a trail of popcorn behind you.”

I wanted to laugh out loud, but he was really trying hard to help his Grampa out.  And he was so proud to be holding his own treats so carefully.  I held in the laughter, but the idea of a person walking through life, leaving a trail of popcorn, stuck with me.

We all walk on trails made by others and leave trails wherever we go.  Often, we see a trail created by someone else, and finding ourselves intrigued and, hoping it will provide a good path for us, follow it.  Our mentors create such trails for us.  Sometimes so do our parents, our siblings, our friends, our leaders, and our colleagues.  My hiking friends and I love to follow paths created by other hikers.  It is especially easy for us to see these, and follow them in the winter, when the snow accentuates the footprints.

Many times, we follow these trails only until we find our own footing.  We gain confidence as we watch and learn, as we step into footprints already laid down.  With the path smoothed out, we have enough energy to begin to imagine laying some unique prints of our own.  We might take a few test runs, stepping off the path, but keeping the old trail in sight.  Eventually we step off the worn path altogether and begin to forge our own way. 

Even if we don’t want, or ask, others to follow, our footsteps are visible to all who come behind.  Even if we don’t mean to, we leave a trail of impact on the lives of those we encounter as we go.  It’s almost impossible to walk forward, creating a new path, while erasing the steps we have made.  Sometimes we leave purposeful steps, other times our trails are created with less care.  We leave trails as we navigate our careers.  We leave trails with our words.  We leave trails of kindness and sometimes of hurt.  We each leave trails as we travel giving others a snapshot of our lives and of our character.

I love the image of a nice, neat path of popcorn left behind me, each kernel meticulously placed, with thoughtful understanding of the effect it will have on others.  Traveling this carefully laid trail, I would likely not leave much hurt, nor would I have much backtracking to repair my mistakes. 

I also understand that often, the trail I leave is more like the one Jim and I left when the kernels of popcorn jumped out of the bag onto the floor in a mess.   Sometimes in my preoccupation with my own life, I create a mess.  I forget to lay my popcorn in a neat trail.  I forget someone will be impacted.  I forget these messes don’t clean up easily. 

I’m granting myself some grace as I try to not obsess over every popcorn mess I make.  The people lined up behind us at the theatre this week, witnessed both our embarrassing mess, and the gentle offer of advice given by Ben.  I like to believe the former gave them a little chuckle they might not have had otherwise, and the latter gave them food for thought, and likely another chuckle.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What popcorn trail am I leaving?’
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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 and has expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to find out how leave the best trail of popcorn.
 
 

I’m making a quilt for little Andy.  Why in the world, when I’m in the middle of a quilt shop, I have the unbelievable ability to think, ‘With just a few slight changes and additions I could create …’, is beyond me.  And yet, that is where I find myself today.  I have fourteen different colours on my cutting table before me.  I have two different patterns.  Neither is just right, and each employs a different technique. Somehow, I thought I could figure out a way to make the quilt that is not quite clear in my mind, into something beautiful for little Andy. 

I’m sewing half circles (ish) side by side for this quilt.  Once in a while, a half-circle is going to become a panda’s face.  This was the draw for me.  Andy LOVES pandas.  He has a stuffed ‘danda’ that goes everywhere with him.  Just to keep it as complicated as possible, I’m imagining I’ll have the ears of the pandas stick out, to be three-dimensional.  I haven’t quite figured our how that will work.  Another one of my challenges is to figure out what colour of thread is going to work best.  With all the different fabrics I’ve chosen, I need a thread colour that will work throughout the quilt.  I don’t think changing colours each time I join two half-circles will be practical, because never will two same colours be side by side.  And of course, I want to find the perfect colour, one that won’t be a distraction, but that will hold it all carefully together, and that will last for as long as Andy treasures ‘dandas’.

