by Heather Plett | Sep 7, 2005 | Uncategorized
There’s an eery silence in parts of the blogosphere these days. Many of the sites I visit regularly seemed dumbfounded – at a complete loss for words. This site is no different. We just don’t know what to say. I start sentences, but they dangle in the air unfinished. I have started several posts in my mind, but none of them seem adequate. Some people, like me, are writing faltering attempts to try to wrap words around this terrible, terrible tragedy. I appreciate their attempts – they’re helping me process it too.
What do we say when we see hundreds of people who fought to survive an angry brutal storm, now dying because help has not come soon enough? What do we say when we see images of people stranded on rooftops, waving tattered rags, hoping someone will choose to rescue them instead of the people on the next rooftop? What do we say about the looting, the murders, the rapes? How do we respond to the poor and destitute that could not leave their homes and now must lay their heads on cots in a stadium meant for football games and not lodging?
I have no idea what to say. In my mind I say so many things. That it’s a shame they weren’t more prepared. That it’s pitiful that it took so long for the rescuers to come. That this kind of thing shouldn’t happen in the world’s richest country. I ask the same questions everyone else is asking. Could it have been avoided if they’d spent the money on the levees instead of waging war on Iraq? Did it take them longer to bring in aid because the people are predominately black? Would it be any different if the storm hit our city? Would I have the guts to open my home to some of the thousands of people left without homes and without jobs?
Today I saw 2 pictures of the inside of the Astrodome. One was of a young mother with a thirteen day old baby – she was talking on a cell phone trying to put the pieces of her life back together in some semblance of normalcy. Another was a picture of rows and rows of cots covering the floor of the stadium. In the centre of the picture, barely visible, were 2 small children, not unlike my own children except for the colour of their skin. They sat perched on those harsh-looking cots, staring at the camera with expressionless faces. I don’t know what their life was like before Katrina came to visit, but now it consists of no more than a few feet of space in the centre of thousands of other scared and lonely people.
My children are safe in bed tonight. They are not sitting perched on a cot in the middle of a stadium. They each have their own beds with their own special blankets that their Grandma made for them. Is that fair? No, I can’t find any kind of fairness in that. I don’t know why my daughters are here and someone else’s are there. I don’t know why I still have a house and a bed and a job and a city to live in. I don’t understand any of this.
Some people are chosing to pray their way through this, others are railing against a God they can’t respect or trust in the middle of such tragedy. I’ve done some of both. I’m also trying to find a way to contribute. No, I haven’t made a donation to the Red Cross. Perhaps I should, but what I’m chosing to do instead is to help some of the poor people in my own city. Because I know that if a hurricane or ice storm or flood hit us, there would be lots of people here who wouldn’t be able to get out in time either. My contribution probably won’t help them buy a car to escape if tragedy hits, but perhaps it will at least help someone pay the rent this month, so that they still have a place to shelter their child.
And in the end, all I can say is…God help us.
by Heather Plett | Sep 2, 2005 | Uncategorized
Last night was one of those great evenings that make me so sad to see Summer pass. A free outdoor concert in Assiniboine Park, listening to Joel Kroeker (awesome) and The Wailin’ Jennys (even MORE awesome), hanging out with family and friends, racing Maddie across the lawn, eating donuts on the way home with Nikki and Maddie – all very, very good. It was a drizzly, windy, cool, lousy day yesterday, so we weren’t sure how the evening would go, but just before 7:30, when the concert was about to start, the sky cleared, the wind died, and it turned out to be a beautiful evening. It was still a little cool, but we hunkered down with blankets, and stayed pleasantly warm.
by Heather Plett | Sep 1, 2005 | Uncategorized
Yay! I got published again! I tell ya, no matter how many times I see my name in print, next to something I’ve written, I still get all giddy when it happens.
The Winnipeg Free Press published a piece I sent them a few months ago. And what’s REALLY cool is that one of my closest friends, Michele, also got a piece published this week. (She’s not bragging about it on her blog like I am, but believe me, she SHOULD. It was a great piece!)
I think I posted mine here a while back, but I can’t find it, so in case you want to read it, here it is…
___________________
Life is good — downsized, but way bigger
‘MY mom doesn’t like going to the mall,” I heard my daughter tell her friend recently.
She’s right. I HATE going to the mall. It reminds me of all the things I don’t have and don’t need but find myself wanting anyway.
I’ve been looking for a better balance in my life — between the things I want and need, and between the things that really matter in life and the clutter that gets in the way. A few years ago, my husband and I took a step back, re-evaluated what was important in our lives, and decided to make some changes.
In a culture where great importance is placed on acquiring more things, we found ourselves getting caught on the same hamster wheel as everyone else.
“Make more money to buy more things” the ads scream at you. Buy more things and then you need more money to maintain that lifestyle. Make even MORE money and start letting your things control your lifestyle. Get a bigger house, send the kids off to day care, buy a bigger van to pull the boat and the camper you just bought, get a better job, work more overtime, spend less time with the kids… you get the picture.
