This week I attended the funeral of my friends’ father, Giovanni, or Papa as we all called him.  To be in a church, together with so many treasured faces, masked though we were, reminded me of how much I have to be thankful for.  It was a day for thanks.  Thanks for the life of this cherished man, adored by his girls, thanks for the ability to stand together and bear witness to this love, and thanks for the lesson about the gift of loving someone so much their loss feels unbearable.

During the eulogy, Reba J, one of Papa’s two daughters, told many stories about her precious father.  She brought his memory alive as she described how he knew everyone in the stores where he most enjoyed shopping, how he liked to be called Johnny Cash because he only used cash, how as a first-generation immigrant to Canada he proudly worked to support his family and how, whenever anyone was in need, he would immediately drop what he was doing and go to their aid.  When asked why he would do this he would simply reply, ‘You gotta help people’.

What a philosophy for life.

After the service, later in the day, I reflected on my own upbringing.  I don’t remember ever hearing the words, ‘You gotta help people’, but I did see them in action, daily.  We lived on a farm and in the summer months it was ‘all hands, on deck’.  My brothers had a market gardening business, taking fresh vegetables to three different outdoor markets each week.  All of us worked in the fields planting, weeding, and picking that beautiful produce. 

We had a neighbour, Mr. Dwyer, from whom Dad rented extra farmland, the back field, for us to use for growing the vegetables. When we talked about working ‘down in the back’, we all knew that meant we’d be spending the day on this rented land.  We also knew it meant we might have a visit from Mr. Dwyer.  The sound of his tractor always arrived before he did.  He had an ancient, sputtery tractor that he’d coax up the rocky hill as he came to visit us while we worked.  When one of us would hear that tractor, they’d sound the warning.  ‘Here comes Mr. Dwyer’. We were afraid of him.

His wild looks were like something out of a movie; hair unwashed and in need of a cut, old dirty jeans often held up by a long belt but sometimes by bailer twine, and worn-out boots, the kind you picture on a soldier.  That alone should have been enough to frighten us.  But then he’d hop off his tractor, come right up to us and start to tell us his ‘stories’.  Stories of how he’d get into bar fights, and ‘get ‘em in a headlock’.  He’d demonstrate using one arm to show how he’d hold someone and then hold up two fingers from the other hand as if he was going to poke his victim in the eyes.  Sure enough, he'd tell us with his loud, raspy voice, ‘I’d poke ‘im in the eye!’

We were terrified (and fascinated) and we knew we were always to be respectful.  We also knew we were supposed to be working, but Mr. Dwyer commanded our attention and we trusted Dad would understand.  Dad reassured us Mr. Dwyer wouldn’t hurt us.  As kids, although we fully understood his behaviour was not necessarily in his control, we didn’t have the vocabulary to accurately describe it.  As adults we understood that he must have been suffering greatly from mental illness. 

Every time there was a special occasion, like Christmas or Thanksgiving, we had a big beautiful healthy meal in our home.  The table was filled with all our own vegetables, and most often there was home- raised meat, or fresh turkey from a neighbour, in the oven.  On every special occasion, and on many regular Sundays, once our meal was fully prepared and ready to be served, Dad would ask for an extra plate.  He’d fill it, heaping full.  ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes’, he would say.  I’ll just take this around to Mr. Dwyer.  We would wait the fifteen or so minutes this little trip would take, then sit down to eat together. 

Dad never made a big deal about his trips to Mr. Dwyers house.  Sometimes he'd fill us in on what he had seen; newspapers and other old junk piled high to the ceiling, with only a pathway to the table. We knew Mr. Dwyer didn’t wash his plate, but just put in the fridge until the next meal when he would use it again.  We were enthralled with these tidbits of insight.  I suspect Dad spared us from many of the other things he saw.

We knew Dad did other kindnesses for Mr. Dwyer too.  He always had time to help him with machinery and in his old barn, and he spent hours and hours listening to Mr. Dwyers’ stories.  He often took packages, gifts, over there that we never asked about.  Dad didn’t like to make a big deal about what he did.  Mr. Dwyer thought Dad was a saint. St. Murray, he called him.  But saint or not, those times spent with Mr. Dwyer couldn’t have been easy for Dad.  Mr. Dwyer was a challenging man.  Most of the neighbours steered clear of him and encouraged Dad to do the same.  And yet, Dad happily carried on his rituals of helping his neighbour for as long as Mr. Dwyer lived. If we’d asked my dad why he did it, Dad would have raised his shoulders and held his hands out, palms up, with a little smile on his face and a hint of a tear in his eyes. 

‘You gotta help people’, he might have said.

This week we are witnessing atrocities in Ukraine, unlike anything any of us could have envisioned.  The people of Ukraine are modeling bravery and showing both strength and love as they do what they must to protect themselves and their country.  Much of the rest of the world, despite the complexities of politics that seem to muddy all waters of common sense, are sending help in whatever form they can.  The rest of us, feeling powerless and heartbroken, don’t have a clear vision for how we might help. We can’t provide food or shelter or refuge.  I’ve heard about a local store, Calgary’s European Deli and Produce Market, who are donating half of their Saturday sales to the relief effort.  I don’t really need anything from this store, but you can be sure I’ll be stopping by to donate money.

You gotta help people.

As the crisis in Ukraine unfolds, most of us will continue our lives with the most minimal disruption.  And yet, around us, in our neighbourhoods, in our families, in our friends’ lives, in our workplaces, and at our dance studios, people will continue to face their own challenges.  May we not spend too much time pondering what we might do, and rather simply put ourselves into some kind of action.  After all, as Papa taught his girls, and as my father modeled for us,

You gotta help people.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘Who needs my help?’
​
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 expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to learn how helping others helps us all.
 
