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What I remember most about that dreadful day is the heartbroken voice of my dear friend Pam on the phone. Had I seen it...did I know...? I was at work...at my desk...and at that point, radio over the internet was a new notion. I had a radio...tuned to CBC. Candidly, it would have made a small difference as so many of the media outlets had transmission equipment on the towers.
The other thing I remember is the clear, strong voice of the Vice-President who ran our group benefits business. One of our clients was in one of the towers. A corporate analyst was positting that we might avoid paying claims since this horror was - technically - an act of war. Upon hearing this ludicrous suggestion, our VP leaned into the speaker phone and said clearly, 'I am sorry...I was at my cottage over the weekend. Did I miss the announcement that we had declared war on Manhattan? We'll be paying our claims.' In the weeks that followed, we amended terms and conditions to cover the paramedics and police officers and firefighters who went to help - much the same way we adjusted wording during SARS to cover quarantine. It made me exceedingly proud of my company and my colleagues and has kept me in their service.
In the days that followed, I remember the silence on the 401. On a normal day, you see the planes once you reach Guelph, Milton, and Missisauga. They're over your head when they approach from the west...you look up at them approaching from the east. My night classes started when the planes were still on the ground and the eerie sensation it gave me to drive to class and see no planes...to drive home and see no trail of lights hovering in the sky...frightened me. On Thursday when the first planes were back, I pulled over to the shoulder and wept. So did many other people.
I also remember - with immense gratitude - my friends at CBC and The Hamilton Spectator. CBC told the story of the planes all over the country, Gander, Newfoundland particularly. The Spec made it personal telling the story from John C. Munro airport in Hamilton. Surprise guests. Made welcome and protected so a tragedy wouldn't magnify. Gander was once Canada's welcome point. When planes needed to stop for fuel, the stopped at Gander (as they did in Shannon when they were going east). The horror resurrected Gander - and I do not offer that word lightly in any way.
There is a wonderful saying - those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat its mistakes. It bears repeating today.
The misguided men - and forgive me, but again, I choose that word with specific intent - who committed this atrocity were no more representative of Muslims than Ian Paisley and the foppish pastor from Florida are of Christians. Rather, they are the sad reminder that those who behave with malice and evil in their hearts - and that is most certainly how they behave - do a lasting and destructive disservice to the gentle, thoughtful multitudes who practice the true directives of their chosen denominations. The attention bad actors are rewarded with encourages continuing bad behaviour.
Before I tell you about my friends who are Muslim - whom I am blessed with and whom I am fortunate to know - let me tell you about Catholics. Irish Catholics...Canadian Catholics...and what it's like to be an object of suspicion and derision. If you're a Quebecer or an Acadian or a Metis, feel free to offer your curiously parallel experience.
My father was an Irish Catholic from the south of Ireland. His neighbours in the first house he owned in Canada were - kid you not - a Northern Irish Catholic and a Southern Irish Protestant. He adored them. And his lesson to his children - always and unremittingly - was that intolerance and hate had no place in his house. While he would tell you about just provocation for uprisingings and protests and rebellions - and he did - the notional 'they' whether government or religion or group - was not something to be equated with the nice people next door. Ever. It was an unbelievably valuable lesson and at the time it was offered, I had no idea how many ways it would play out.
My mother, on the other hand, is a Canadian. Even so, being Catholic in a small, largely Protestant community set her apart. When I commented on some lovely tiger lilies - the big, orange ones - she once told me that was what people planted when she was a child to quietly let others know they were Protestant - and perhaps Masons as well. The notion of marking territory in that way is foreign to me. I don't typically think of Canada as being a country where distinctions are so clearly marked. I am wrong for thinking that way.
A dear friend of mine tells the story of her grandfather's discussion with the school board he served on - within the past 60 or 70 years - when there was objection to adding a Catholic to the board. He believed that moving in that direction was fair and just. It didn't make him many friends at the time.
So that is the experience I share with many of my students. They are, largely, phenomenally educated professionals who have come to Canada hoping for new lives and better opportunities. Many are Muslims (so I luck into that lovely noodle pudding during Eid sometimes!).
Often, they are disappointed. I try not to be one of their disappointments.
I know - to a smaller degree - about being observed with fear and uncertainty. But the stories I heard from both my parents remind me this is a tradition in so many places.
