Over the past few months, monoliths have been appearing, often seemingly out of nowhere.  In November, a three sided, 3.4m tall monolith was spotted in southern Utah and quickly became a viral sensation.  State biologists spotted it from a helicopter while counting bighorn sheep.  Photos and videos were shared by state officials but the location was withheld due to concerns people, being people, would go looking for it.

Sure enough, people, being people, did just that.  Within days, the object was removed.  No one knows by whom, or why, although it is safe to conclude, once the people got involved, so did some vandalism.

Soon after, a second one appeared in Romania, on Batcas Doamnei Hill, near Petrodava, a ruined Dacian fortress on a plateau outside the city.  Its location was quickly revealed and it too disappeared within a week.

The third mysterious structure appeared in California, just one day after the three-sided structure disappeared in Romania.  It bore the same features as the other two and also disappeared after a short stay.

While no one can explain the appearance or disappearance of these monoliths, the one that appeared in Southwestern Alberta last week had a clear explanation.  It was not erected under the shadow of night.  Its creator is not elusive.  Its meaning is not a mystery.

Elizabeth Williams, the woman who built the one in Southern Alberta, said she wanted to bring attention to threats the area is facing as the province moves toward open-pit coal mining.  On a news report I listened to, she said her monolith reflects the things that will be affected by the coal operation; it reflects the soil, the mountains and the mountain-fed waters.  She wants people to look at the structure and see the reflections.  No doubt, her hope is when they see those reflections, they too will pause to reflect.

I don’t have a political statement about open-pit coal mining.  I do however, have some thoughts about reflections.

Just as the monolith in Southern Alberta, by virtue of the shiny material making it up, reflects onto itself, and thus sort of becomes what it is surrounded by, so to are we reflections of the things we choose to surround ourselves with. 

This thought is sobering.  It’s easy to think we can surround ourselves with things, ideas, people, jobs, and attitudes, and pretend those things do not affect us.  That we somehow can stand tall, on our own, and not absorb these exterior things at all.  The shiny monoliths cause us to consider that perhaps we are not separate from things we expose ourselves to.
When we regularly expose ourselves to too much news, too much television and internet, too many material objects, too many narrow minds, or mind-numbing substances, there is a good chance when people see us and talk to us, they will see this reflected in us.

At the same time, when we expose ourselves to nature, thoughtfulness, creativity, kindness, new ideas, problem-solving and good friends, chances are when people see us and talk to us, our reflection will bear this out. 

I’ve been reflecting about what I’ve been reflecting.  I was struck by Elizabeth Williams’ comment, ‘If I make this extra beautiful, and I get it on private land, it can stay and it can become a beacon for the curious.’  She of course is referring to an inanimate object.  I, on the other hand, am thinking about myself, a person, and about each of us as individuals.  The concept is the same.  We are already each inhabiting the land of our bodies and minds.  What could be more private?  We each have complete control over our thoughts and actions.  What could it be like if we were each so completely incredible and captivating, that others became curious about us?  And we became beacons.

‘We have to reflect on who we are and where we’re going?’, said Williams.  I couldn’t agree more.  I want to make sure I have a strong vision of who I am, what I am reflecting, and where I am headed.  I want to make sure I am reflecting my true self, and more importantly, that my true self is one I am proud of.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What am I reflecting?’
​
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 create the monolith that best reflects you.
 

I’m a sweet girl.  That is, I love sweet things.  My daughter-in-law, Cara, is a savoury girl.  Since she’s been in our lives, I find myself slowly slipping along the sweet-savoury scale in the direction of savoury.

It’s not that she’s persuaded me with words.  She hasn’t needed to.  Cara (www.alpineliving.com or @alpinedining) lets her culinary skills do the talking.  During these past few months of lockdown, we haven’t actually been able to sit in her kitchen as she cooks and then sit at the dining room table to partake; we’ve been reduced to enjoying her feasts via her pictures of her masterpieces on her blogs.  But we can almost smell and taste her delights through her photographs. 

​Even though I’m drawn to the instant delight of chocolate, I’m now realizing that a savoury meal not only tempts me to slow down as I eat, the flavours seem to stay with me longer.  Perhaps it’s no coincidence the word savour is used to describe not only the flavour of the food, but also the experience of eating.  Jim and I, both products of very large families, are finally learning the value of savouring a meal.  In my family, we always sat at the table together, and we always appreciated our homecooked meals, but I can’t say we actually savoured them. 

On Tuesday last week, while out hiking with my friend, Brenda, the conversation turned to a course she has been taking.  The essence of the course is the study of the science of happiness.  Brenda was explaining how the course works, how each week there is a different component of happiness to explore.  Each week they have several assignments.  Last week they were to savour something each day.  One thing.

It was the perfect thing to be talking about as we hiked in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains.  We often climb and climb, eventually arriving at an opening in the trees where we have a view of the majestic mountains.   We always stop at these points and admire the view.  We always take pictures, even though we’ve never been able to capture in a photograph the feeling we have standing there.  We almost always say, ‘Look at this.  How lucky are we?!’

We also find ourselves stopping along the way, even when we aren’t treated to the sight of the mountains.  We stop to see forests of trees growing on hillsides, to catch a glimpse of an animal, to spot a woodpecker or a Whiskey Jack, to feel the wind, to smell the fresh air and to listen to the silence.