As you can imagine, my tiny mind has been whirling with thoughts, and with images of coloured threads.  Not surprising at all, all my thinking about threads has opened my eyes to see threads in other places in my life.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been spending time visiting my wonderful and dear friend Graham. I met Graham on my very first day of teaching, well over forty years ago.  He was my principal, my boss, and we became fast friends right away.  Although we differed in age, and interests, and although we held different positions in our work, we clicked.  We spent many hours talking about teaching and life.  When Jim and I were expecting our first child, Graham and Carolyn were expecting their second.  We both had girls, who ended up being close friends.  Now they both have sons of the same age, and so it continues.

Last week, at the hospital, when we were visiting, I asked Graham how he got his start of his love of opera.  Graham has been all over the world, appreciating opera, and he has shared his love of it with family, friends, and students.  It would be impossible to know Graham, and not know about this love of his.  As he told me the story of his history with opera, he ended by saying.  I love my family first, but of everything else in the world, it is music that has been my true love.  In fact, he said, without it, I would not be here today.  It is really the thread that has woven though everything I have done. It plays in the background of every part of my life.

This was easy for me to picture.  Opera is the beautiful thread woven through Graham’s entire life, adding beauty and joy, and soothing him when life showed her rough edges.  I began to wonder what threads may have wound their ways through other lives I have been lucky to share.

My mother-in-law, Jim’s mom, has had the thread of faith in her life. There has never been a time when this thread was not present.  She is not a preacher, well, actually she is.  But you know what I mean.  Despite being an ordained Anglican priest, she is not a ‘preacher’.  Yet you cannot know her without knowing how important this thread is in her life.  If you know her, you have felt her faith.

My sister, Mary, would say the thing that sustains her, that plays in the background of everything she does, is storytelling.  For her, this began as a small child when she created little plays for us and our neighbourhood children to perform. But it has woven into something much more profound. She sees and appreciates the stories of life.  She notices small details and sees connections between people and events.  I doubt there is any car ride, or activity, or interaction she is part of where she does not have snippets of a story in her head.  She understands the value of story as a tool for making sense of the world, and of uniting people.  She uses her gift of storytelling to enrich the lives of those she interacts with and to shine a light on things she is passionate about.  If you know Mary, you know she is a storyteller.

Each of us has many small threads running through our lives.  Some involve people, some weave us to important places, some are relationship threads.  All trace the path of significant parts of our lives.  Some of these have a clear beginning and a clear ending.  I believe we each also have the capacity to have a distinct, strong, remarkable thread in our lives, like those of Graham, and Jim’s mom, and Mary.  But for those threads to appear clearly on the quilt of our lives, we must choose to make deliberate decisions about what we want those threads to be, and to consciously nurture them, to bring them along with us. 

Mostly, those special threads should carry important meaning for us.  They must reflect the very fiber of who we are, sometimes flying in the face of what others think might be better pursuits for us.  When we choose our thread correctly, when we nourish it in just the right ways, when we make time for it and pay attention to it, it returns our favour, making the quilt of our life ever so much more meaningful.

I stood in the quilt shop today, picking up one last bit of fabric for Andy’s ‘danda’ quilt, and then trying to pick out just the right thread.  I realized when I held one spool of thread, and then the next, that in fact, the thread I choose will not really be seen.  Mostly it will be hidden.  What I do not want hidden is what I’d like this quilt to reveal in time.  I want the little ‘danda’ quilt I’m sewing for Andy to include a little of the thread of my life.  I hope he will feel my love for him.  I hope he will know I support the things he loves.  And I hope he can feel my love and desire for him to become exactly who he is.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What is the thread running through your life?’

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 and has expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to find out how to find your perfect thread.
 

I’ve been absent far longer than I planned.  What started as a summer hiatus, morphed into lingering Covid symptoms, then a very busy work life, and a full home life, and somehow the busyness of autumn never settled.  When I began writing this blog, eight years ago now, I promised myself I would not let it become a pressure, and that if it got to a point where I was stressing over what I might write, it was time to let it go.  Sure enough, week after week, an idea always popped into my head with very little effort on my part, and so my writing continued.