 

My sewing machine has been calling out to me lately.  First ever so softly I could still walk past it without being drawn in, but still, I could hear it whispering to me.  Then, as my mind is want to do, I started thinking about the design I’m hoping create.  Suddenly, I didn’t want to be able to hear my machine calling my name. 

I like many kinds of quilting, but the ones that bring me most satisfaction are the ones I create on my own.  The trouble is, I still don’t have great confidence in the ‘creating’ part.  All my life, having been labeled practical, responsible, mature, and reliable, I’ve found myself living into these qualities.  I happen to like them, they’ve served me well, and no one I’ve worked with has ever complained about my lack of focus!  At the same time, they don’t exactly pave the way for noticing my creativity, whimsy, artistry, imagination, and invention. 

Needless to say, at this, the design stage of the quilting process, I have this internal struggle with allowing these other attributes of mine to rise to the surface.  The problem is, while I want to be creative, I also love to finish things.  I love being efficient.  I love to get things done.  This week, I finally put pencil to paper.  I have an old photograph I want to use as the anchor for this piece.  I’ll alter it a bit and then build the quilt around it.  Since it’s a surprise for someone, I’ll save the reveal for later.

Did I mention I have no background in art or design?  In my family, art was an excess.   It was thought to be sort of frivolous.  And yet, while it was never overtly praised or given great attention, thinking back we were exposed to many small snippets of beautiful art forms, and we were exposed to people, some close relatives, who made art a great part of their life.  So, it’s not really a surprise that while I have this push pull effect, the older I get, the braver I become at accepting the pull. 

One thing I notice as I design, is I might not know exactly why something doesn’t work, but my brain certainly recognizes when a thing is not right.  It turns out, our brains are wired for efficiency, not quality.  In other words, our brains want things to be easy.  When our eye sees something, if our brain has to scramble around trying to make sense of it, we easily turn away or lose interest.  This is why fashion models are chosen for their symmetry.  Our eyes, and our brains, relax and feel pleasure when viewing them.  If faces are complex, or asymmetrical, our brains are set in motion.  This is far less relaxing and so we perceive them to be less appealing.

My creative process has always been to do a lot of thinking as I prepare.  This is true whether I am creating a new workshop, or planning a special meal, or purchasing a gift, or designing a quilt.  I always follow a similar pattern.  I spend time researching.  I think for a while, often days.  Then I go back to the research and refine it.  Then more thinking.  Finally, I put pen to paper, followed by standing back to see my design, followed by editing until my mind feels relaxed. Once I have this feeling, I easily move forward toward the execution.  Alas, this does not always fit comfortably with my value of efficiency.

I imagine the reason I’m being drawn to quilting right now is because I’m in the middle of creating a new workshop.  When I step away from creating at my computer, I let the thoughts of the workshop pieces wiggle themselves into place as I put the energy of my mind into creating the design of the quilt.  It may not be that efficient, but I hope to produce quality projects on both fronts.

While it’s good to recognize that quilts need to ‘look right’ for admirers to stop and really enjoy them, we should not use this as a template for all the bits of our lives.  It is true that our brains prefer, and choose, efficiency over quality.  In no way does this mean we should allow them to always choose efficiency.  Efficiency often means familiar.  It means we can get where we are going quickly.  It means following a habitual path leading us absolutely, nowhere new. 

Efficiency is great when we are making a bed.  Or writing a weekly report.  Or driving to our local grocery store.  But it is dangerous when this is the tool we use for thinking.  Efficient thinking means we choose not to challenge our thoughts, and beliefs.  And being efficient is almost always the wrong tool to grab when we want to live an interesting life.  My brother and I laugh at ourselves regularly when we head out on an adventure.  We usually know our starting and finishing point, and we both feel wonderful about getting from A to B most efficiently.  Over the years, we’ve learned to put a circuit breaker in our planning.  We’ve even efficiently planned to be inefficient by choosing to stop ‘x’ times along the way for pictures.  Or for saying, with big grins on our faces as we recognize our tendency for efficiency, ‘Let’s get this thing done!’

I want to be efficient as I create this quilt.  I don’t want to waste fabric.  If I happen to have some leftover fabric from another project that could fit, I’d like to use it.  But what a shame it would be, if having sewn the last stitch, I looked down to see that in my efficiency, I had created the identical thing I have created before.

And what a shame it will be, if we let ten more days, or weeks, or months, or years, go by and we look back to see we have run the same circuit over and over again, seeing the same sights, and patting ourselves on our backs for our efficiency, for ‘Getting this thing done.’

May your upcoming week be filled with the joys of inefficiencies!

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What inefficiency could improve this?’
​
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 expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to embrace inefficiency.

This is a special weekend.  It’s the 25th Annual Great Backyard Bird Count.  Yup.  You heard it here first.  It started on Friday and ends at midnight Monday.  The idea is to take a chunk of time each day, fifteen minutes or more is required, and record as many different species of birds as you see.  The whole event is designed to get people out into nature, noticing birds and appreciating their uniqueness and their contributions to our ecosystem. 

My challenge is, while I do love to see beautiful birds in the wild, I’m not the best bird identifier.  I appreciate birds, but I’m not passionate about them.   Jim on the other hand is as proud as a gold medal winner at the Olympics after spotting the rare, but lovely, Canvasback duck in our local park.

Nevertheless, my plan was to suggest we join in on the bird count event this weekend, partaking in something Jim would love, and trying to hold my weight in the recognizing department.  As I thought about this weekend and the planned event, I found myself hard pressed to figure out where we might go.  After all, if we are going to do this, we might as well try to be as successful as we can.  I know there is the gorgeous Inglewood Bird Sanctuary in the city, and of course I’ve seen several pretty birds on hikes I’ve done.  I realized as I strained my brain to think of a good place, the reason I was struggling is because often when I am out walking or hiking or camping, I don’t really spend a lot of time thinking about birds.  I hear them in the spring and rejoice in the fact that their songs herald the end of the coldest days.  I can recognize the song of the Black Capped Chickadee and notice the beauty of the Red Winged Blackbird, but I freely admit, aside from the most common of our aviary friends, under pressure I don’t think I could separate a Northern Flicker from a Gila Woodpecker.