Without ever putting words to it, we have been savouring.

To savour something means to enjoy it as much as you can.   Savouring is a gift we give ourselves.  It can be done anywhere, with the focus on anything.  Each individual decides which things are worth savouring.  It costs nothing, but as I’m learning, can become priceless.  Many of our most fond memories are made up of the times we have savoured the moment. 

As I’ve thought more and more about savouring, I’m notice I’m doing it a lot more.  I now look for moments in my day when I have an opportunity to savour.  Savouring hasn’t changed what I do.  It has changed how I interact with my day, how I’m more aware of moments, and how I appreciate them.

I take care of little Benjamin one day each week.  This week, the day happened to be extremely windy and cloudy; not a good day for being outside.  I was disappointed, since we always love our outdoor adventures.  As we were finishing up breakfast, we could hear the wind howling.  I remarked that it sounded stormy.  Ben stood at the window for quite a few minutes, looking up at the trees in the yard.  He said, ‘It looks like the trees are dancing.’ 

​Savour.  To enjoy something as much as you can. 

One of my favourite activities over these past many Covid months has been to get out into nature for some exercise and head-clearing.  During the spring and summer, I amused myself with biking around Calgary, pretending I was cycling across Canada.   I understand this would have bored many to death, but it worked for me.  I never came home feeling badly that I’d completed my ride.  I always returned with a clearer head than when I began.

When the leaves turned colour and it was too cold to be on the bike for long, my attention turned to hiking.  I did not commit to hiking the equivalent of the distance across Canada, but I did pledge a once-a-week mountain hike, and perhaps a second, not-quite-so-long, second trek each week.  Miraculously, the weather has completely, and astonishingly, cooperated.  We have yet (touch wood) to have to brave typical Alberta winter temperatures in the minus twenty range.  Each week, my hiking partner, Brenda, and I, check the long-range forecast and have so far been thrilled with our luck.  More Tuesdays than not, the sun is shining.  And on almost every single hike, we’ve had to drop layers as the sun has risen higher in the sky and we’ve trekked along.

Several years ago, my brother bought me a Road ID bracelet for my biking adventures.  At the time, my biking partner, Rhonda, and I were meeting once each week for our long ride.  In order to do this ride in the safest way possible, we often chose to drive out of the city and to cycle on country roads.  The upside to this is the lack of heavy traffic, and the decent sized shoulders for riding.  The down side is the lack of cell service for our phones in the less well-travelled areas.  We always let someone know where we would be just in case.  We also always knew we could be in for a wait if something did happen.

The Road ID bracelet Daniel gave me is one that contains emergency information about me in the off chance I should run into trouble.  All kinds of information can be put on the bracelet. Mine has my name, Jim’s name and contact number, and one other emergency contact.  The idea is that if I am unable to remember this information, or if I’m in a situation where I’m not responsive enough to do so, someone else can use the bracelet to both communicate with me using my name, to get some help, and to let my family know what is going on.

I love my little bracelet and I wear it anytime I’m off on one of my adventures.  As I was coming home from our Tuesday hike this week, I was noticing my bracelet on my arm as I drove.   I’m thankful to have it, and to know that if I lose my way or have a breakdown, someone else will be able to help me figure out how to get help.  As I drove along, every once in a while glancing at the black band with the blue stripe, I began to think we should all wear such a bracelet, not necessarily for our treks into the woods and onto the country roads, but for all the regular bits of our lives.

It’s easy during a quiet meditation to conjure up an image of ourselves at our best.  We do this equally well after a great night’s sleep, or during a rejuvenating holiday.  We also do it for at least a couple of hours after we’ve made a New Year’s resolution.  But when life gets busy, or when we get wrapped up in the busyness in our minds, we can easily forget who we are striving to be.  Somehow during these times, all our best laid plans for living our best life fly out the window and we are left resorting to old, familiar responses and habits.

As I drove along, I was imagining instead of me putting my name and contact numbers on my bracelet, I could have it engraved with things that would remind me who I am striving to become.  That way, if I happen to get caught up in the bustle of my life, I can just glance down to remind myself of what is really important, or of how I want to show up in this world.  Perhaps even more importantly, if one of my family members or close friends notices I’ve lost my way, or have gotten off-track, they will know how to steer me home.

I wondered what I might put on my imaginary ID bracelet.  How, after all, do I want to be identified?   Who do I want to be gently reminded to be? 

I want to be identified as someone who knows her values and her value.  I want to stand strong in my beliefs, and also be open-minded enough to understand the views of others and be willing to change my point of view as I evolve.  I want those I love to know I love them.  I want to work hard to honour and appreciate my body; to stay as active as possible for as long as possible.  I want to be adventuresome.  I want others to feel safe when they are with me.  I want to be identified as someone who is a living example of my beliefs.  I want to dance and sing.  I want to feel like my actions make a positive difference.  I want to do much good, and not much bad.  I want to champion others, and not lose myself in the process.  I want to be brave.  I want to be kind.

These are all ways I want to be, and be known, but it’s a lot to write on a small thin bracelet.  All of those words cannot fit.  It’s dawned on me what I want is for me to fully be me.  If I can do this, I’ll think I’ll be the best version of myself.  Perhaps all I really need is to simply put my name on my imaginary bracelet.  Perhaps when I lose my way, or forget my dreams, this will be enough to remind me who I am. 

