Where Were You When the Earth Shook?

Tuesday, June 22.: It was an ordinary day. I woke early, ate, and started working on putting together a website for my latest venture, Caedmon Tutorials. I got so wrapped up in what I was doing that I completely forgot to stop at lunch time. Then, at 1:43 p.m., my stomach started protesting, so I pushed off from my desk and made my way downstairs, my tastebuds already geared for a piece of toast with cheese and a big, steaming cup of tea.

I wandered around the kitchen in that aimless way people have who have performed a chore a zillion times before and could probably do it their sleep. 1:45 p.m. I was stirring honey into my tea when the ground shook. In some obscure part of my brain, I regisered the possibility that a large truck must have just driven by on the road. Our rather flimsily-built house seems to absorb any and all movements from the main road not far away. But then, the whole house started to shake as if someone had taken it in their hands and jostled it about.

All of a sudden, objects started dropping from shelves and desks upstairs. I could hear them smashing to the floor. I went into panic mode. For the life of me, I could not remember what you're supposed to do in an earthquake. I'd only experienced one other quake before this one. It was in 2006 and then I had been with my mother and it was not as dramatic as this one. Was I supposed to retreat to the basement? Hmm...That didn't seem right....Wasn't that for hurricanes and bombs? Common sense kicked in: the thought of being below ground level, and therefore closer to the shaking, shifting centre of things was not an option! The doorframe! That was it. Now I remembered. You had to brace yourself in a doorway. I'm not sure why. Something about the angles, maybe, and their ability to hold up the weight of things above you? Whatever the reason, I braced. The shaking became more violent and primal screams started to erupt from my throat.

I remember thinking: "So, this is how I'm going to die," except, I didn't feel blase about it at all. I was screaming the name of Jesus and begging Him to make it stop. Even as I screamed, a part of me felt very self-conscious---as if someone might be right outside listening to me and I felt ashamed for being so afraid, so unprepared. I always thought that when my time came to die, I'd be ready. But, all I could think about was how painful it was going to be: a whole house falling in on me. Or, worse yet, a sink-hole swallowing me up. And I was all alone. If my family survived, they'd come back to the ruins and they'd never find my body. My mind conjured pictures of sink-holes in Quebec, in South America, in Asia....And I thought of Haiti...And I felt all the fear and all the sorrow of those poor people as the earth took them, one by one....And I realized, I am not ready to die. But the second realization was more startling than the first: whether I was ready or not, it really wasn't up to me. I guess it was the feeling of utter and complete helplessness that made me shake---and the shaking had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the earth was heaving underneath me.

"I have to get out of here!" I thought. If I was going to die, I didn't want to die like that---buried under rubble. And there was always the chance that someone else was outside on the path. Just to see another human face would be a consolation. I half-crawled, half-ran for my shoes (yes! I had the presence of mind to consider shoes!) and pryed the door open. The rumbling was subsiding. The path was clear. Was I the only one feeling this? I looked around. Then, I saw my very pregnant neighbour emerge on her front steps with a telephone in hand. Further down the way, a group of old ladies who'd been lounging about in one of their gardens were standing on the path looking around. They were all rattled, of course, but I was the only one who seemed to think death was imminent. I tried to put on a brave face as I went for my pregnant neighbour. She was kind enough to ask me how I was doing when I should have been the one to ask her; to suggest she sit down; to consider boiling water for her....Something....One of the nice old ladies down the path started walking towards me. I went towards her, again with the thought to comfort, and she ended up enfolding me in a huge hug and asking if I was o.k.  "Oh, you poor thing, you're shaking!" she said. "If you need anything, come to us. We're just out in the garden."

The shaking had stopped. All in all, the thing lasted 20 seconds. It felt like 20 minutes, at least. I sheepishly thanked all my neighbours and hobbled back home to make some phone calls and ensure all my loved one's were o.k. Satisfied, I sat down on the couch and stared blankly around for a long time. Even now, as I think about it, I'm amazed at how life can be blithely going in one direction and then, all of a sudden, completely change course. Ever since I turned 30, I've been thinking a lot about mortality. My mortality. Morbid, I know, but the thoughts will come. On an up-note, the earthquake really got me thinking about the need to make the most of every moment. And so I've been trying to do just that. One of my favourite quotes is from Pope John Paul II's fountain of wisdom and I think they adequately apply to now: "This is no time for sitting idly by in fearful mediocrity."