I gave one of my students an article about the fear so many people had about John Kennedy. A writer for Esquire was combing Texas archives as he researched a book on Lyndon Johnson. What he found astonished him - and not in a good way. Comments about Kennedy as a covert operative seeking to disrupt civilized society. Sound impossible? Change the denomination...and know this continues to be shameful.
For Al Smith who ran for President in 1928 after serving successfully as Governor of New York, the backlash about a Catholic running for President must have been a shock. The story most often repeated - that was whispered about Smith - was that he intended to dig a tunnel to the Vatican and that he'd take his orders from there.
The fuss about a Mosque in Manhattan reminds me a great deal of the fuss about some Carmelite Nuns who once dwelled cloistered at Auschwitz, praying contemplatively for all the sorrows that had gone before. They were pitched - and let's agree, they were victims of shallow political currents and appeasements on all sides. Not much changes.
My friends who are Muslims - and I have many, as I do friends who are Jewish and Christian, cheerfully agnostic, and uncertain - are gracious, delightful, kind people who bless my life. They are my colleagues, my students, my friends and acquaintances. They are people. Nice people.
For those who like to muse what would Jesus do?- in conversation, and on bumper stickers - the answer is simple: Love your neighbour as yourself. There are no footnotes and there is no opt out clause.
The Rolling Stones had it very right in Sympathy for the Devil. There are so many instances of evil let loose - and encouraged. Edmund Burke made the point equally well: All it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.
What so many people did faced with a horror beyond understanding was the right thing. At Gander and Hamilton and other airports, ordinary people made strangers welcome. They fed them and consoled them and took them home and cared for them. Again, thanks to my friends at CBC, we hear some of those stories regularly - about strangers who became the dearest of friends through the saddest of circumstances.
So while I look at this day as a sad one in so many ways, I look at it as an encouraging one as well: a small cadre of men committed a terrible, vicious act...and in response, a selection of ordinary people the world over responded with kindness and care. Evil didn't triumph, nor will it if we continue to beat it down with civility, humanity and decency.
I am far from being a religious creature...although a number of times today, I have been in converation with St. Francis and St. Roche. I think they were listening.
As an added bonus, I had the good fortune to hear the laughing and reassuring tones of Mary Hynes on Tapestry today as I was driving home for a last visit to the vet with a good friend. http://www.cbc.ca/tapestry/whatistapestry.html The lovely minister from Georgia talked about being charged with the care of God's creatures. It was well timed...
I like to believe that none of us wishes suffering on any other creature. I am certain nobody wishes so much as discomfort on any one whom we love. In this, I am rarely disappointed.
It's true that when you believe in rescue - of any sort - you wear your heart on your sleeve...and often as not, it gets a bit bruised. It is equally true that what you gain in the process is well worth the bruising that proves inevitable.
Just over four years ago , an 'old' collie arrived at the Hamilton Animal Control. Not the humane society, the pound...where abandoned dogs and cats and birds and bunnies are left...frequently. The lovely people there knew - logically - that a 10 year old collie was not quite the 'catch' that lures anxious people to adopt. But they also knew a sweet dog with such bright eyes was worth a risk. I thank the Good Lord for those gambling souls every day...and I will continue to do that.
So they called Collie Rescue...http://collierescuenetwork.com/
Jennifer called us....
We are - admittedly -failed foster parents. If they come, they stay. No questions asked.
It makes us less than ideal volunteers, but here and there, it makes us helpful.
She was - as Jennifer the Animal Control Officer warned us - old. At least ten. She had some separation anxiety...and her teeth needed some work...but she was a gracious old lady.
So home she came.
She never moved fast, really. She did, however, move purposefully. When focused, she could bump her brothers out of the way with intent. Often, she did.
She was lovely. When she did her first spot on Animal House Calls for Collie Rescue, she was a poster child. When she last went for grooming - four weeks ago - the folks at the 'spa' said she was the best looking of our collie kids. They weren't wrong.
Perhaps, most important, she was happy. She barked at squirrels with vigour (although the squirrels never went far when it was just her...)....she loved Timbits...and hot dogs...and walks in the park, during which she sang. The dulcet strains of 'woo' repeated in assorted harmony.
She had - up to this last week - such very bright eyes.