Sometimes all we need is for someone to gently call our name, and by doing so invite us to show up as our best self.
My inquiry for you this week is, ‘Whose name am I wearing on my bracelet?’
​
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 practice the art of finding yourself.
 
 
 

Hindsight is definitely 20/20, and for most of the citizens of the world 2020 has given us more hindsight than we asked for, wanted, or felt we needed.  When I look back over this year, it has been a memorable one, but if I had the chance, I would not repeat it.  I’m still at the raw edge of this one; the edge where I can think of so many of the hardships, and I can’t quite get high enough above it to see what I am meant to be learning from it all. 

This is the time of year when I think about the blank slate in front of me and imagine how I might paint my own picture in the upcoming year.  2020 taught us we may be fools to think we can predict with any accuracy, the filling of our years with things we will do.  It has not, however, robbed us of thinking about who we might become along the route.

2020 has not been all bad.  It hasn’t all been difficult.   Nor has it been without blessings, and unexpected gifts of complete wonderment and gratitude.  One of those gifts worth my sharing as we turn the page to a new year, is that which I received from a young man in Kenya, Daniel (Mwaana) Njapit, in early December.

Here is the story, as I first posted it on Facebook, followed by Daniel’s response.

Just over ten years ago, when I was still teaching at RDL, a small group of students and I embarked upon a life-changing journey. The first year, our goal was to raise money to build two additional classrooms, for the grade 7 and 8 classes, at the crowded Enkare Ngiro government school. We also committed to sponsor, by way of paying tuition, the top male and female grade eight students to attend high school. Daniel Njapit was one of those students. Jim and I met him in that crowed school when we went to see the new classrooms in 2011.   This year, in early December, Daniel came home to his beloved village of Ewaso Ngiro, and stopped by the new school with a letter of thanks. Daniel has just completed his UNIVERSITY Degree! It was told to me first hand, that he arrived with tears in his eyes, to thank those of us who have walked this journey with him. To say I am proud of him, seems so much less than I feel. We only opened the door; Daniel walked right through it and did all the hard work on his own. He has chosen to be a leader; he deserves all the recognition in the world. We may have planted the seed, but Daniel watered it, nurtured it, cared for it, loved it and brought it into fruition. He is a remarkable young man.  Congratulations Daniel!

Here is Daniel’s (Njapit Mwaana) Response:

I don’t know where to start,
I am full of tears of joy as I write this.  It’s been an amazing journey, full of challenges and hurdles but also full of love and passionate support.
I don’t know how to express my sincere gratitudes and thanks to you all.  You’ve been an amazing family, you supported me and given me an opportunity to be the best version of myself.  Thank you so much.  Your impact to this community has been great, you’ve created many opportunities to many kids and I must also thank you for that.
This is a great milestone for me and it wouldn’t have been possible without your unwavering support and love.  I believe I now have a responsibility to help change my community to a better people through the smallest acts of kindness.  I believe that we can create a better future when we believe in others.  It’s my turn now to try and help the best I can for I know a candle doesn’t loose its flame by lighting others.
Thank you so much Red Deer Lake School and its entire fraternity for your support and love.  It’s been an amazing journey.  I made a lovely family out of you all!  Thank you so much!
I am the young man in the story.
 
I am the young man in the story. 

This is the line that stopped me in my tracks.  This is the line that has caused me to know what I am meant to learn from 2020.  I am the person in my story.   Other characters may enter and exit the stage on which my story is told.  Some of them play key roles.  Others stay on stage just long enough to drop pebbles into my pond, before turning away to continue their own stories.  But I am the person in my story.

Daniel had many people play supporting roles in his story.  I know only a few.  He had Merry, one of our project’s founding partners, who took on the role of surrogate Mum for all the students.  He had David, who continues the legacy of the project by overseeing the operation of Building Hope Academy.  With visits from Elizabeth, Glendon, Susan, Darryl, Victoria, Emma, Karen, Hannah, Ryan, Randy, Rick, Carmen, Chloe, Barb, Jim and I, plenty of pebbles of support were dropped in Daniel’s pond. Other supporting actors sent money, letters of encouragement and followed his progress.  He had the full support of his community behind him.  And yet, Daniel was the young man in the story.  Daniel was the person with the dream, who accepted the opportunity, who weathered every single challenge, who stood steadfast and who created his amazing story of success.

2021 is before us.  When we, one trip around the sun from now, look back on our lives, only one thing will be true.  We will be the person in our story.  We will have risen each day, made each decision, formed each attitude, and chosen each perspective to hopefully allow us to stand centre stage and proudly say, ‘I am the person in that story’.

I wish you a happy 2021.  May it be the year where you create the story of your dreams.  And may you have the confidence to stand proudly on centre stage and fully own what you have created.

My inquiry for you this week is ‘What story am I creating?’
 
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 your unique story.

On Monday, December 21, the day of the Winter Solstice, a beautiful star appeared in the sky.  This star, the Christmas Star, has not been seen for hundreds of years and isn’t expected to reappear for another several hundred more.  This Christmas Star is, in fact, created by the perfect alignment of two planets, Jupiter and Saturn. 

In Calgary, Alberta, on December 21, the day of the Winter Solstice, an awesome black sky shadowed the earth, dropping more than a foot of snow and blocking out the Christmas Star. 