Introducing Quills and Candles

It is fast becoming apparent that blogging is an addiction. Last night, I decided to start a second blog, this one all about being a writer. I needed somewhere to ruminate on what feels like a necessary act: the urge to write. I'm currently working on editing my novel, The Company of the White Stag (for the upteenth time), as well as working on a children's story, "Jacob and the Winter Boots," for my Institute of Children's Literature assignment. You'd think I had enough writing projects to work on. But, the more I write, the more I need to reflect on why I'm doing it. "Reflect." I never heard the word used as much as over the past year of Teacher's College. My colleagues and I reflected until we were blue in the face, until the word started to feel like sawdust in our mouths. And yet, here I am, one month after my final practicum ready, once again, to reflect. My new blog, Quills and Candles, will probably also turn into a place to retreat when I want to throw my manuscript out the window or withdraw from the Institute altogether. I'm hoping it will also, eventually, become a virtual community of Christian writers sharing ideas on the vocation of writing and the joys of being a sub-creator.

Oh, What A Beautiful Morning!!

It's 7:25 a.m. and I've been up for an hour and a half. I'm sipping on a cup of coffee, the curtains are open letting in the (somewhat dull) morning light, and periodically I can feel a cool breeze on the back of my neck. Being up at this hour is no easy feat. You see, I could be in bed, blanket thrown over my head with at least another two hours of shut-eye ahead of me, but last night I made a resolution.

I decided that I need to make myself a morning person. It goes back to my Spring/Summer To-Do List. Sure, I've been able to cross off a few items, but Spring is almost over and if I don't get cracking, I'm going to have an awful lot to do come Summer time. I figured that, if I can start organizing my days a little better---get into some kind of routine---it will make the days not only seem longer and more productive, but I'll also feel like I'm living with a bit more sense of purpose.

Now, I've never been a lazy person. In fact, I once asked my spiritual director what the opposite of lazy is and she said "activism." Maybe you share my malady: you're usually rushing around with about ten different items on your to-do list, all of which should have been done yesterday according to your precise calculations and exceptional prioritization skills; the word "vacation" is banished from all your conversations when made in reference to yourself; and, when a holiday is suddenly thrust upon you, you spend it making to-do lists and thinking of all the things you really should be doing instead of putting your feet up! Unhealthy lifestyle? You bet!

Now, you may be wondering why---with this activism problem---I feel the need to be up at such an ungodly hour in order to....um....accomplish some of those undone things on my to-do list. Well, my particular brand of activism seems to be the result of no discipline and little structure. The other day, I stumbled upon Jennifer Bertman's blog, The Mixed-Up Files, which is a neat place to find out about the "creative spaces" of various artists. I was reading Jennifer's account of the children's book illustrator, Johanna Wright (whose work is worth looking into if you have an eye for the whimsical). Johanna outlined what a typical day is like for her and, for an artist-type, it struck me how pedantic it seemed: get up, eat, go to a local coffee shop to brainstorm picture ideas, come home, answer and send emails, paint, run errands, order supplies, paint a bit more....And that's her daily life with slight variations! Reflecting on that made me think of Charles Dickens and William Makepeace Thackeray, both of whom worked as public servants and would wake up early enough to get in some writing before dashing off to work. And what about all those amazing people behind the walls of monasteries, up before the crack of dawn and putting their minds, hearts and souls to the proverbial plow while most of us are turning over in bed or hitting the snooze button?

Now, I have nothing against sleeping in. In fact, I'll probably maintain the practice at least once a week, but there's definitely something to be said for rising early and making a start. Discipline is not a dirty word. Maybe rising early will give me more time to do what I have to do so that I'll actually enjoy my times of rest when they come....Maybe I'll even take a vacation one of these days! Maybe living an ordinary life doesn't mean being mediocre. So, I'm writing all this down in an effort to concretize the resolution and be somewhat accountable. If anyone out there has any good tips on how to make the most of a day, let me know!

Nostalgia

A few weeks ago, I bought season four of the classic t.v. series, The Cosby Show. Now, if you had the good grace to have anything to do with the 80s, you knew this family intimately and, chances are, you still get a little nostalgic every time you hear the theme songs or stumble upon Bill Cosby's signature dance---maybe you've even tried it yourself (pursed lips and all!!). Bill, Clare, Sandra, Denise, Theo, Vanessa, and Rudy Huxtable. They were like real people to me. I still find myself wishing they were. But why is that? Why did I and so many other people wish to be part of the family?