Jim on the other hand, recognizes birds not only by their look, but by their song.  When we are walking along, he’ll often stop and ask,

‘Did you hear that?  It’s a ……’ 

‘Where?’, I respond. 

‘I can’t see it yet, but I hear it’s song.’

In the way I recognize the first few bars of a James Taylor ballad with great accuracy, Jim does the same with birdsong.
I’ve been trying to make the most of my recognizing skills lately.  Not so much to identify bird or James Taylor songs, but simply to recognize moments of possibility that arise in my days.  Jim’s brother, John, is celebrating a significant birthday this weekend, and Jim and I were talking about how quickly time passes us by.  We breeze through life assuming we have all the time in the world.  The windows of opportunity appear wide open.  Then we blink and open our eyes only to see those wide-open windows closing.  We wonder if we, in our complacency, forgot to recognize opportunities that might have enriched our lives.  We also recognize that sometimes we did recognize the opportunities but didn’t seize them.

Each day, we have the chance to recognize opportunities.  Some days, rare days, these are big opportunities, kind of like spotting a Greater Sage-Grouse, the rarest nesting bird in Alberta.  These opportunities, because they are so unique, are easy to spot but not always easy to act upon.  We can easily allow fear, or bad timing, or all sorts of internal dialogue to prevent us from seizing these moments.  But every single day, we have smaller, regular, Black-Capped Chickadee moments.  They are almost always sitting, just waiting for us to notice their understated beauty and their familiar song.  When we slow down and notice them, we give ourselves the chance to seize the moment they offer.  In the case of birdwatching, the moment is simply in the observation, in the recognizing and in the gratitude.  In life, the moments come in so many forms, we should set aside a weekend, perhaps the Annual Great Regular Life Opportunity Count, just to notice them all.

On Wednesday, Ben spent the day here.  Late in the afternoon, he decided to take a ride on his motorcycle.  It’s a plastic yellow, not particularly fancy, little vehicle.  Using his imagination, he explained to me that his motorcycle, a 1968 model he said, was getting old and he was going to get a new one at the motorcycle store.  He offered to sell me the 1968 model, which of course I was delighted to get, and he went off to buy a new one.  Once the purchase was made (in the dining room) he asked if I’d like to go for a ride.  Having spent some time thinking about recognizing opportunities, I didn’t need to be asked twice.  I got out two Tupperware bowls to use as helmets and off we went.  The whole event lasted only about fifteen minutes in real time.  I suspect it will have a much longer memory life.

We’ve been trying to spot a Snowy Owl for a couple of months.  We’ve been skunked on three driving trips on the prairie to see one.  It’s possible this could be our lucky weekend.  If not, I hope we’re smart enough to recognize and seize the other opportunities we stumble across on our adventure.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What is the opportunity?’
​
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 expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to notice and seize everyday opportunities.

I’ve been able to watch some of the Olympic Games this week.  This is always such a treat for me.  I absolutely love to see these athletes, at their peak of fitness, representing their countries, competing in a sport they love.  I love to hear their back stories, sometimes about obstacles they have had to overcome and to hear about their methods for doing so.  Secretly, I dream there is still hope for me.  Hope I’ll become my best.

As with everyone, I love some sports more than others.  I do, however, try to appreciate all of them.  I kind of long for the days when one or the other major television stations carried the exclusive coverage.  We knew we just had to turn on the television and we’d see everything there was to see.  These days there are many stations carrying the games and it’s a bit of an Olympian feat of its own to figure out where to go to watch.  So far, I’m not medalling in this! The downside of so many channels is that in choosing, it’s easy to skip past unfamiliar sports, never broadening our interest or knowledge.

The other evening, I watched the Women’s Halfpipe.  This isn’t a sport I am familiar with, it’s not a sport I dream of doing, nor is it a sport that when I watch it, I think, ‘Oh, I could do that!’.  This one must take veins of ice.  These young women stand at the top, on their snowboards, slightly to the side of the pipe and then up and over the edge they go.  This is the part I could never get past.  The part when they stand on that edge, unsatisfied, and somehow ready.

A couple of weeks ago I was looking for a document.  I thought it might be in my cedar chest so I dared to open it, knowing it always produces treasures I haven’t thought about for a long time and knowing this might not be a short ‘look’.  This time did not disappoint.  I didn’t find what I was looking for, instead I found something I didn’t even know existed. 

I found a hand-written yearbook from my Grade 8 year.  This was a graduation year for me since in Ontario, high school started in grade nine.  I didn’t attend this celebration since my family was making an early start on our drive to the East Coast to see our cousins. Luckily for me, someone noticed I was absent, got a copy of our yearbook and mailed it to me.  I don’t remember ever seeing it at that time and I have never given it a moments’ thought since then. 

This yearbook was published long before there were photocopiers in schools, and long before there was a way to economically include photos.  The entire book, all 30 plus pages were hand-written.  Hand-written!  They were run off on a gestetner machine (the ones with the barrel, the blue ink from the carbon paper and the crank handle) and stapled together by hand. Of course, it was packed full of memories, of names of classmates I’ve almost, but not quite, forgotten, and of pages that take me right back in time.  Back a half of a century.

The very first page of the book was a message to us, the graduating class, from our principal, Sister Conception.  Yes, you can read that again.  Our principal was a nun, and her name really was Sister Conception.  At that time, I assumed she was a well-aged teacher.  It turns out she would have been in her mid-thirties at the time I graduated.  Her message stunned me.

