We’ve been shrouded in smoke since Tuesday of this week. Tuesday and Wednesday were the worst days I’ve ever seen here in Calgary. Tuesday is our hiking day, and when I left home at seven, the smoke was not too bad. By the time I met Brenda in a church parking lot less than one half hour later, it seemed a bit thicker, but we were still optimistic that once we drove west to meet Pam, we might drive out of it.
Another half hour later, we arrived at the trailhead. The three of us got out of our cars, took one breath and decided that a hike was not in the cards for this week. We went for a coffee, and as we sat and visited, the smoke, coming in from the north on gusty winds, grew thicker and thicker around us.
On the same morning, Jim had a plan to head out with a new-to-birding friend to check the bluebird boxes on one of the trails he monitors. It’s a critical time of year for his banding work. Once the beautiful little bluebirds begin to lay their first egg, he can determine exactly which day he needs to return to apply the bands. Amazingly, once laying begins, the female bluebirds lay one egg per day until they have laid four to six eggs. The babies all hatch exactly fourteen days after the final egg has been laid, and they are ready to fledge three weeks after that.
Being able to count the eggs in the nests at this time of year sets the calendar in place for the banding that needs to be done. It’s too early to apply the bands when the tiny babies are newly born, and once the wee birds have feathers and learn to fly it’s too late.
Jim loves, loves, loves his beautiful little bluebirds. I say this to explain his Tuesday.
As I sat in a homey coffee shop in Bragg Creek laughing and talking with my hiking friends, the thought crossed my mind that I should warn Jim of the poor air quality. Then I put myself in check thinking that now that Jim is all grown up, he likely didn’t need my help to notice the orange glow all about us, not to mention the incredibly poor visibility and choking smoke. Did I mention how much Jim loves his little birds?
Once he got going that morning, all he could think about was the job at hand. He was excited to see those miniature blue eggs sitting in the nest boxes he and Daryl had built and hung in past years. Somehow in all his joy, he just kept working through the smoke. In and out of the car they went, peeking in boxes, counting and recording the number of eggs. Daryl wasn’t with him on this morning. The new-to-birding friend likely didn’t feel comfortable mentioning that the smoke was likely not good for their health. It’s easy to get caught up in Jim’s enthusiasm. So as the air quality index rose just about as high as the egg count, his excitement and commitment to the job at hand overshadowed the effects of the smoke.
By four o’clock when he wasn’t home yet, I texted, ‘Are you ok?’. ‘Great’, came the reply, ‘Just on my way home now’. As I sat in our air-conditioned house, with a low-grade headache from the small amount of smoke I’d been exposed to, I wondered if he had found a pocket of fresh air and perhaps had been spared the worst of the smoke. He arrived home very shortly after, not seeming any the worse for wear and extremely excited about the thirty-nine eggs they had counted.
By morning we had a different story unfolding. Jim had started to cough, a deep oh-oh cough. By late in the day, he said his throat and lungs felt raw and sore. By Thursday his cough was awful, and he was completely out of energy. I was concerned, and Jim, who has an amazing capacity to simply take things as they come and figure them out, was also worried. I suggested a call to the doctor to see if he could be seen. With the long weekend approaching, we knew that if he didn’t get in by Friday, we’d either be out of luck until next week, or end up in an emergency waiting room.
Jim talked to the receptionist who said the doctor did not have any openings, but she put Jim on hold for a minute. After describing his symptoms to the doctor, the doctor said that Jim needed to be seen and he set up an appointment with his associate for the following morning. We were both relieved. Thursday night was nerve wracking. The last time I’d seen Jim this out of gas was in the days shortly before his heart attack. Taking no unnecessary chances, we took his blood pressure, found it to be only slightly elevated, and settled in with Ted Lasso to pass the evening. Jim offered to sleep in our spare bedroom because of his coughing but I opted for less sleep, and the comfort of knowing I’d hear him if he needed me. Thankfully, the night passed uneventfully.
