by Heather Plett | May 11, 2005 | Uncategorized
I suppose it has something to do with the fact that I work for an organization that focuses on responding to hunger. Almost every day, I look for ways of creatively communicating hunger-related issues in ways that will resonate with Canadians and convince them that they should care about the 800 million people going to bed hungry every day.
Whatever the case, these days I find myself more and more concerned with finding 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. In the last few months, there have been a few reminders why this is important. My trip to Africa was a big one – it’s hard not to notice the huge difference between the way they live and the way I do. Only an un-caring person would walk away from that and not take some personal responsibility for their suffering.
But it really started long before I went to Africa and long before I got this job. A few years ago, Marcel 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 daycare, 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 Marcel’s job. He’d been miserable for quite awhile and found he had no desire to stay in the transportation industry, even if it meant more promotions and more money. 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 daycare 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 – less meals at restaurants, get rid of the cell phone, more second-hand clothes, less vacations, no more cable TV. But before long, we recognized the benefits were outweighing the costs. The kids were happier when they got to come home from school instead of going to daycare. 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 dream 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” cell phone 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.
Some people look at us funny these days. Alot of people, along the way, have told us we’re nuts. “You’re going back to school? But you’re almost FORTY!” “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. Now, when I watch parents dropping off their kids at daycare, I feel a weight on my shoulders when I remember how much that used to hurt.
I notice it most when I come home from work. I come home happy because the stress of my old job is gone. Marcel 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 daycare. Supper’s usually cooked because Marcel likes cooking and has more time for it now. It’s all good.
No, we can’t go to Australia for our vacation this year, like some of our daughters’ friends have. 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. On top of that, there are many, many times when we’re not sure we can stretch the dollar to the end of the pay period.
I have to tell you, though, life is good.
by Heather Plett | May 10, 2005 | Uncategorized
“Everyone – down on the floor!” That’s how it started. Several members of the “Manitoba Militia” burst into the high school’s gymnasium proclaiming that they had come to take over the school and that if we wanted to escape with our lives, we would need to run for the refuge of the buses waiting outside.
Last Friday, I took part in an “In Exile” exercise. (Our organization, Canadian Foodgrains Bank, is one of the creators of the program.) Organizers had invited high school students from across the province to join them in the simulation exercise that provides students with an opportunity to experience what it’s like to be a refugee for a day. I was an honourary high school student for the day.
There was relative calm on the bus as we escaped our “country”, but when we arrived at Bird’s Hill Park, pandemonium broke loose once again. Guards burst onto the bus, demanding that we stay silent and keep our eyes to the front of the bus.
Each of us had been given a passport complete with an identity, a country, and a story. I was Balaputa from Indonesia, a 17 year old girl who’d had to flee with her family because of political unrest. There’d been bombing in my village, and my sister had been killed. Together with my fellow Indonesians, I was ordered off the bus and made to lie face down on the ground with my hands on my head. Anyone who moved was subjected to persecution from the guards. Some had to stand on one foot in the bush, and others had to do multiple push-ups.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity of watching the ants crawl past my face, we were told to get up. But the persecution wasn’t over yet. Partly for their own sport, and partly as an exercise in breaking our spirit, the guards put us through several nonsensical exercises. We moved picnic tables from one spot to another and then back again. We held the picnic tables above our heads until we felt our arms would collapse.
At long last, we escaped into the bush. In our walk to find safety we encountered exploding land mines, rebels who killed one of our people and took all our food and water, exploded body parts, injured people in need of assistance (do you help them and risk your own safety, or walk away and leave them destitute?), benevolent villagers offering us candy, temperamental border guards on power trips, more rebels who destroyed our passports and persecuted us further, and aid workers who spoke a language none of us understood.
Finally we arrived at camp. We thought it would represent safety, but there were still more surprises in store for us. First there were papers to fill out – if we could understand the language they were written in. Those of us who were sick or injured were sent to the medical tent for attention.
Then there was the long wait for food after hours spent wandering through the bush. Throughout the long wait, we had to put up with more intimidation by the power-hungry guards. Just when it appeared that the food would be served, rebels burst into the camp and stole it out from under our eyes. The cook was shot and injured trying to protect the food. The food was finally recovered by enterprising refugees who collected all the earthly goods they could find in the camp and bartered with the rebels.
By the end of the day, I was exhausted and sore. My head ached and my muscles screamed for relief. It’s not easy being a refugee – even for a day.
More than anything, what I took away from Friday’s exercise was a glimpse into what it feels like to have your power taken away from you. Though we don’t recognize it in our daily existence, we have a considerable amount of control over what happens to us. Generally, if someone mistreats us, we can choose to challenge the person or walk away. It doesn’t work that way when someone has a gun pointed at your head. Suddenly, your choices become limited – either do ten push-ups or risk getting shot or tortured.