I don’t know quite what I was expecting.  Perhaps something religious.  Perhaps something reflective of the times.  Perhaps something that had outdated itself. It was none of these.

Sister Conception’s message was so stunning because it was so forward thinking.  It would be forward thinking today, in 2022.  She wished for us, she called it a strange wish, that we would always ‘stand on the edge, unsatisfied’.  She wrote, ‘I hope you will continue to educate yourselves, to search for meaning in human history, to go one step beyond fascination and creativity, to succeed where all the odds are against you.’  She said, ‘You are the most human when you are standing on the edge, unsatisfied.’

I tucked my handwritten yearbook back into its old brown envelope and returned it to the cedar chest, but not before making a copy of Sister Conceptions one page address.  I’ve put it in plain sight in my office. 

We take for granted that our Canadian athletes are prepared to do their best.  But becoming ones best is not easy.  It sounds so simple.  Just do your best, a parent might say to a child as they are trying out for a team or heading into an exam.  Just do your best, we Canadians might say to our athletes, assuming they have put in the hard work, and now they simply must write the final sentence of their Olympic journey.   But this idea of becoming our best, not just doing our best, intrigues me.  It forces me to recognize that there is never going to be a moment when I can say, ‘There, I am my best.’  It encourages me to grant grace to myself and to others, for if we challenge ourselves to ‘stand on the edge, unsatisfied’ it indicates we acknowledge we are putting ourselves on the path to ‘best’, all the while knowing it is not a destination where our life train will ever stop.

There are so many lessons we can take from Olympians.  This week, I wish they could hear the words of Sister Conception.  I wish they could know we see them, standing on the edge, unsatisfied, and know that we have deep admiration for their courage and daring to stand there.  Perhaps this is the very reason they resonate with us.  Perhaps Sister Conception was exactly right when she said we are most human when we stand on the edge, unsatisfied.  Perhaps this is what allows us to relate to these Olympians even though most of us will never become one.  Each of us though, can stand on an edge in our own life and dare to become.  To become more, to become something we are not quite, to become closer to what we secretly dream.  To understand that it is okay to not have arrived, and even when we think we have arrived, to celebrate with great joy, and then notice the next edge awaiting us.

Go Canada Go!

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘On what edge are you standing, unsatisfied?’
​
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 expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to stand on the edge, unsatisfied.
 
 
 

I’m weary this week. Not tired, not needing sleep, not worn out, just weary.  This will not be a news flash to any living person.  From what I can tell, we are all weary.  When I feel this way, it helps me tremendously to find little things to celebrate or to think about.  Once I remember to look, I usually notice little things everywhere.

Last week, the weather warmed up for a couple of days and one of those warm days happened to be when Ben was here, so he and I decided to head out to see Shirley.  Our friend, Shirley is a retired teacher.  She and I taught together for my whole career. She lives on a beautiful farm not far from where our children grew up.  I’ve been taking Ben to visit Shirley since he was able to walk.  With his fascination of all things with wheels, her farm is a perfect place to explore.  Although Shirley doesn’t farm the land herself anymore, she has a wonderful team who rents it and keeps it operating.  There is always something exciting to see when we go. 

Each time we wander out to the workshop to ‘see the guys’, we walk up the lane, past the few cows and a couple of barns.  Shirley pointed out the little modification the guys made in the fence that lines the drive.  Where there once was a corner, there is now a diagonal piece of fencing.  It doesn’t sound like much of a change.  I might not have noticed it right away if it hadn’t been pointed out to me.  But this little change opened up the corner dramatically and has made it so much easier for big rig trucks and huge farm equipment to navigate as they enter the busy farmyard.  Shirley is thrilled with this change.  For years and years (and years), this corner was a tough one to manage. With some ingenuity on the part of the ‘guys’ it has taken the stress out of maneuvering around. 

While the actual physical fence is lovely and very well built, what has impressed me even more is Shirley’s appreciation of it.  This is one of those things that could so easily be looked at once, admired and then simply incorporated into the daily landscape.  Shirley has not allowed this to happen.  She understands its value, acknowledges, and admires it each time she passes by.  She has taken a little thing, stopped long enough to really see it, and has chosen to appreciate it every single day.

Oh, such a little thing.

Last month we celebrated Ben’s birthday via Zoom.  We had planned for a little outdoor skating party but a stomach bug the day before the big event caused a re-plan and we ended up on Zoom.  Incredibly, this was exactly what Ben wanted.  I have to remember that last year Ben had his party on Zoom, and he isn’t old enough to have experienced any other kind of party.  It makes sense this is a good memory for him, and he would want to repeat it.  The wonderful thing is we were able to have some people there who could never have been there for the in-person skating party: his Grammie and Grampy, his great Grandma and his great Aunt and Uncle.  Great Grandma, Jim’s mom, who is 92, shone a light on the importance of little things that day.  As we sat in front of our screens enjoying Ben’s joy as he opened Lego sets and other wheeled objects he’d been eyeing, Great Grandma said, ‘I just can’t believe I can do this.  I never would have believed we could all be together for this.  And able to see each other.  It’s miraculous.’ 

I’ll admit, it took me a moment to really process what she said.  After all, I, like so many others have been Zoomed and Zoomed and Zoomed.  We’re weary.  It’s not ideal.  And yet, through her eyes, it somehow revealed its magic.  The ‘party’, the forty-minute party, which once felt like second best, suddenly became a gift to all of us.  We were lucky to have paused long enough to have her remind us of this wonder we have come to take for granted.

Oh, such a little thing.