At some point in the vicious cycle on that hamster wheel, you either decide to commit yourself entirely to its endless motion, or you get off. A lot of people decide to keep spinning. We decided to get off.
The first thing to go was my husband’s job. He’d been miserable for quite awhile and found he had no desire to stay where he was, even if it provided a decent income. He longed for the education he’d never gotten. We weren’t sure we could survive on one income and somehow be able to afford his tuition, but we decided to take a risk.
If he arranged his classes around the kids’ schedules, we wouldn’t need a babysitter very often and our day-care bills would go down. The added bonus would be that our kids could spend a large majority of their time with their parents.
It wasn’t easy at first. We had to give up some of the luxuries of our lifestyle — fewer meals at restaurants, one less vehicle, no cellphone, more second-hand clothes, fewer vacations, no more cable TV, no more cleaning lady. But before long, we recognized the benefits were outweighing the costs.
We were spending more quality time as a family because we weren’t rushing around as much. We ate more wholesome food because we had more time to prepare meals rather than grabbing something quick after a long day at work.
The next step was my job. That was another big decision. I was offered a great job at a non-profit organization, but we just weren’t sure I could take the pay cut it required, plus lose all the benefits of a fairly long career in the government. Once again, though, we decided the risk was worth the pain.
We found more things to cut, and I took the leap. Again, the benefits far outweighed the costs. I was much happier, felt fulfilled in my new job, got great opportunities, and my whole family benefited when I came home at the end of the day with less stress and no “on-call” cellphone attached to my hip like an albatross.
These days, we’re facing more steps in our downsizing process. With the current cost of gas, and the consciousness that we are not doing the environment any favours by driving a big vehicle, we’ve decided to sell the van. We’re shopping for a car. Again, there will be costs.
We’ll have less space to haul around our stuff, the kids will probably fight more because they’ll be stuck sitting next to each other in the back seat And along with the van, we’ll also have to get rid of the “toys” we pull behind it. The big camper will give way to a small pop-up camper or tent. The boat will go.
A lot of people have told us we’re nuts. “You’re going back to school? But you’re almost 40!” “You’re quitting a good government job? Are you CRAZY?” “How in the world do you plan to live on only one income?” The kids have felt the pinch, too. Their friends get to have more cool toys, go on more exotic trips, live in bigger houses, have new clothes instead of hand-me-downs, get involved in more activities — it’s not easy to sit back and watch other people have all the fun, especially when you’re a kid.
Despite all of that, I don’t regret any of our decisions. In fact, now that we’ve taken a few major steps along the way, and I’ve seen the rewards, I actually look FORWARD to getting rid of the van, the camper, and the boat. I feel lighter already — like I’ve just thrust off a layer of winter clothes and can dance barefoot in the grass again.
There’s no way to define the value of all the things we’ve gained.
I didn’t realize the stress of our old lifestyle until it was gone. I notice it most when I come home from work. I come home happy because the stress of my old job is gone. My husband is happy because he LOVES school and feels fulfilled like he never has before. The kids are happy because they’ve been home with their dad and haven’t spent the last few hours at day care. Supper’s usually cooked because my husband likes cooking and has more time for it now. It’s all good.
I once met a woman in Africa living in a mud hut, and I wondered how she could be so happy. Now I’m beginning to understand.
No, we can’t go to Australia for our vacation this year. And no, we won’t be buying a bigger house, even though our little kitchen drives us all crazy. And no, we won’t be able to go out for supper this week, because it’s not in the budget. And yes, there are times when we’re not sure the paycheque will stretch to the end of the week.
I have to tell you, though, life is good.
Heather Plett-Laurendeau is a downsizing Winnipegger in an inexorably upscale world.
by Heather Plett | Aug 31, 2005 | Uncategorized
(Warning: One of my long “trying to be profound” posts ahead.)
I like to think I have a good command of the English language. I’m a communicator who spends a lot of time searching for the best way to communicate ideas, information, instructions, etc. I know a lot of words. And yet, there is so much I don’t understand.
Within the English language (and I suppose within any language), there are a lot of sub-languages – languages that are familiar and comfortable to those who speak them but are entirely foreign to everyone else. On the way home from work yesterday, I saw a woman with an interesting hair-do – short spiky dreadlocks – and I wondered if there was a word for that. It occurred to me that she probably had the language to define her hair-do. Or if she didn’t, at least her hairdresser did. I, with my mostly-straight blonde Caucasian hair, don’t have a reason to communicate in that language.
But there are also a lot of languages that I understand that neither that woman nor her hairdresser would. I’ve had to use a lot of different languages in my work life. Here’s a little sampling of statements that mean something to me, but probably sound like Yiddish to you:
Veterans Affairs: “Did you PA that BPA document to the VAC file? The AC wants the file to send it to the VAB. ”
Agriculture: “Next week, representatives from the CD will be meeting with someone from KAP and NFU. Could you prepare the doc for the discussion on HEMS?”