Friday morning the doctor confirmed what we already knew. Jim had a significant lung infection. He’s now on some horse pills and is starting to feel the positive effects of modern medicine.
We’ve talked about it a bit. Jim said he did know it was smoky but the intensity of it just crept up on him. As the day wore on, the smoke increased, and he didn’t recognize how much worse it had actually become. I found this to be so interesting. In the same week this happened I spoke to two teacher friends. When we talked about how this year had been, they each, independently of each other, each working in different school districts, said this year has been stressful, and that the stress has just quietly built and built without them recognizing how bad it has become.
Life is like that. In a perfect world we would have ‘reflection’ time built into our lives; times when we stop what we are doing, take a little inventory of our life, notice how much we have accomplished, figure out how we are feeling, and make good decisions about how much harder, faster, and longer we really need to push ourselves. There never seems to be time for this, and we all, at one point or another, become that frog in the water, with the temperature rising ever so slowly, so as to trick us into not noticing how hot it has become.
I’d love to give this gift of reflection to all people. To students working so hard to make it to the end of the year, they don’t even recognize the work they have already done is going to serve them effectively. To young parents who go from day to day, making sure the little ones are cared for, lunches are packed, appointments are booked, childcare is ready, household chores are complete, not having the time to simply breathe in the miracle of the mess of tiny hand-prints. To hard working people who always have ‘one more thing’ to cross off their list before they give themselves permission to rest. To athletes, who always want to do one more mile, one more rep, one more something, when in fact a short day of rest would be far more regenerative. To those climbing the corporate ladder thinking, ‘just one more rung’. To each of us who have been raised on a diet of dedication and hard work. I’d love it if we didn’t have to wait for the air to turn orange for us to get the message that we might be overdoing things.
This weekend Jim and I will take time to reflect. We are lucky. We have easy access to excellent health care, and it was available to us when we needed it. We have an air-conditioned home, a place to escape the smoke. We have the luxury of flexibility. We have time to reflect.
Our firefighters up north will not have this gift this weekend. Yet even they, amid the smoke and orange sky, must stop at times, assess the situation and determine the safest course of action. May they be protected in their work.
My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How orange is the air in my life?’
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching. She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society. She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching. She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups and has expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to take time to reflect.
Another half hour later, we arrived at the trailhead. The three of us got out of our cars, took one breath and decided that a hike was not in the cards for this week. We went for a coffee, and as we sat and visited, the smoke, coming in from the north on gusty winds, grew thicker and thicker around us.
On the same morning, Jim had a plan to head out with a new-to-birding friend to check the bluebird boxes on one of the trails he monitors. It’s a critical time of year for his banding work. Once the beautiful little bluebirds begin to lay their first egg, he can determine exactly which day he needs to return to apply the bands. Amazingly, once laying begins, the female bluebirds lay one egg per day until they have laid four to six eggs. The babies all hatch exactly fourteen days after the final egg has been laid, and they are ready to fledge three weeks after that.
Being able to count the eggs in the nests at this time of year sets the calendar in place for the banding that needs to be done. It’s too early to apply the bands when the tiny babies are newly born, and once the wee birds have feathers and learn to fly it’s too late.
Jim loves, loves, loves his beautiful little bluebirds. I say this to explain his Tuesday.
As I sat in a homey coffee shop in Bragg Creek laughing and talking with my hiking friends, the thought crossed my mind that I should warn Jim of the poor air quality. Then I put myself in check thinking that now that Jim is all grown up, he likely didn’t need my help to notice the orange glow all about us, not to mention the incredibly poor visibility and choking smoke. Did I mention how much Jim loves his little birds?
Once he got going that morning, all he could think about was the job at hand. He was excited to see those miniature blue eggs sitting in the nest boxes he and Daryl had built and hung in past years. Somehow in all his joy, he just kept working through the smoke. In and out of the car they went, peeking in boxes, counting and recording the number of eggs. Daryl wasn’t with him on this morning. The new-to-birding friend likely didn’t feel comfortable mentioning that the smoke was likely not good for their health. It’s easy to get caught up in Jim’s enthusiasm. So as the air quality index rose just about as high as the egg count, his excitement and commitment to the job at hand overshadowed the effects of the smoke.