Luckily for us, we have a weather app.  Seeing this strong storm in the forecast we knew our best chance of seeing the star would be Sunday night.  The planets would not be perfectly aligned, but still, they would be an awesome sight.  And so, it came to pass we decided to go for our first ever mountain night hike.  It did not disappoint.  

It's always magical to be hiking in the mountains, but to hike there in winter, and to hike there in the dark, under the light of the stars and moon?  It’s incredible.

As we enjoyed our evening under the stars, we could easily make out the ‘almost’ Christmas Star.  We could also see the billions of other stars comprising our milky way.  We marvelled that we had decided to leave the city to view this sight, knowing it would disappear the following evening when the snow began.

Actually, the Christmas Star did not disappear at all.  She was still shining in all her glory.  We simply did not have the advantage of being in a position to see her.  It was easy to pretend she was not there.

So it is with life.

On Monday morning, before the snow fell, I met with my former student, now friend, Kenley, to deliver a vehicle filled with Christmas gifts to a family whose child attends our former school.  That’s where I met Kenley; she as a student and I the teacher.  She and I and many other alumni continue to stay connected, and continue to do much of the local and global citizenship work we started during our time at the school.  This year, Kenley was remembering how rewarding it had been when we helped out some of the school’s families in need during the Christmas season.  She wondered if there might be a family who needed our help this year.

A few quick phone call and emails later, we had a family.  Kenley spread the word, we both collected gifts and presto, there we were with an SUV filled to the brim on Monday morning.  We had the google map instructions to the home in the country.  I had contacted the mom of the family.  Let’s call her Annie.  Annie knew we would arrive at 11 in the morning.  She was expecting a few gifts for her two boys, one who attends school, and one who is not yet school age.  We had had buckets of fun adding some extra gifts too, for the adults in the family, plenty for the boys and some gift cards to help with the extras.

We drove in tandem, each excited and nervous at once.  I don’t know what I was expecting to find, but whatever it was, it wasn’t what we found.  The humble home looked barely tall enough to stand up in.  The outside was made of plain boards of wood, covered with moss.  There was not one ounce of doubt we were at the right place. 

Annie came out to meet us immediately.  Having spoken to her on the phone, I re-introduced myself as Liz Critchley, and I introduced Kenley.   We were not wearing our masks, having chosen to stay physically distanced from each other.  I was glad the masks were off. 

Annie said to me, ‘I think I know you’.  She did have a slightly familiar look, but I couldn’t place her.  Annie said, ‘You taught me math in Junior High’.  Suddenly the light dawned.  I could place Annie.  And now, here she was again, and here I was, and here Kenley was; just three women, together on a winter morning.  We talked a bit and caught up; Annie’s road has not been the smoothest.  We unloaded the gifts which we stacked outside in the snow.  We had to work quickly since the boys were inside and out of sight for just a couple of minutes. 

And that was it.  We all had tears as we bid each other a very Merry Christmas.  I wished we could have stayed longer, but Annie’s boys needed their mom.  Kenley and I drove out of the yard, and up the road about 500m.  I pulled over and Kenley pulled over behind me.  We were both in tears.  I didn’t grow up believing that having money was the goal.  We learned that wealth came in many forms.  I’ve also seen my share of people who are struggling. But re-connecting with Annie, and seeing her challenges with trying to care for her two boys, was completely overwhelming.

As I drove home, I could picture the 13-year-old Annie I had known.  She came to school every day and was always delighted to be there.  I think I knew at the time she did not come from one of the families who had the means for extravagant trips and homes.  Wealth was never the measure of how I cared for my students.  Annie worked hard, and was kind.  She didn’t complain and she often put others ahead of herself. 

Once Kenley and I composed ourselves we got back in our cars and continued on home, each lost in our thoughts.  I couldn’t help but think about Annie, and about the Christmas Star.  I knew that just because the Star was obstructed with cloud on Monday night, didn’t mean it wasn’t shining.  Just because Annie showed up at school, ready to do her best, didn’t mean she wasn’t struggling.  Just because I’ve never seen her home or her circumstance, doesn’t mean they don’t exist.

Each of us have times in our lives when our star shines brightly.  We also each have times when others can hardly see our star at all.  Each of us have clouds that can periodically obscure our best parts.  And each of us have a few fleeting moments when we shine in all our glory.  On Monday I learned to believe in stars; to believe in the stars we can see, and in the ones we cannot.  I also remembered that I need to look for the shining stars inside each person I meet.

I know on Christmas morning there was a bright star shining over that little home in the countryside and I'm so grateful to all those who helped made it happen.

Blessings to you this Christmas Season.  May your star brightly shine, and may we each find the stars shining in others. 
My inquiry for you this week is, “Do you see what I see? A star, a star, dancing in the night…..”

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 identify the star inside yourself and inside others.

One of my favourite activities of this Fall and Winter seasons has been my weekly hikes in the mountains.  Blessed to live less than an hour from the first range of the Rocky Mountains, I’ve been exploring this incredible landscape at least once, and often twice each week.  I’ve embraced each chance I’ve had to wander these lands.