Health: “What happens with the NHP remains after they have been used for the SARS experiment? Will they be autoclaved out of the BSL4?”
See what I mean? Foreign languages. Everyone speaks them – either at work or at home. Your family probably has some words or phrases that mean absolutely nothing to anyone outside the family. My family, for example, is famous for using lines from an old comedy tape we used to listen to regularly. For those family members reading, remember “You COOKED it? But that bird spoke seven languages!”?
For much of my professional life, I’ve served as a translator, of sorts. It’s my job to distill the language of the experts (whether they’re scientists, agriculturalists, or international aid experts) into a language that you, Joe Average Public, can understand. . It’s not that I have to fully understand any of the languages I’m translating (it would take a PhD to understand most of what the scientists were saying), but I have to somehow convince the experts to dumb down the information enough so that I can understand it and communicate it to the public. Sometimes I get it right, sometimes I don’t. Any time you receive a government document, there’s a good chance that someone like me had their hand in translating it. (Hey – don’t blame ME for all the bad government communication out there! I could only do so much.)
When you receive some form of communication – be it a letter, a flyer, or a news piece on the television – you will very quickly shut it out if it has not been translated well. If the communicator speaks a language that’s foreign to you, they haven’t got a chance of catching or keeping your attention. That’s why advertisers are paid well – they have to figure out the language that is best understood and convinces you to buy the product.
We’re all trying to understand each other. Sometimes we get the translation right, sometimes we don’t. Sometimes the words are simple, but the message is complex. A simple statement like “I like your shoes” can mean so many different things. Do you REALLY like them or are you being sarcastic and you’ll snicker when I turn my back? Are you trying to imply that I spend too much money on shoes?
Language can be complicated. On the other hand, some forms of communication are beautiful in their simplicity. A smile, for example, translates into any language. I “spoke” to many people in Africa, even though I didn’t know their languages. Watch a child for awhile – they find simple and effective ways to communicate. Yesterday, in a store parking lot, Maddie stopped to admire and talk to a Chinese baby in a stroller. The parents spoke very little English, but they understood that this small child wanted to be friends with their baby. They grinned and patted her head.
Next month, I’ll be facilitating a workshop where I’ll be working as yet another form of translator. It’s a teambuilding workshop, and I’ll be teaching the concept of Six Thinking Hats to help the group understand that people have different ways of thinking and different personalities, and therefore tend to communicate with different languages. When someone says “I don’t like that idea” it may very well mean “that scares me because it’s outside of my comfort zone” or “I feel badly because I have nothing to contribute and you’re always coming up with the good ideas” or “perhaps we can build on your idea to come up with something even better.”
The other night at bedtime, the girls and I read the Bible story of the Tower of Babel – how the people were getting too proud and greedy and self-important, so God confused their language so that they could no longer communicate. Seems that story can be interpreted in many different ways. Maybe they all kept speaking the same basic language (Hebrew, I suppose?), but God changed everyone’s Myers Briggs personality type so that they all interpreted what was being said through different lenses. And consequently, we now have to have workshops and teambuilding sessions to try to bring people back together so that they can build their own mini towers of Babel. Who knows.
Though the languages we speak can make life complicated, and the way we interpret those languages can lead to way too many misunderstandings, I think it’s also what makes life interesting. If, for example, your workplace or home didn’t develop its own language, than nothing would set you apart and you wouldn’t have a special place to feel at home. If my family didn’t repeat silly lines from a comedy tape ad nauseum (to those who married in to our family, I sincerely apologize for the times you’ve had to try to interpret) then we would have fewer strings bonding us together.
Language is one of the building blocks of community. When we share a language, we share ideas and emotions, and we find ways to cling together. Even the blogosphere can do that – how about lol or rofl or btw? Those outside our community wouldn’t understand. (And if you’re inside the community, and don’t understand, I really don’t mean to leave you out, so what I just said was “laugh out loud”, “rolling on the floor laughing”, and “by the way”.) We may come from different places, but if we can share a common language, we can communicate and bond, at least on some levels. We might not always understand the nuances of what other people are saying, but we try, and on that effort, we build relationships.
(Don’t say I didn’t warn you!)
by Heather Plett | Aug 31, 2005 | Uncategorized
It’s hard to imagine how all those people in Louisiana and Mississippi are going to pick up the pieces of such a broken life. One woman said “All I found that belonged to me was a shoe. There’s nothing left.” How do you begin to rebuild a life with nothing but a shoe? Of course there are those in even worse situations – losing wives, husbands, children, and parents. Where will they begin?
If everything and everyone I knew was swept away in some angry storm, I don’t know if I could hope to do more than crawl into a hole and die.
And again, one wonders – is there REALLY a gracious god in charge of all this? My guess is, that if there is, then he/she is weeping right now. Weeping and longing for something different.