By four o’clock when he wasn’t home yet, I texted, ‘Are you ok?’. ‘Great’, came the reply, ‘Just on my way home now’. As I sat in our air-conditioned house, with a low-grade headache from the small amount of smoke I’d been exposed to, I wondered if he had found a pocket of fresh air and perhaps had been spared the worst of the smoke. He arrived home very shortly after, not seeming any the worse for wear and extremely excited about the thirty-nine eggs they had counted.
By morning we had a different story unfolding. Jim had started to cough, a deep oh-oh cough. By late in the day, he said his throat and lungs felt raw and sore. By Thursday his cough was awful, and he was completely out of energy. I was concerned, and Jim, who has an amazing capacity to simply take things as they come and figure them out, was also worried. I suggested a call to the doctor to see if he could be seen. With the long weekend approaching, we knew that if he didn’t get in by Friday, we’d either be out of luck until next week, or end up in an emergency waiting room.
Jim talked to the receptionist who said the doctor did not have any openings, but she put Jim on hold for a minute. After describing his symptoms to the doctor, the doctor said that Jim needed to be seen and he set up an appointment with his associate for the following morning. We were both relieved. Thursday night was nerve wracking. The last time I’d seen Jim this out of gas was in the days shortly before his heart attack. Taking no unnecessary chances, we took his blood pressure, found it to be only slightly elevated, and settled in with Ted Lasso to pass the evening. Jim offered to sleep in our spare bedroom because of his coughing but I opted for less sleep, and the comfort of knowing I’d hear him if he needed me. Thankfully, the night passed uneventfully.
Friday morning the doctor confirmed what we already knew. Jim had a significant lung infection. He’s now on some horse pills and is starting to feel the positive effects of modern medicine.
We’ve talked about it a bit. Jim said he did know it was smoky but the intensity of it just crept up on him. As the day wore on, the smoke increased, and he didn’t recognize how much worse it had actually become. I found this to be so interesting. In the same week this happened I spoke to two teacher friends. When we talked about how this year had been, they each, independently of each other, each working in different school districts, said this year has been stressful, and that the stress has just quietly built and built without them recognizing how bad it has become.
Life is like that. In a perfect world we would have ‘reflection’ time built into our lives; times when we stop what we are doing, take a little inventory of our life, notice how much we have accomplished, figure out how we are feeling, and make good decisions about how much harder, faster, and longer we really need to push ourselves. There never seems to be time for this, and we all, at one point or another, become that frog in the water, with the temperature rising ever so slowly, so as to trick us into not noticing how hot it has become.
I’d love to give this gift of reflection to all people. To students working so hard to make it to the end of the year, they don’t even recognize the work they have already done is going to serve them effectively. To young parents who go from day to day, making sure the little ones are cared for, lunches are packed, appointments are booked, childcare is ready, household chores are complete, not having the time to simply breathe in the miracle of the mess of tiny hand-prints. To hard working people who always have ‘one more thing’ to cross off their list before they give themselves permission to rest. To athletes, who always want to do one more mile, one more rep, one more something, when in fact a short day of rest would be far more regenerative. To those climbing the corporate ladder thinking, ‘just one more rung’. To each of us who have been raised on a diet of dedication and hard work. I’d love it if we didn’t have to wait for the air to turn orange for us to get the message that we might be overdoing things.
This weekend Jim and I will take time to reflect. We are lucky. We have easy access to excellent health care, and it was available to us when we needed it. We have an air-conditioned home, a place to escape the smoke. We have the luxury of flexibility. We have time to reflect.
Our firefighters up north will not have this gift this weekend. Yet even they, amid the smoke and orange sky, must stop at times, assess the situation and determine the safest course of action. May they be protected in their work.
My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How orange is the air in my life?’
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching. She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society. She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching. She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups and has expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to take time to reflect.
RSS Feed