She laughed.
And she was always a reminder that old is not over...that it might take time to get somewhere, but accomplishing the journey was a worthy pursuit even if it was a little longer in the making.
She was never any trouble.
A tooth out here...a cyst off there...that was the extent of the medical maintenance for the Betty White of Collies. Until last week.
But even then, there are times where - if you pay attention - you know it's not a case of silver linings in a cloud...but a little cloud in the silver linings.
Things unfolded quickly...so she didn't suffer.
She was blessed with kind and loving caregivers - who roasted her chicken, and changed her blankets, and ran her neuro assessments to see if maybe - just maybe - there was some odd possibility that this was not a sinister and final affliction. And everyone so very much wanted a miracle.
Perhaps, in an odd way, we all got that answer to our collective prayer.
There was a warm Sunday in the yard to enjoy...
There were friends Shannon and Janice checking on her and feeding her and changing her so if the time was short, it was comfortable and at home.
There were Carrie and Evan - her peeps - sitting with her and reminding her how much she was loved.
There were Dr. Sharon, Dr. Pat - her good pal Kelly - plus Melissa, Patty and Nicki - and her gentleman caller, Austin the lab - looking for puzzle pieces and keeping her always comfortable.
That, my friends, is nothing to sneeze at. We should all be so blessed.
And while it was a tough day - for all of us - for Amber the collie, it was a good day.
She had more names than any collie we've ever known. She came with Amber...which became Amber Dolly...and Dolly...Dolly Doodle...and Dolly Roo - and Woo - which was almost the sound of her bark. She was Baby Girl to many of us...and Hey You to Dad...
Each call of every name got that same flash of bright eyes...a wag of a tail...and a smile.
And that, is worth everything.
So while the day is tough - and it is - it is so very worth the four years of hilarity and delight she brought.
Recently on Tapestry a former Anglican Bishop talked about heaven...and his dog...and how he knows that when he gets there, his dog will be the surest sign he is safely home. I know she is...and when I go, I will be packing TimBits....'cause she will certainly be expecting them. And so she should.
I had the great luxury of hanging out with my Mother today (capital intended). And because I am blessed to have her - close by, in good health, in sound mind - I am reminded that sometimes, gifts are more important than presents. It's one of the brilliant lessons my mother taught me, and on Mothers' Day - but hopefully, on every day - I hope that brilliant woman knows how valuable those lessons have been (and continue to be) to me.
My Mother taught me that sometimes, white lies are okay. When I was a very little kid (really, really little) and my poor mother needed a break, she would sneak down the hall without shoes on because if I heard her heels, I'd know she was going somewhere. Sometimes, bait and switch is an important lesson in preserving your quality of life.
My Mother taught me the importance of patience. Two of the three of us were not easy children - by a long shot. I may hold the title for being most difficult. I hope she agrees the time she invested in me was worth it because she is one of my favourite people on the planet and she is more than my Mother, she is my friend.
My Mother taught me a love of reading - and let me read anything I liked because she knew reading anything would teach me to love reading everything. She read to us all as children (the purple Winnie the Pooh...about the birthday party...where Pooh and Piglet get Eeyore a honey pot and a balloon -empty and burst - but Eeyore loves them anyway; The Sleep Book - a Jedd is in bed...and the bed of a Jedd is the softest of beds in the world it is said...he makes it from pom-poms he grows on his head...). She bought me comics. We trade books now. How great is that.
My Mother taught me to do the right thing - even when people think you're crazy to do it.
I watched her give back too much change...and walk back into stores when she hadn't been charged for things. And when I do it now and I see the stunned look of incredulity on the faces of the folks who I walk back too, I think it was an important lesson.
She taught me to pay my taxes. And to be grateful to have the opportunity to pay for schools and roads and hospitals. She's fun to cross the border with because she presents her bills and calculations to the border patrol...and some who have Moms like her smile and wave her through.
My Mother taught me to value dear friends. She has played bridge with a wonderful group of women for as long as I remember. There is never a family event that those women are not central to - and they are as devoted as she is, particularly when the chips are down. I love them all and I love running into them as they are fabulous company.
And I love the women who are like that for me: Pam, Carole, Louise, JoAnn and JoAnne (they travel in packs), Mel, Carrie, Kathy and Ruth.