Our little Andy, now learning to really crawl, has, in the last couple of weeks spent hours mastering the stairs.  Up only.  He has worked hard at this and is thrilled with himself.  He’s also increasing the number of sounds he can make.  For now, his favourite one is saying, ‘Oooohhhh’, when we point out something to him.  He molds his mouth into a perfect oval and really creates a dramatic effect.  We of course, all turn our mouths into ovals and ‘Oooohhhh’ right back at him.  I was delighting in these little exchanges, and also at myself for taking time to really appreciate such small moments when Ben shared his interpretation of the ‘Oooohhh’ with me.  As Ben and I were getting ready to drive to his house after our day together this week, he told me Andy likes to say, ‘Oooohhh’.  I can’t remember exactly what I said, but I do know exactly what Ben said next.  He said, ‘When Andy is saying Oooohhh, I think he is really saying ‘I love you, Ben’.
​
Oooohhh, such a little thing.

As we slog through these last weeks of winter, which in Alberta could turn into months, and through the final weeks of this fifth wave of Covid, may we each take time to notice the little things.  The ones that can, if we only stop to witness them in their true beauty, make us purse our mouths in just the most precious way and exclaim, ‘Oooohhhh!’  They change everything.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘Where is the Oooohhhh in this moment?’
​
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 expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to notice and appreciate the little things.
 
 

A couple of weeks ago I had a good look around the house and decided a few things needed an update or change.  The table lamps we have in our living room would fall into this category.  I visited a reputable home interior website and picked out lamps I thought would look good.  Jim agreed and we ordered them.  We were advised they could take three to four weeks to arrive, so I was delighted on Wednesday when they arrived on my front step less than two weeks after I had placed the order.

When I brought the boxes inside, I was a bit puzzled as to why they might be different sizes but then, as one does in the absence of facts, I made up the story that they had likely put the shades in one box and the two bases in the other.  My success with making up my own facts worked about as well for me as it does for anyone. 

When we opened the larger box, expecting to find the bases, we found instead, four boxes each containing a two-drawer wire mesh storage unit.  Four of them! I was baffled and wondered if I had perhaps ordered them in error.  I couldn’t imagine how I had done this since I hadn’t even browsed past these in my search for lamps.  When we opened the second box, we found one of the chosen lamps.  Unfortunately, it had a damaged lamp shade.  In addition, when we took it into the living room, the base was much greener than the advertised grey.  Disappointed, we got to work repackaging everything to send back. 

I’ve only ever had to return one item that I had previously ordered.  It was an office chair that just didn’t fit me well, and in that case, I was emailed a return label to affix to the package, and my money was returned to the credit card I had used.  I assumed this would be the case with the lamp and non-lamp. 

I went online to my original order and was relieved to see that at least the ordering had been correct on my end.  I had, in fact, ordered two identical lamps.  I clicked through the process to return the items and realized I’d need to do the process twice, since I wasn’t really returning two lamps.  I started with the wire drawer boxes, clicked on ‘wrong item sent’ and then followed the prompt.  I got an immediate response saying my money had been refunded, but to a card I did not recognize!  In addition, there was no label sent to return these drawers. 

Undaunted, I tried to return the second item.  This time the clicking was easy but there was no money refunded nor was there a return shipping label.

Huh.

I looked up the contact number and gave it a try, fully expecting to get a message telling me to call back during business hours and was delighted when a pleasant-sounding woman answered.  She thoughtfully listened, then looked up my order.  She could see one lamp was still en route but could not explain the mystery storage-drawer boxes.  I told her the refund for it had been put on a credit card I don’t own and that I didn’t have a refund label.  I know the refund couldn’t have gone to the person who really did order it because there was no product number on the box that I could use to help her identify the order.  At any rate, at this point I simply wanted to return the items, one that I had not paid for and was not mine, and the other the damaged lamp.

She dealt with the drawers first and told me in cases like this they don’t want the customer to return the items.  She asked me to ‘please dispose of them’.  I had her repeat this several times.  Please dispose of them?  Yes, that was the policy.

Continuing to the lamp, she asked for a picture of the damaged shade.  We re-opened our nicely taped up box, removed the shade, took a picture, and sent it to her.  She could easily see the problem and said the money would be refunded.  I asked if she would send a label so we could return the lamp which, other than the shade, was in perfect condition.  Again, she asked us to ‘please dispose of it’.

I then asked if we could stop the other lamp from arriving since we now knew the colour was wrong and we would just have to send it back. Unfortunately, she said, it had already been processed so it could not be stopped.  It will be delivered in about ten days.  I’m just hoping it too is not damaged or we will be instructed, yet again, to ‘please dispose of it.’

I’m trying to think like this big corporation.  I’m picturing it takes a lot of effort to have an item returned, check it to verify it’s in good condition, and restock in one of many huge warehouses.  I can only guess they don’t think it’s worth the effort.  Literally throwing things away is more efficient.  Try as I might, I can’t square this one with how I operate.  It seems so wrong.

As the week went on, I pondered this, thinking of what else we squander without a thought.  I wasn’t thinking of ‘things’ so much as relationships and opportunities and talents and moments.  We all, every one of us, has passed by the chance to make someone’s day a bit brighter.  I think I’d be right to say many of us have taken at least one relationship for granted and disposed of opportunities to strengthen it.  Each of us has been satisfied with good enough, when in fact we had the capacity for excellence.  I’ll bet almost every one of us has a talent we simply take for granted.  And all of us have likely disposed of a chance to make a memory.

The cost of the things I have been asked to dispose of by this large company is close to $800.  Eight hundred dollars.  Each of those little drawer thingies cost $109.  We looked them up.  I never ever paid for them, nor did I want them.  I’m completely shocked at this.  It feels wrong to be so dismissive.

While I know the price of those material goods, I cannot for the life of me put any price on those other things I’ve been thinking about, the relationships, the talents, the opportunities, and the moments.  I do know three truthful things about them.  First, I have squandered each of them at some time in my life.  Second, no one asked me to dispose of them or squander them. I did it by myself.  And third, these things are far, far more valuable than any lamp or drawer could ever be.  It’s worth some thought.