For me, maybe it started with my dad's old LP of Cosby doing his stand-up comedy show entitled, Bill Cosby: Himself. I've tended to sentimentalize anything that once belonged to my father, appropriating his likes and dislikes, making them a kind of standard for my own life. Over the years, I've acquired more and more of his favourite things and made them my own. I suspect they'll all eventually make their way into this blog. Amongst them are the inimitable works of Charles Dickens, Homer and Shakespeare; a love for teaching and a belief in the importance of education as a life-long goal; the soulful, tribal, eclectic sounds of great African musicians such as Miriam Makeba; the joy of seeing things grow in a garden; of curling up with a good book; of writing. The list could go on....I guess my father gave me these loves like a legacy, and my mother refined them. Knowing that my father loved Cosby (and, incidentally, attended university with him in Philadelphia) makes me love him and his show too!

But I'd probably have loved the Cosbys anyway because of what they had to say about family life. The show strikes me more so now than it ever did, perhaps because present-day family life seems such a fractious thing. The Cosbys weren't perfect and they dealt with some tough issues---like when Clare found a joint between the pages of Theo's geography text book, or when a friend was battling cancer---but they seemed to deal with everything gracefully and, ultimately, with humour. Now there are a lot of comedies out there today, but they all pale in comparison to the Cosby Show---even my much-loved Seinfeld---because, in my opinion, their humour is aimed at ridiculing. Whether the ridicule is aimed at one's self or others, if you laugh at all, it's not because the joke is a hearty one but because someone's stupidity has just been showcased. I don't know if I'm able to express this well....I love The Cosby Show because it brought dignity forward. You felt that the members of the family truly cared for one another. The skill of the actors lay in their ability to bring out the very best about what it means to be part of a family.

And what about Cliff and Clare? Were there ever two more ardent on-screen lovers as they were? And yet, interestingly, there were never any steamy scenes or offensive innuendos. The extent of their love-making generally culminated in a closing scene in which Cliff, dressed in one of his many salwar-kameez-style pyjamas (ha ha!), turned up some jazz music on the old record player, and batting his eyes, sidled up to a smiling, gloriously garbed Clare. He would clutch her to him and the two would dance cheek-to-cheek as the lights faded and the audience applauded. Innocent, unassuming, beautiful, genuine.

There's not much that interests me on t.v. these days. Maybe that's a good thing. After all, there is so much to do in a day and so little time to do it! But, when I need to relax, the Cosbys are a sure bet every time. I suspect I'll be hunting out the other seasons in time---maybe putting them on my Christmas and birthday wish lists for the next few years (hint hint!). Anything which interests and inspires a person over decades is worth a little reflection. I like to think of it as being intentional about what I love and how I spend my time. I guess that's what this blog is, ultimately, for.

A Curiously Beautiful Picture

Had I been really up on my Calendar of Church Feasts, I would have timed the launch of this blog with today's feast in honour of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. It would have been appropriate since the image of a luminous heart is most adequately expressed in His Luminous Heart. Unfortunately, I only found out about it this morning. Oh, well! A quick online survey of information regarding the feast revealed that it's existed in the church since 1856, that it is celebrated 19 days after Pentecost, that it always falls on a Friday, and that it is honoured by Roman Catholics, Anglo-Catholics, and Lutherans alike!

But what I'm really excited to share today is the picture which accompanies this post. In the Eucharistic Chapel at Annunciation of the Lord Parish in Ottawa East, this very image hangs over the tabernacle. To this day, I have no idea who painted it. In the gloom of the chapel, it almost seems to be emerging from the wall itself, like a vision. When Annunciation first became our home-church, I remember going into the chapel and looking at this image. I found it austere, gruesome, even ugly! You can almost feel the sharp edges of the crown of thorns poking into the tender skin. In some masterstroke, the painter has been able to capture the effect of eyes welling with tears. It's a little eerie....The whole body, although seemingly draped in a robe, could just as well be scorged flesh. At the centre of it all is a luminous heart, gashed, spouting flames, crowned with a simple cross, and surrounded by a halo of light and thorns. The Latin incription, translated "God so loved the world", forces you to raise your eyes again to the heart, to the eyes. The eyes...They look at you with a soft intensity. I've sat in there and gazed and felt gazed back at. They are soft, but firm, loving, but sad. They are the kind of eyes you can drown in.