Each Tuesday morning, backpack packed and layered up, I leave home just before the sun is up and head west.  By the time I arrive at our agreed upon trailhead, morning has broken.  For absolutely no reason I can think of, after all this year hasn’t exactly blessed any of us with four-leafed clovers, Tuesdays have all dawned sunny and relatively warm.  When you live in part of the country where temperatures in the mid minus twenties are common, to be able to hike in December is not something to be taken lightly.  Week after week, my hiking partner, Brenda, and I, have been amazed that we have been able to continue our ritual. 

I love the physical challenge of the hikes.  I love the feeling of a sore, worn-out, well-used (all in a good way) body at the end of each hike.  I also love the feeling of peace that comes over me as we walk along.  Most often this season, our weekly hikes have been in the range of ten to thirteen kilometres.  They take a full morning to complete, as we climb on the outbound route and carefully descend on the return.  This past Tuesday, the morning was crisp but due to warm up.  Brenda and I arrived at one of the parking lots we have sometimes used.  It was Brenda’s week to choose the hike and she had a few for us to pick from.  She offered that we ‘just do nine or ten’ if that’s what I felt like.  Alternatively, she’d found one that looked to be about sixteen kilometres.  It didn’t take me long to sign up for the longer hike.  The more I have on my mind, the more miles I need to walk through it!

As we headed up the first trail, which would eventually meet with a second one, Brenda asked, “Are we nuts?”  Without a second’s hesitation, I replied, “No!”  And so, we marched on.  The question wasn’t without merit.  This was a long distance.  We had covered this length of hike before, but not in the winter, and not in snow covered conditions.  There were no tracks to follow, and the trail, while easy to follow in some places, was not marked at all in others.

The trail took us up over double the elevation we have been used to and we were both puffing as we climbed one hill after the other.  Three times Brenda asked, “Are we nuts?”  Three times came my easy, “No!”  It was only on the fourth time being questioned, that while I still gave my same, truthful, reply, did I start to wonder if we might be.  It was two o’clock and we still had at least seven kilometres to cover.  Dark comes early in Alberta.  We needed to be off the trail by around four o’clock.  It was completely doable, and neither of us were worried, but we had no window for dilly dallying, taking pictures, or for mis-reading our map.

Here is the truth.  Most people I know do think I’m nuts for doing things like this.  I don’t know anyone else who thinks this is fun.  Neither do I know anyone who thinks my biking trips with Rhonda sound like fun.  Sometimes people tell us to our faces, “You guys are nuts!”  Other times they smile and nod, and I’m sure later say to someone else, “They must be nuts!”

I got this same reaction when I was long distance running.  Most people think marathoners are nuts.  The same thoughts are had when I tell a group of young teenagers that they and I might be able to build some classrooms in Kenya.   I must be nuts.  When our dance group, in non-Covid years, dresses up in wacky costumes to perform for seniors, we get looks letting us know others think we are nuts.  But the seniors never do.  And we love being nuts together.

Finally, finally, I have hit a place in life when I’m really quite delighted with being nuts.  It’s a wonderful part of my life.  No life should be without some nuts.

When we are nuts, we are doing things that speak to our own souls.  These are things that matter to us individually.  Nuts things make us feel alive.  They are often a bit off the beaten path for others.  Nuts things are the things we will remember long into our twilight years.  I’m not concerned about being nuts, I’m worried I won’t have enough years left to do all the nuts things I want.

This Christmas will not look like any of the others we have had, nor will it feel normal.  I’m hoping despite that, we will find some ways to go nuts with those we love.  Our family can’t have Christmas dinner together like we had hoped, but we will figure out a way to somehow be connected on this special day.  I hope we can figure out something to do that will have others asking, “Are you nuts?”

May each of you too, find things to do that will have you asking yourselves, “Are we nuts?’

My inquiry for you this week is, “Are we nuts?”

Merry Christmas.
​
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 nuts in your workplace, in your home and in your heart.
 
 
 
 

It’s been a difficult Covid week in this province.  We all knew tougher restrictions were a possibility, perhaps even a necessity, but to hear them laid out, all at once, was overwhelming.    To face the stark reality that Jim and I will not be celebrating Christmas with any of our family is awful.  Up until Tuesday’s announcement, we’d be trying to think of inventive ways we might get together outdoors.

It's been almost fifteen years since both of our children have lived in this province and have been here for Christmas.  This was to be THE year.  The year we could all sit down together for Christmas dinner, at Greg and Cara’s newly renovated home, just enjoying each other’s company.  It’s not to be. 

When I wear my ‘big girl panties’, I know this is a very small deal.  I can list all the reasons why this is so, and why it must be so.   I can find endless examples of people who have endured many greater hardships.  But as my friend Sandy said, when their home was flooded in the big flood of 2013, ‘I know it’s just stuff, but it’s our stuff’. 

Exactly.

Why then I found myself chuckling when I pulled in to get gas this week remains a mystery.  I wasn’t in the giggling mood, and yet as I pulled alongside the self-serve gas pump, I was imagining myself rolling down my window and saying confidently, ‘Fill ‘er up, please!’   To be clear, there was no one there to fill ‘er up, I was after all, at the self-serve.  Secondly, I don’t think anyone says fill ‘er up anymore and yet I had the urge to say it.

I remember this expression from when I was a small girl.  I recall my father saying it.  I always thought it was a wonderful thing for someone to have the money and the confidence to exclaim such a thing.  I could only imagine the day when I would have enough of my own money, and a car, and would be able to do this myself.  I haven’t heard this expression in years.  But this week, just when I was feeling sorry for all of us, it arrived in my head where it has been rattling around for days.