May we each enter this next month appreciating the value of the priceless parts of our lives.  And may I find a good home for these unneeded items.  I do have a plan.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What do I value?’
​
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 expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to live your values.

It’s a miracle.  Kaitlyn will have her new sweater before her children head off to university!  I had my doubts for quite some time.  The pattern is absolutely beautiful, but difficult, and I feel like I’ve taken out as many rows as I put in.  Tinking, they call it.  Spelled backward, knit is, fittingly, tink.  Finally, I have stitched the last stitch, blocked the sweater, and once it dries, I’ll deliver it.

When I was at the very last stage, the one where I had to fold the neck in half and sew it in place, I received a message from my cousin, Joan.  Joan is my first cousin and lives in New Brunswick.  We spent our summers together as children and remain connected and close to this day.  Joan messaged to tell me about a project she, her mom, sister and several sisters-in-law and nieces are doing, and she invited me to join. 

They are each going to make a Temperature Blanket in 2022.  I had never heard of this but was intrigued with the thought of a new and, Joan promised, easy, project!  The basic idea of a Temperature Blanket is to crochet or knit a specific number of rows, one or more, on a blanket each day for a full calendar year. The colours used each correspond with the temperature outside.  It seemed like the exact kind of project I was ready for. 

I emailed and texted a few friends I know who might like this project too, and also offered it as a potential project for our little knitting group.  We are a bunch of dancers who have a problem with yarn; it collects in our bins, and we are always looking for ways to use it up.  We make hats and scarves, baby outfits and slippers, blankets, and shawls, all to donate to those who might benefit from our incurable habit.  By the time the sun had set, I’d already picked my yarn, created my temperature gauge, dusted off my 5mm crochet hook, and begun.

As I worked away the first evening, I found myself hoping for some predictable weather.  The twelve colours I had chosen didn’t exactly match, but they followed a nice progression.  I had pictured my winter colours, the blues, becoming lighter as the months unfolded, giving way to the greens of springtime.  If the weather in Calgary would only cooperate, my blanket would be a nicely organized progression of hues.  Alas, this is Calgary, and the weather is not often predictable.  In the first two weeks of this year alone it ranged over 30°C!

The blanket, it turns out, is not only going to be a record of the temperatures of the year, it will also reflect the beauty variety brings to our lives.  My blanket will be dotted with rows of unexpected colour at unexpected times.  No doubt it will be much more interesting than anything I could have planned.

So it is with life.

We try to line it up, create neat compartments, and then pride ourselves with our careful control over our moments, days, weeks, months and even years of our lives.  But as I reflect over my life, some of the most memorable, most satisfying, most interesting, and most wonderful moments have been at times when God has laughed at me, throwing unexpected circumstances my way that I could never have imagined, much less planned.  At those times, I could do nothing but knit with whatever colours I had in my basket.

Even though the blanket I’ve started is called a Temperature Blanket, and even though the colours represent changes in temperatures, as I work away on these easy, early rows, my mind wanders to thinking about what a blanket of this year of my life might look like.  What might it look like if each row represented the temperature of my bravery?  Or kindness?  Or self-acceptance?  Or willingness to fail?  Or adventure?  Or satisfaction?

With the Temperature Blanket, now that I’ve chosen my colours and set the gauge, I have no control over the rest.  If the temperatures are predictable and boring, so too will be my blanket.  If they are variable, so too will be my blanket.  I think I’ve chosen colours pretty enough that either way the result will be good. 

My life, on the other hand is not tied to such a predetermined gauge.  At the end of each day, certainly I will have to use the colour of yarn that represents my day.  But at the beginning of the day, before the dye is cast, I have full control over the colour I’ll pick from my basket to add to the blanket of my life. 

I want to look back on this year and see some vivid colours.  I want to see some that I might never have chosen based on my past experiences.  I want to create a collection of colours that reflects the truest version of myself.  And then, if all goes well, I’d like to add this years blanket to the blanket of my life and give thanks for being able to live a life that offers me choice and the opportunity to grow. 

Whether you knit or crochet, or not, I hope you’ll take some time to envision your 2022 blanket.  May you find the courage to design it exactly as you wish, then have the grace to allow life to add a few sparkly threads of her own.

My inquiry for you this week is, “What colour am I adding to my blanket?”
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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 expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to create your best life blanket.

I was listening to the radio last week when I heard part of an interview with the remaining members of Gord Downie’s band, The Tragically Hip.  One of the members recalled an early performance where he described them as being unexpectedly asked to play for longer than they anticipated.  He said, ‘We emptied the cupboard that night.’

I loved this image.  No song was left on the shelf.  Each one was brought out and sung, no doubt with great enthusiasm.  I can imagine them leaving the venue that night buzzing, completely satisfied.

I’ve been trying to think of places and ways in my life where I empty the cupboard.  Places where I end my day, or even part of the day, with complete satisfaction, knowing I did not hold back, not with my relationships, not with my dreams, not with my work, or with my bravery.  Places where I use the resources I have at hand, to create a moment better than expected.  As I considered this idea of emptying the cupboard, and what Olympian effort I might have to make to do this, my week revealed some inspirational and humbling examples for me.

I took Benjamin tobogganing twice this week.  I do realize I may be pushing the edge of the time period of respectability for this activity, but it’s just too much fun to resist. Most times when we go, we have the hill completely to ourselves.  But on Monday, Kaitlyn and I took the boys over in the morning and there was another family, a mom and her kids, there too.  When Jim and I returned on Wednesday with Ben, we met the same family.  This time the mother had her mother and father with them.  Her mom, Grammie, the kids called her, decided to join in the fun.  I could see this was not her normal kind of activity, but I could also see she was fully committed to spending a memory-making day with her grandchildren.  She sped down the hill with her grandson and then she and the three children invented races to compete in.  They invited Ben and I to join in.  We had a wonderful time together, she and I silently acknowledging there could be some muscle pain to pay.