At Pentecost, I walked into the chapel and the painting was gone. Periodically, someone changes the pictures around. I'm always thrown for a loop when they do that. It's disconcerting. It's as if someone came into your home, rearranged your furniture without asking and left! The image of the Sacred Heart has not been returned, but I'm sure it will. It always does. I never learn my lesson....I'm always secretly afraid they won't bring it back. I don't find it ugly anymore. In fact, it's become, for me, the image of God's personal love. If you're ever in the East End, drop by Annunciation, look for the chapel and kneel there a while. With Jesus in the Tabernacle and this beautiful image just above, it's a sacred holiday for the soul!

Jaunting and Rambling

As I sit down to write my very first blog post, I can't help but wonder who else, but me, would care to read about my jauntings and ramblings? I'm completely new to the world of blogging. I've never really been the kind of person who cared what was going on in other peoples' lives---at least not to the extent that I would want to follow their musings each day via a social networking tool. I care about one-on-one exchanges, individual lives, that sort of thing....Here, on cyberspace, I am about to become exposed to the world....A world, frankly, which has so much else to do than care that Heather is currently very excited about starting up an online tutorial service, or that I've been asked to make a double baby-shower cake for next week, or that I'm finally making headway on C.S. Lewis' Space Trilogy, or that I just graduated from Teacher's College....

And yet, the need to write about it all---these little pieces which make up a, wholly, insignificant (or, I should say, simple) life---is irresistable. I have my former writing partner, Tamara, to thank for encouraging me to do this. Tamara said that every writer needs a blogspot. I was shocked, amused, horrified....What? Another thing I "have" to do! But I have all this time on my hands at the moment, so I wrote down "start a blog" on my Spring-Summer To-Do List and so here I am about to embark on detailing my jaunts and rambles. Will anyone else care to know? Probably not...At least not companies in droves. I suspect my family and a few friends may, out of kindness, take a peek---because those are the kinds of people God has seen fit to bless me with: the kind who care about what I'm doing (and Heaven knows, I've always got something up my sleeve!). I suspect I will enjoy reading back on these notes every now and then as a way to recollect where I have been, what I have come to, and what things fascinated me at any given time. Basically, this is a dream-blog, meaning that I wish to write here about all the things that make me insanely glad to be human and alive!

My friend, Cathy, and I were talking it over in the Gatineau Hills some weeks ago. We were musing about the need for good news, about the way we both felt we needed to familiarize ourselves with what's going on "out there" but at the same time feeling deflated in the attempt. Right now, if I were to turn the t.v. on or thumb through a newspaper, I would find something about the oil spills, about a suicide bomber, about some murder, about the rising tide of abortions and same sex-marriage legislation....But what about all the glorious stuff! You know! The fact that it's Springtime and rainy outside. The fact that nothing cures any ailment better than a cup of tea (preferably enjoyed by the pot-ful from little cups that require you to stick up your pinky to enjoy it). The fact that, last weekend, a deacon and his wife traversed our home and blessed it and that we crowned Jesus "King of our Home." The fact that I'm learning, for the first time, about the wonders of Classical Education (how on earth did I ever get to be 30 without exploring this approach to education?). The fact that out of my tiny brain is growing this amazing novel which, although it has far to go to be worth reading by anyone but me, is becoming something beautiful by diligent work. The fact that a woman I don't know took the time to write to me this morning (a very lengthy email) in response to my query about starting a tutorial service. The fact that my friends, Rebecca and Renata, joined me on Monday to inaugurate our encyclical study on Pope Benedict's letter, Deus Caritas Est. The fact that my brother---who is a paragon of health---is doing such an amazing job leading a bootcamp and I've had the pleasure of being part of it....Oh, the list goes ever on and on....

So, these are the things I'm going to write about, as much for my own sanity as for anyone else's. This is to be a sort of catalogue of wondrous things: the big and the small. Too often to do we go about completely unaware of the things which daily brush up against our lives, which enrich and enliven us. This year, for me, has been (and continues to be) all about clarification, clarity, illumination....light flooding in. Knowing. Seeing things as they are. Seeing with God's eyes. I suspect reflecting on the things which make my heart luminous will help shed a bit more light on my own path. Maybe on yours too?