As I drove along that day, I was listening to a newly released set of stories by Stuart McLean.  This Canadian treasure died several years ago.  Luckily for us, he lives on through the voice we still hear in his stories.  About two Christmases before he died, Jim and I had the delight of seeing, and more importantly, hearing him, in person in Calgary where he headlined a Christmas show.  I can still picture him walking onto the stage and hear the welcome of the crowd.  I am imagining him a few seconds before he took the stage, perhaps standing in the wings, perhaps running through a pre-show ritual, or perhaps saying to himself, “Ok Stuart.  Fill ‘er up.”  Fill up this auditorium with laughter and love.  Fill up these hearts with Christmas cheer.  Fill up each of us with the spirit of Christmas.

Since my little gas fill and drive, I’ve been thinking about this expression ‘Fill ‘er up’.  This is the same expression used when a person has an empty glass.  They set it down and exclaim, ‘Fill ‘er up!’  I’m noticing a lot of empty glasses these days.  Perhaps this might be the perfect season to start thinking about filling ‘er up.  This simple old expression just might be exactly what we need to quietly say to ourselves over and over this season, as we figure out unique ways to mark this special holiday, without any of our familiar special traditions. 

Perhaps just before we put our feet on the floor after waking each morning, we can remind ourselves to Fill ‘er Up.  Fill up the day before us with actions and words that honour the Christmas spirit.  Perhaps as we chit chat at a checkout we can think to ourselves, Fill ‘er Up.  Fill up the space, instead of with complaints, with a compliment or a thank you.  Maybe we can Fill ‘er Up by helping out a little cause we might normally hear about but get too busy to donate to.  We can Fill ‘er Up as we make calls to friends, filling their minds with something new to think about, or simply filling up some minutes of these dark December days. 

There are so many ways we can think of to Fill ‘er Up.  I know teachers have been figuring out ways to fill up their students these past months.   Yes, they have filled them with knowledge, and opportunities to learn, but they have also filled them with safety, with kindness, with reassurances, and with good memories.  Our essential workers in grocery and other stores have continued to fill all of us up.  They have filled us with the things we have needed, sometimes at great personal expense to them, to allow us to continue to have what we need.  Our health care workers continue to Fill ‘er Up.  I’m not sure how they continue to do this – I didn’t notice any of them filling up their own tanks when I was in the hospital recently.  And yet, they continue to fill up their patients.  They fill them using their competencies, their incredible skill and their compassion.  I was filled up in small ways, when nurses stopped by in the middle of the night to bring me a small glass of ginger ale, and to take me for a lap, so I could gain strength to go home.  There was no complaining on their end; there was a lot of filling up given to me.

As Christmas grows nearer and nearer, and our hopes of it being normal grow smaller and smaller, we can each find ways to Fill ‘er Up.  With small kindnesses, we can fill up not only those we live with and those we encounter, but we can also up fill up ourselves.  May we each have full hearts this season.
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My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How can I Fill ‘er Up?’

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 ‘Fill er Up’ in your workplace, in your home and in your heart.
 
 

Wow.  A month has flown by.  My surgery is behind me now and I’m feeling very grateful to have been able to have it when I did.  So easily it could have been postponed for months.  Many surgeries have had to be put off due to the pandemic.  Mine was not. 

It turns out my tumour had grown a little bit between the time it was first discovered in early September, and the time it was removed in early November.  The description given to us after the surgery was that it was the size of a tennis ball.  When I look at my neck, I can’t imagine where it was hiding. It was not really showing on the outside, so it’s no wonder it was pressing on some vital things on the inside, things like my trachea and esophagus.  The good news is that it no longer presses there, my trachea is no longer taking the scenic route to get air into my lungs and my breathing is much, much easier.  The not perfect news is that a year of coughing teaches the body about a new normal and my body isn’t quite ready to go back to what I thought my normal was.  I had a hint of my smell and taste returning for about ten days and then it suddenly disappeared again.  While I wasn’t thrilled with this, I was thrilled that I haven’t lost it for good.  We simply have to figure out the secret.  I know I have excellent health care workers helping me, and I’m confident this mystery has a good solution.

Meanwhile, I’m able to hike and do most of my regular things, and this week I’m allowed to get back on my bike, on the trainer in the basement. Sometimes I feel impatient with my progress. Mostly I feel grateful.

This past week I saw a tweet from Kelsie Snow.  Kelsie is a writer.  She also happens to be married to Chris Snow.  Chris, the assistant general manager to the Calgary Flames, was diagnosed with ALS in the summer of 2019.  At the time, he was given a grim prognosis, 6 – 18 months to live.  Over the past eighteen months Kelsie has written about Chris, about their family, about ALS, about the heartache and the victories.  I don’t know this family personally, but I have friends who do, and it is through them, I have been following Chris and Kelsie’s journey.

The tweet from Kelsie this past week was this.

Kelsie Snow
@kelsiewrites

Nov 25
@ChrisSnowYYC goes in for a feeding tube next week.  All the good thoughts and white light and prayers and whatever you believe in are welcome.  He’s able to eat some solid foods still, so long as he is careful, and so we are deep into Operation Eat What You Love While You Can.

This tweet really stopped my world for a minute.  I cannot imagine what this family is experiencing.  I cannot fathom the courage they have.  I cannot picture how they know how to put one foot in front of the other.  And yet, they do.