Jim struck up a conversation with the mother and grandfather, all watching as we tried to keep control of our sledding devices.  As we drove home, Jim told me the mom had told him that her mom’s sister, Grammie’s sister, had died that morning.  Grammie was devastated but explained that while she was so sad, she had this day in front of her, and she needed to spend time living.  She wanted to do that with her grandchildren.

Grammie emptied the cupboard on Wednesday morning.

Later the same day as Jim and I drove home having dropped Ben at his house, Jim told me he had talked to one of his clients that afternoon.  This client, who lives in British Columbia, told Jim that his adult daughter called him just before Christmas.  She had come across a young mother and her two children who had been living in a motel since their home had been flooded in the floods of late November.  The mother was out of money and about to be out of a place to live.  The daughter did not know what to do but having heard the story didn’t feel like she wanted to just walk away.  The father, Jim’s client, said, ‘Bring them here.’

And so, she did.  This week the father and daughter, having spent the past month, including Christmas, with the little family, are just finalizing plans to have the mother and her children move into government assisted housing.  The father explained it had been expensive, and challenging, and he was so incredibly glad to have been able to help.  That father emptied his cupboard last month.  I suspect it will sustain him for many Christmases to come.

It turns out I do not need to make an Olympian effort every single minute to find ways to empty the cupboard.  Emptying the cupboard is simply fully engaging in life.  It is using what we have, to create a meaningful life.  It means drawing on our resources, even when they might feel minimal, to create a moment, or hour, or day, or month we can look back on with satisfaction.  Most often, it means making a decision to invest our energy in that which is before us.  Gord Downie and his bandmates no doubt had some misgivings about playing every song they had ever written, but it was all they had, so they did it with delight, digging deep in their cupboard trying to think of every song they knew to share with the audience.  It turns out it was exactly what the audience wanted; for The Hip to give completely of themselves, using the resources and gifts they had.

Most of the cupboard-emptying moments in life do not require exhaustive planning and preparation.  I suspect the expression originates from a time when a homemaker might have had unexpected guests and had to empty the cupboard to create a meal that might feed everyone.  So, while I was overwhelming  myself with thoughts of how to create moments to empty the cupboards of my life, it turns out these moments do not take much planning at all.  They tend to just show up at our door, requiring only that we recognize them, and act upon them.

It is not lost on me that as we empty our cupboards, the result is a filling of ourselves we could not otherwise experience.  It’s not one of those feelings of fullness that is gone in a few hours.  It’s a fullness that lasts forever.
​
My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What cupboard can I empty?’

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 expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to empty the cupboard.

Happy New Year!  If you spent the holiday season in Alberta, chances are you were hunkered down indoors.  With temperatures never even coming close to zero, it wasn’t the year to be trying out the new toboggan!

Despite the cold, and the continued impact of the very persistent pandemic, we had a wonderful Christmas.  Greg and Cara spent time with Cara’s family, and Jim and I spent Christmas afternoon and dinner with Kaitlyn and Matt and little Ben and Andy.  How lucky are we to be able to do this!  When both our kids got married, one thing I was thrilled with was how much each of their partners value and love their own family.  Not only do they love their families, they’ve also been willing to share them with us.

Over the years, we’ve become friends with both Cara and Matt’s parents.  Even though we live miles apart, we treasure our time with them, and we appreciate how our family has been enriched by our friendships.  Each year, we exchange little gifts of remembrance.  This year, my favourite gift of all, came from Matt’s dad, Hughie. 

Keeping in mind that I received some lovely gifts, this is a bold statement.  Under my tree I found a new Garmin device that will allow Brenda and I to continue to adventure, now knowing we can send an SOS even if we are out of cell phone range.  I also opened books and kitchen gadgets and hiking accessories.  I have spectacular homemade knit mittens and an ornament.  Despite all these beautiful, thoughtful gifts, Hughie outdid them all.

What was it that could have captured my heart so?

Hughie sent me a book.  Not your average book.  I’m guessing non of the readers of this blog will have heard of it. 
Life’s Too Short to Fold Your Underwear

Yes, that’s it.  Life’s Too Short to Fold Your Underwear.  To make it even more of a treasure, it’s missing the first twenty-six pages.  And it’s a re-gift.  And it’s still my favourite.

Accompanying the book was a letter, in an envelope, that had written on the front, ‘For Elizabeth’s eyes only’.  Of course, I was instantly intrigued!

In the letter, Hughie explained how the book had come into his possession.  A school friend had given it to him some years ago.  Her daughter had removed the first twenty-six pages, having been given permission to use the book for a school project.  Hughie passed it along, ‘in the tradition of sharing what little we have’. 

The book is composed of little stories, each with a bigger meaning than the details themselves, sort of in the fashion of Erma Bombeck or Jack Canfield.  Hughie wrote that he has been reading my blog and he appreciates how I often move the reader from the day-to-day to a metaphor, allowing them to do some thinking and apply it to their own life.  He encouraged me to ‘Keep writing’, signing off, ‘East Coast Hughie’. 

I loved Hughie’s gift right from the start, even before I opened it properly.  Yet I wasn’t completely sure what it was that had me hooked.  As I write this blog today, my thoughts are becoming clearer.  I realize it is not only the most wonderful Life’s Too Short to Fold Your Underwear that I love, it’s the accompanying letter and its contents that I truly treasure. 

Each of us wishes to be seen.  Really seen.  Seen in the way of someone peaking inside us, without judgement, glimpsing some of our more precious dreams, desires, hopes and fears, and holding them tenderly, encouraging us, walking with us, and sometimes even nudging us along.  I feel safe with Hughie Hanson holding my writing in this way.