Yet over the months of September, October and through December, I wasn’t compelled to sit to write.  Thoughts weren’t popping into my head.  Last week, two things happened.  First, I had an idea.  An idea for a blog.  Second, once I’d considered getting back at it, I received a late Christmas gift from my daughter’s father-in-law.  You may remember last year when he gifted me the book, “Life’s Too Short to Fold Your Underwear”, and signed his accompanying letter, East Coast Hughie?  Well, this year East Coast Hughie managed to hit it right out of the park again, with his gift of the beautiful children’s (even though I secretly think it was written for grown ups) book, ‘What Do You Do With An Idea?’, by Kobi Yamada.

I have read this book before, in fact I have given it to others in the past, but I have never had a copy for myself, though I have longed for one.  Hughie did it again, he won the blue ribbon for choosing my favourite gift.  It was just the nudge I needed to remind me what to do with my idea.  So here I am, a few months later than I expected, but feeling just right about writing again.  And of all the blog thoughts to pop into my head, the one that stuck was about my love life.  Hopefully it’s not too much information!

We had a most wonderful Christmas.  For the first time in several years, we had our whole family together.  We spent Christmas Eve at Greg and Cara’s, feasting on some of their culinary wonders.  The following day, Christmas dinner was here, complete with excited children, an old-fashioned turkey dinner, and capped with a rousing game of Christmas Bingo!  I willed myself to breathe in the moment and to cherish it.  I was determined not to get caught up in making sure everything was perfect, but to simply relish being together.  After all, we know all too well how illness and pandemics can quickly mess up the best laid plans. 

In moments like this, it’s easy to feel love.  It’s easy to understand what all the Christmas songs are about.  It’s easy to believe in peace on earth, goodwill to all.  It’s easy to have a magical love life.

At the same time, behind the scenes at our house, behind the phone screens, another script was being acted out.  Jim’s mom had been taken to the hospital in Ontario on Christmas Eve, where she remains today.  She had a brief stint back home, but clearly the complex issues at work had not been resolved, so New Year’s Eve saw another ambulance trip and more uncertainty.  Adding to that, two dear friends of ours here at home were also hospitalized, one with very, very worrisome symptoms, and one with a good prognosis, but a long recovery ahead.  While we were cherishing our time together, we knew we were only a few keystrokes away from news of these loved ones.

I did a lot of self-talk on Christmas Day.  I reminded myself that spoiling the moment I was in, with worrying about things completely out of my control, would do no one any good.  I reminded myself to not take for granted what I had right in front of me.  And yet, it always leaves a bit of guilt to be celebrating while others suffer.  I wrestled with my feelings throughout the day.

It felt like I was holding love for the time with my healthy family in one hand, worry in the other, and in my head holding space to figure out a way not to let one overshadow the other.  It was only when I stopped judging the two, thinking of one as good and one not, one as love and the other as concern or worry, that I found peace.

Peace came when I understood love is not the absence of worry, but that it shows itself in many ways.  To have a thriving love life, we of course need moments of bliss, memories created of happy times, and cherished feelings of connection.  We need moments when we want to freeze time, for the happiness inside us to never end.  I frequently find this kind of love on a mountain top, even trudging through the snow on my way there.  I find it in little moments with our grandjoys.  I find it in the music and movement of dance, and in the lyrics of song.  I find it in laughter and conversation with siblings and friends. 

But a thriving love life is also found in other, more poignant moments.  It is found sitting in chairs beside hospital beds.  It is found at life’s beginning and life’s end.  It is found in the laughter of children and in the grace and wisdom of those with more years.  It is found deep in the memories of our heart, and in the gratitude we feel for sharing our life with others so precious to us. 

If I had a magic wand, I’d wave it to take away the suffering of all those I love.  But I'd be very careful to never wave it to remove any of the love that has blessed me, neither through the joys or sorrows of our everyday living. 

This week, Jim continues to sit with his mom by her hospital bed.  For now, I am here at home, toboganning with the little ones, visiting our friends, tending to life, supporting Jim from a distance, making tentative, ever changing plans, and continuing to find little ways to share love with those around me.  It turns out, we have a very, very healthy love life.  I would not trade it for the world. 

My inquiry for you, in this new year, is ‘How's your love life?’

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 and has expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to find out how to improve your love life.