When I read about Operation Eat What You Love While You Can, I began to think of the rest of us, about the challenges each of us faces this year, whether as a result of the pandemic or as a result of walking the earth.  I have yet to meet anyone who travels a perfectly smooth road.  I suppose the word Operation struck a chord with me because of my surgery, but I’ve since begun to think of it in a whole new way.

When we use Operation in the way Kelsie Snow used it, we think of an organized and deliberate focus on a particular thing, by a number of people.  

As I think of possible restrictions coming our way, restrictions that will no doubt create a Christmas season unlike any other, I wonder what Operations we each need to establish.  Not all of them need to be serious, nor do they need to earn us a medal.   Do we need Operation Find the Joy in the Small Moments?  Operation Get Out in the Mountains and Hike? Operation Who Needs My Help?  Operation Keep the Faith?  Operation Show Kindness?  Operation Show Up?  Operation Different is OK? Or as little Ben loves to say, Operation We Can Do That!

I am trying to not get absolutely paralyzed knowing things will be very different this year. This week I successfully carried out two operations: Operation Finish the Toques for the Christmas Tree Hunt, and Operation Enjoy Our Family on Our Tree Hunting Expedition.  I’m trying to look outward, to see where I can help, to think of how to make this a Christmas worthy of looking back on with love and happy memories.  I’m trying to remember there are some people out there who find themselves in boats in far, far rougher seas than is mine.  For them may we all offer Operation Good Thoughts, White Light, and Prayers.  And perhaps even some practical help.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What Operation is needed?’
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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 carry out successful Operations.
 
 

This will be my last blog for a few weeks.  I’m taking some time off as I anticipate the recovery of my upcoming surgery.  Fingers crossed there are no more surgical cancellations in the city.

Over the past many months, I’ve been wrestling with what seemed to be a persistent sinus/lung infection combo, and an endless cough.  Endless.  After rounds of antibiotics and several Covid tests, just to be sure, no relief was found, so some imaging was ordered.

A couple of ultrasounds and a CT scan later, the culprit was revealed.  It turns out the cough was not ever going to be squelched by antibiotics.  Instead, it turned out to be a by-product of a rather sizeable tumour on my thyroid gland, just at the base of my neck.  To complicate matters, instead of pushing outward and causing a large visible bump on my neck, the tumour grew inward, pressing on my trachea, eventually pushing it to the left and causing compression.  At the end of August, the airway had a thirty-five percent reduction in space available for breathing.  Since then it has grown slightly and I suspect if we did a new CT scan, we’d find it is more than thirty-five percent compressed now.

There is good news in all of this.  For starters, I was immediately sent for a biopsy.  The very kind pathologist who performed it, had my results to my doctor in less than twenty-four hours.  My windpipe may not have expanded during that time, but I was able to breathe a HUGE sigh of relief when the results revealed a non-cancerous tumour.

Another bit of good new is that it felt so good to find out I hadn’t been losing my mind.  All those months with symptoms that weren’t responding to ‘regular’ protocols had me wondering.  I knew something was wrong.  I’d classify myself as a well-behaved patient, but all my behaving with antibiotics, nasal rinses, steroid mists, allergy tests, asthma tests, pulmonary functioning tests, acupuncture, dental xrays and herbal teas had failed.  As I was biking in the summer, I climbed one particularly tough hill three separate times; once early in July, once at the end of July and once in mid-August.  In early July I climbed it with a normal amount of difficulty – it’s a tough hill.  At the end of July, I really struggled and had to stop at the top.  Two weeks later while climbing it, I experienced ‘striders’ on the climb.  I now know this frightening high-pitched sound and accompanying awful feeling of breathlessness is a sure indicator of an airway obstruction.  At the time I had no idea; I just knew something was wrong.

Needless to say, the difficulty breathing is a problem; the tumour needs to come out. If all goes according to plan, and Covid cases don’t overwhelm the hospitals, I’ll have my hemi-thyroidectomy and tumour-removal surgery next week.  I am not looking forward to it, but I am looking 100% forward to feeling more like myself again.

When the results of the CT scan showed the thirty-five percent blockage of the airway, it made it really, really easy for me to picture exactly what was going on inside me.  Since then, I’ve been playing with the notion of how valuable it would be if other things in my life came with percentages. 

For instance, how would it be if we could get a clear idea, in percent form, how we are impacting others and what impact others are having on our life.  Do they make life twenty percent better, or sixty percent worse?  What if we received some private message telling us we were only paying forty-five percent attention to important people in our lives when they were talking to us?  Or if we were putting eighty percent effort into a workplace that was only returning twenty percent appreciation? What if we recognized we have one-hundred percent compassion for others but only fifty percent for ourselves?  Or if it was revealed we spend seventy percent of our energy thinking about how we will improve, but only fifteen percent actually making those improvements?  I’m imagining what it could be like if I could see I was eighty percent happy, or eighty-five percent stressed or ten percent discouraged.

I love numbers.  I find them comforting.  They give me a place to operate from.  When I know the number, I have the sense I can get some control over it.  I think this has been shown to be true in health care.  When patients’ hearts are beating quickly, they can bring their heartrate down by seeing the number and regulating their own breathing.  That’s powerful knowledge. 