Truth be told, I’m not the talented writer in our family and as our family has grown, I recognize I’m slipping further down the ranks.  With a daughter, son-in-law, and daughter-in-law, all English majors of one sort or the other, and with Hughie and his lifetime of teaching literature, I, the Mathematics lover, do not pretend to be a writing expert.  But I do love to think, and I love to put my thoughts onto paper, and I hope they speak to someone occasionally.

Hughie’s gift to me, the gift of being seen, is one I hope to pass on in 2022.  May we each see, in this new year, parts of our family and friends, that they treasure and may find hard to easily share.  Then may we champion them with our gentle encouragement and nudges, in the way of Hughie Hanson.

Happy New Year.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘Who do I see’?’ 
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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 and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to see those in your life.
 
 

t’s not what you think.  This isn’t about one of those tacky Christmas sweaters.  Although I do have a lovely one.  I take it out once each year and wear it proudly.  But that’s not what this is about.

In early October, when Christmas seemed so far away and it felt like I had all the time in the world to prepare for its arrival, I found a knitting pattern for a beautiful sweater.  I thought it would look great on our daughter, Kaitlyn.  I showed her the pattern, and together we visited a local yarn shop to choose a colour she’d like. 

A person should really read a pattern carefully before committing to it.  I knew I would have my hands full as soon as I sat down to ‘relax’ and knit.  Partly, it was that the pattern isn’t written in the most user-friendly way.  Partly, it was that the darker colour wool we had chosen makes the stitches a bit more difficult to see.  But mostly it is the front and back are each made up of five panels.  Each panel has its own design, and each has a pattern that repeats after certain number of rows – each of these is different of course!  The sleeves, I’m discovering this week, have these same challenges.

I’d love to report that once I was able to make some sense of it and write out the panel instructions in a way I could follow, it was smooth sailing.  But it’s not nice to lie, and especially not at Christmas.  Let’s just say I’ve become pretty good friends with the lady at the shop where I bought the wool.  I’ve had to stop in twice for her to help me take out hours, days really, of work.  I know how to knit backward to fix a mistake, but in these two instances on this sweater, I didn’t notice the mistake for several evenings.  In a pattern with so many cable stitches, the taking out takes longer than the putting in, so I opted to ask for some help.  Otherwise, in the one instance, it would have taken me about ten evenings of knitting to knit backward, then another ten to get back to where I was.

Even I wondered how I had missed my mistake to begin with.  How didn’t I catch it as I was going?

It wasn’t until I held the work in front of me, spreading the stitches out on the needle as best I could, that my eye caught the problem.  I had mistakenly knit two stitches normally, instead of putting them on a cable needle and carrying them behind the other stitches.  There are 144 stitches on one row.  I had done about thirty rows before seeing my mistake.  There were only two stitches out of place.  TWO.

So, I did what I think any self-respecting knitter would do.  I tried to convince myself no one would notice.  Then I asked Jim his opinion.  What could he say?  Then I knit a couple more rows to see if the mistake would become even less obvious with more distance between me and it.  Then I set my work aside for a couple of days and started on one of the sleeves.  Maybe I was hoping the knitting elves would come in the night and repair my mistake.  Finally, I knew.  Even if no one else would see the mistake, I would know it was there. 

The truth is, I do think someone else might have noticed it.  I was picturing Kaitlyn standing in line at a nice coffee shop waiting to place her order, and the customer behind her looking at her beautiful sweater, thinking something looked off.  Even if they couldn’t quite locate the exact scene of the accident, their eyes would not feel settled.

There is something about our eyes and our brains that love order.  A pattern relaxes our brain.  When there is something off in a pattern, our brain whirls and whirls until it can sort it out.   

As I’ve now finished the front and back, and just begun on one of the sleeves (which I’ve already discovered are not going to be simple) I’ve been thinking about how this sweater relates to Christmas.

We’re all going to be ‘knitting a Christmas sweater’ this week.  We’ll be weaving together family and traditions in hopes of creating warm, comfortable, meaningful, beautiful memories to wrap around those we celebrate with.  I have no doubt we’ll be following a pattern to the best of our ability.  We’ll do things we’ve done in the past; we’ll make familiar foods and play familiar games.  And yet, without doubt, we’re going to miss a stitch or two.  There will be moments when things don’t turn out exactly as we want or expect or even plan. 

The best we can hope to do is what any good knitter would do.

They would notice the mistake and decide if anyone else will notice or care.  If the answer is no, getting on with celebrating will be in order.  If, however, these little out-of-place stitches are going to be noticed and remembered every time the sweater is brought out and worn, it might be a great new tradition to go back and fix them.  It could happen though, that the mistake becomes something worth weaving into the story of our Christmas, something everyone can laugh about or have fun with.  Sometimes these little mistakes are the beginnings of wonderful new memories.  Sometimes we should even dye them a wild colour and really bring them to life.

I doubt I’ll finish Kaitlyn’s sweater by Christmas.  It’s ok.  I have the front and back done.  Maybe she wants a Christmas vest.  No matter what, this won’t be what we remember most about this Christmas.  We’re going to treasure just being together.  Last year, this wasn’t possible.  So, this year, I’m going to cherish our time with Kaitlyn and her family.  I want to lock in memories of the magic of the day as seen through three-year-old Ben’s eyes.  And to treasure the sight of little Andy doing his half-creep, half army crawl, over to the tree to see the bright lights.  How lucky are we to be able to be part of Kaitlyn and Matt’s young family and to watch them knitting their own beautiful Christmas traditions, while at the same time wearing the cozy sweaters of our past, mistakes and all, knitted in for extra warmth.

Have a most wonderful Christmas.  You’ll be too busy knitting next weekend to read, so I’ll see you in the New Year.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What pattern am I knitting?’
​
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 expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to focus more on the warmth and memories, and less on the details and missed stitches.