My Mother taught me the importance of faith - even when you're not sure you believe. She does. I wish I did more...but I have no doubt that Churches and Synagogues and Mosques and Temples...and all the Mothers who pray therein make us better people. God Bless Them All.....
My Mother taught me the importance of devotion. She flew to her dying sister, managed her aging mother, sat with her dying sister-in-law - when the situations weren't easy or convenient or comfortable. And she was brilliant every time.
My Mother taught me it's important to call...even when you're not sure you have something to say because sometimes just the comfort of your voice - and the gift of thinking about someone - is more important than you know.
My Mother taught me it was okay to not always be right. To admit you're wrong...even it it's just to yourself...and to learn along the way. Now that was a good lesson.
My Mother taught me to type. She told me if nothing else, it would give me a chance to earn an honest living. It has helped me in every job I had...including when I was the production manager for the engineers' paper and held my middle finger over the delete key.
My Mother taught me to laugh...boy, is that handy.
My Mother taught me to dress appropriately...I wish I could take her to the office and to school.
My Mother taught me that while clean is critical, tidy is negotiable. Dust never killed anyone. Really.
My Mother taught me not to be afraid of spiders (name them all Charlotte and look for Wilbur...but don't bring the pig home). I rescue them out of my bathroom and talk to them all.
My Mother taught me that adventures -big and small - are to be had. Day trips to little spring ponds....drives to watch the swans...treks to San Francisco...they're all the things memories are made of. My first memory of an adventure with her was to see a summer parade on James Street in Burlington...with ice cream. It was wonderful.
My Mother taught me that among your friends and relations, diversity - of culture, of opinion, of approach - is a good thing. You'll be better fed - in body and mind - if you take that approach.
My Mother taught me loyalty. My Father was not an easy man, but she loved him fiercely and she misses him every day that he's no longer with us. As they grew old together, they grew together and in later years, I was amused at what good friends they were. Before he knew he was ill, she did...and while she never approved of his smoking or drinking, we never went to Niagara that she didn't return with Marlboros and beer. In his final weeks, she coaxed him with lobster and Velveeta and anything else she could think of. When he was gone, she was resolute on only one detail: he had always talked about a pine coffin and a shroud in Ireland...and that was what she insisted he have.
My Mother taught me the importance of current events - local and beyond. Reading the hatched, matched and dispatched - along with the headlines - tells you all you need to know before you start your day. Also, it gives you something to talk about!
My Mother taught me the value of sacrifice. Dogs are not her thing. You wouldn't know it from the way she treats my Father's dog...or from the number of trips she's made with me to the vet.
My Mother taught me the importance of education - and she and my Father both saw that their children had a good one - and believed it was our duty to give that back.
My Mother taught me it was important to vote - even when the options aren't great. There are few duties you have to society - and many people made an ultimate sacrifice to make this possible. It's only once every few years so even if you decline your ballot, go.
So when I asked if she'd like to go to brunch, she said she'd rather stay in, cook, and do the New York Times Crossword Puzzle. So we did....then we went looking for shoes. I got an iPhone (she won't even email)...she got Ibuprofen. And we had fun.
Did I mention adventures?
Thanks Mom....
The past 12 days have been difficult ones for many people: for the people in Haiti - and those with family there. Some people have the skills and ability to help now (and many are doing just that), but others will be needed later so we need to be sure we don't forget.
At lunch the other day, a friend observed, 'Days fly...but years drag...' and he made a good point. Right now, immediate medical support and supplies tops the hit parade for the folks in Haiti; but, next month...and next year...and three years from now, that need will remain as pressing. It will just be a different need.
A good friend of ours, many of his colleagues, a pastor and three brilliant doctors are on the ground at University Hospital in Port au Prince. Another Burlington resident has kindly started a Facebook site - Halton Paramedics in Haiti - to keep family and friends up-to-date on their daily efforts. The photos show what words can't: a mother watching a child being treated, an injured person watching those who are offering care, places that have suddenly become clinics, but were recreational spots before. The site is open - join it and go take a look.
Another friend noted the other day that she wished she had medical training so she could go help now: I told her to hold that thought. Now, medical skills top the list of needs, but six months and a year from now, other skills will be needed too. Teachers and engineers and builders and many other folks as Haiti is resurrected (not an accidental choice of words, might I add). There will be something for all of us to do to keep attention on this place and to be sure we don't turn away from the need that will change but grow.