Over the past months, I’ve been putting focus on the numbers in my life.  I’m really just making them up, but I suspect I’m not far off.  As I’m talking on the phone, I notice my ‘attention’ number.  Just noticing it gives me the opportunity to choose to change it.  Same with my ‘kindness’ number, my ‘thoughtfulness’ number, my ‘integrity’ number, my ‘family’ number, and my ‘I need to give myself some slack’ number.

Next week, competent doctors will be watching my numbers for me.  Once they are finished their part, I’m going to continue to watch my numbers.  I want my ‘attention to healing’ number to be very high.  I’ve already stocked up on some nice, quiet projects that will help me enjoy my down-time.  And I can’t find much wrong with trying to ‘up’ my ‘ice-cream eating’ number too.

I’m not sure exactly how long I’ll be away from this blog. I suspect for at least a month. I’m trying put my ‘let’s see how I feel’ number to good use here. 

In the meantime, hopefully you too, will find some time to enjoy watching your numbers and figuring out how to balance them in the best way for you.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What’s my number?’

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 the numbers you want for success.

One evening this past week, in a feeble attempt to avoid the ice cream calling my name, I filled a little bowl with some ‘colourful crackers’, as Ben calls them.  They are in fact, those little goldfish crackers. I buy the coloured ones because they seem more interesting.  As I sat in my chair, watching television and munching away, I found myself sorting through the crackers as I ate.  The yellow ones first, then the red, followed by the green. When I only had my most favourite ones left, the orange cheddar cheese ones, I started to chuckle to myself.  After all my careful sorting and eating in order, I couldn’t tell any difference at all between the tastes of the colours.  Had I been blindfolded, I wouldn’t have had a clue.  The truth of the matter is this.  I lost my sense of taste and smell almost four months ago.  Completely.

Not to panic.  This is not Covid.  And hopefully with the help of a good specialist this problem will have a resolution.   In the meantime, my favourite flavour is cold.  This I can discern.  Hence my tendency toward ice cream. 

I miss these two senses a lot.  I feel disarmed without them.  There are so many instances where I would have used my sense of taste or smell to guide me and I find myself less confident without them.  I cook familiar recipes because I can’t figure out if a new one tastes good enough to serve.  I double check that I’ve turned off things, and I set a timer when things are cooking because even smoke from this summer’s forest fires did not register with me.  It’s a small inconvenience compared to what many have to endure, yet I miss it just the same.

So many of our memories and feelings are connected to familiar tastes and smells; the smell of Fall, the taste of Christmas dinner, the smell of our grandmother’s house.  One of our son’s friends told me recently he remembered me ‘always’ making Sloppy Joes when he came over to play with Greg.  I had no recollection of this.   Sloppy Joes are not in my repertoire of things to cook, and yet, I must have made them a couple of times many years ago, for two hard-playing, fort-building boys.  He told me when he smells them, he thinks of the times he spent at our home.

A few weeks ago, I spent part of an afternoon with some of my favourite young women.  These girls and I go back a long way; back to the very early days of the creation of our project in Africa.  They were barely teenagers then, yet they propelled our project forward better than most adults could have.  Now accomplished adults, they continue to feel drawn to the project.  Their current contribution is finding ways to connect with the young girls in the school we founded, and to encourage them in self-confidence, in education, in celebrating being female, and in seeking opportunities that will lead them to the fulfillment of their dreams.

When we meet, we always spend a bit of time catching up on each others lives.  One of the girls was telling us about recent developments in her family.  Her parents, empty-nesters, decided to adopt a child.  About a year ago, they adopted a little boy, who is now about seven or eight years old.  Suffice it to say, that young boy, like so many children in foster care, did not arrive at their home by way of the Highway of Ease.  They have spent a challenging year trying to win his trust, helping figure out and resolve some of his challenges, and remaining steadfast in their love, even as he regularly tests their commitment.  The girl sharing the story told us of the following scene that unfolded at their dinner table one night.

The mother had made rice pudding for dessert.  It was the first time she had made it since the young boy had been adopted.  No one thought anything of it.  The little boy tasted it and burst into tears.  The mom, surprised, wondered what was wrong, and she asked the little boy if he could tell her. 


He asked, ‘What is this?’ 

‘Rice pudding’, she replied, unable to imagine how it was causing his anguish. 

‘This smells like my grandma’, he said.  ‘I’ve been searching my whole life for this smell.’

It turns out, his grandmother, who he was once close to, used to make rice pudding for him.  He had been missing this taste.  The taste of her love.

I’ve had this story on my mind regularly since the day we sat on our deck and heard it.  I had tears in my eyes then, as I do often when I think of it.  Most of us will never know this little boy’s longing for the taste of love.  Most of us, are fortunate to have bits of our history available to us.  Most of us taste love regularly.

In this time of the Covid pandemic, each of us needs just a bit more taste of love, and each of us has the capacity to provide it for others.  It does not need to be in the form of food.  These days, in my world, food cannot give me the taste of love.  I get my tastes of love from walks in the mountains with friends, from smiles and phone calls, from texts from my sisters and brothers, from visits with our children, from Zoom dancing lessons and book club, from outdoor picnics, and from secret handshakes with Ben. 

It doesn’t take much to create the taste of love.  I hope your upcoming week is filled with its flavour.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What taste of love can I give?’
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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 add the taste of love to your life and work.