I was quite cheered to read that both The Gap and Levis maintain operations here - and that they were actively working to assist their employees. Remember that. Why can't Haiti replace China (I am happy to rant about China as cheap goods from China blunt development in Haiti, South America, Louisiana and Ontario - to name a few spots who could use the trade)?
I'm equally cheered by the calm voice of Lawrence Cannon - our Foreign Affairs Minister. His regular updates - although the news is not always good - are sincere and gentle. I am not always a great fan of our current government (okay...rarely) but you earn respect in shifting circumstances for simply saying, 'We don't have perfect answers and where our answers are wrong, we'll fix it.' Wouldn't it be nice if we all remembered that when we are not in the teeth of crisis. (That is not a question...it's an observation...)
Let's all mark our calendars for one year from now - 2011. Let's see if we remember Haiti when the benefits are done and the CNN staff have gone on to the next assignment.
Feed the Children Canada is waiting for the ports to reopen so the can ship a container of clothers and supplies. Canadian Physicians for Aid and Relief (CPAR), a smaller charity remains in Africa, tending to many people whose needs have become less pressing to the international community for the moment, but whose needs are pressing to them every day.
One year...mark your calendar...and don't forget in between....
My wise and lovely friend Cynthia and I were trading notes over the holidays. She suggested for good measure we make no resolutions this new year.
Generally, I don't...the same way I don't tend to go out New Year's Eve: first, making resolutions is like giving up chocolate for Lent - it's just going to plant the seed of yearning in your mind; second, waiting for New Year's to plan a change is the original procrastinator's dream (especially if there is no specific year attached...)
So I wouldn't qualify these as resolutions so much as intentions...and some might blossom into realities...
I am going to take more pictures...
I am going to spend more time with the delightful nieces and nephews I've been blessed with...
I am going to learn to use the new camera - and I am going to ask for help when I need it. (MPB...Peter J. - consider yourself warned)
Just for fun - and for salving my sanity - I am going to play more Scrabble...(Skip? Cynthia? Josee? Mark? We all good with that?)
I am going to walk more...up stairs at work and around the block with Master Shadow.
I am going to make time to read things I want to read more frequently and with fewer interruptions. Everything from Jeremy's postings (along with the fine links to The New York Times) to Dr. English's new book on Trudeau (Just watch me! or perhaps Just Read Me...)
I am going to name more of the birds who hang out here to go with Tink the Woodpecker. My mother always told me woodpeckers had voices like little bells...and when Tink started hanging out and chatting, I understood what she meant. We'll see if he'll sit for a photo.
I am going to see more of my favourite people and simply delight in the pleasure of their company.
I am going to take more day trips with my Mother...who also fits into that category of favourite people who are good company and make good conversation. It's not lost on me that not everyone is fortunate enough to come to a point where parents become trusted friends so I am going to take advantage of this good fortune. Also, I am going to get that woman to Montreal.
I am going to go visit Toronto more often...and I AM going to Louise's pub.
I might just be brave enough to make jam (or jelly this year...) Jasmine will help, I know, and she won't even point and laugh.
I am going to learn to let go of the little things more often and with a flourish.
If the jam goes well, we'll discuss the banjo possibility.
I am going to take Mike's advice and concentrate more on the students who bring me joy rather than the occasional runyons who cause me grief. There are many students who bring me joy...and I am going to tell them that more often.
A history course might be fun....
Squash might come up nicely around the rocks at the front...
The Sunday New York Times...at least every second Sunday. Coffee from Cafe du Monde to go with it.
I am going to write more personal notes and letters.
I plan to continue believing in magic...and enjoying it when it happens.
I am going to keep talking to strangers - even if it's just in passing - and smiling at people to see what happens. Usually, they smile back. Often, it becomes contagious.
I am going to enjoy occasional Bejeweled Marathons...Trailer Park Boys...Two and Half Men and Saturdays at the pub without feeling guilty about the joy of leisure or laughter. Both are good for the brain and the heart.
I am going to revel in the Year of the Tiger starting in February...because a Leo born in the Year of the Tiger will never get a better chance to teach the world to purr.
So there!
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