What I couldn’t help but wonder when I left camp was what kind of a person I would turn into if I were subjected to that kind of treatment on a long term basis. Would I retain any of my self-confidence? Would I have the courage to keep going? When I arrived in a new country, would I be able to trust people who were trying to help me? Would I believe in myself enough to start a new life? Would I feel I had the right to “get even” by mistreating other people? I’m not sure how I would respond. I certainly have a new perspective after this experience and I hope I will treat people with a new respect and empathy – not only refugees, but victims of abuse, persecution, oppression, etc.
by Heather Plett | May 5, 2005 | Uncategorized
Well, perhaps not EVERY mother cares about these words, but I sure do…
“Mom, I’m on page 85 already”
“Mom, do I HAVE to turn out the light? I just want to finish this chapter.”
“Mom, can we go to the library soon? I don’t have any more books to read.”
“Maddie, do you want me to read that story for you?”
Yes, I’m proud to say, my oldest daughters have become book lovers. (The youngest seems to be as well, but so far her books have to be read to her by an older person 🙂 Nikki is on her third book of the Lemony Snikket series, and Julie is on book 4 of the Harry Potter series. Yay! (It’s even BETTER that they seem to have graduated past the Olsen twins and Hillary Duff books.)
If there was one thing I wanted for my kids (and yes, I admit there are others, but this one is important!) it was that they would learn a love for books. One never knows whether that will happen or not – it’s not something you can force. But it seems to be happening, and I am delighted.
Last night, as we lay in my bed reading together, I said to Julie “some day soon, you can start borrowing MY books.” And she said “Yeah, and you can borrow MINE.”
This I vow – that I will always make sure that they have enough books at their disposal to broaden their minds and expand their worldviews. Madeleine L’Engle said you shouldn’t limit what your kids read – if they want to start reading “adult” books that seem too complex for them, let them. If they have trouble with them, they’ll either set them aside until they’re ready for them, or, if they know they can, come to you to help them understand. She said she had a full library of “adult” books at her disposal from a very early age and has been forever grateful that she could read any of them that she wanted – it helped encourage her love for books and her inquisitive mind. (Note: of course I’m not referring to “adult” as in the misused context of “adult” entertainment – I’m just talking about books with complex subject matter that seem beyond a child’s grasp. I don’t have any of the OTHER kind in my house 🙂
Julie asked what my favourite book was. I hummed and hawed for awhile and said “well, right now I guess I’d say ‘Traveling Mercies’.” Yes, when she asks for it, I’ll let her borrow it.
by Heather Plett | May 4, 2005 | Uncategorized
I took Julie and Maddie to the circus last night (Nikki and Daddy went on a date elsewhere – they’re too COOL for the circus). Here are my thoughts on it:
– I loved it! I felt like a kid again, watching in awe as the trapeze artist swung from the rafters, the animal trainers led their horses, dogs and elephants through their paces, the jugglers wowed us with their tricks, and that AWESOME act where the two men juggled women on their FEET! Oh, and let’s not forget the “globe of death” where 7 motorcyclists rode around the inside of a big globe. Yikes! I was on the edge of my seat!
– WHY do the Shriners insist on having a long, drawn-out official entry of all their dignitaries, their pipe band, their mini-cars and motorcycle cavalcades, etc. before the action starts? We came (and paid generously, I might add, despite the “free” tickets they gave us to suck us in) to see the CIRCUS, not a bunch of old men in tassled hats! It’s hard enough to get a three year old to sit still when there’s something INTERESTING to watch!
– Do they REALLY need to soak us for every single dollar we’ve got? And can they QUIT waving all those flashing wands, inflatable toys, cotton candy, popcorn, etc. in front of my kids’ eyes? Do they REALLY think I want to hear “Mommy, can I have that $12 piece-of-crap flashing wand or that frightfully overpriced cotton candy? Please, please!” for the umpteenth time?? (okay, so some of that was what I was hearing, not what they were saying)
– COME ON! Is a 2 minute elephant ride around the ring REALLY worth $10? Yeah, there are lots of pushover parents who’ve got cash to burn who are WILLING to pay that kind of money for junior to sit on a stinky elephant, but what about those of us on a budget? Can’t you have a little sympathy on us and understand how hard it is to say “no” over and over again to our kids who want some of the chances all those OTHER kids are getting?
– Okay, the ticket says the show is starting at 7:45, so can you please START AT SEVEN FORTY FIVE? Some of us have kids to put to bed and we don’t really appreciate you starting at 8:00, only to make us sit through twenty minutes of Shriners parading around the arena before the action starts.
– And speaking of time – yeah, I understand that you want to make as much money you can, and sucker as many parents as possible into paying for those $10 elephant rides and another ridiculous price to get their kids’ pictures taken with scary snakes, but is a forty five minute intermission REALLY necessary? Again, SOME of us want to get our kids to bed BEFORE 11:30 so we don’t have to put up with cranky kids in the morning.
– Next time Maddie says she has to pee only 15 minutes after the last time I took her to the washroom, somebody smack me if I say “Maybe you can wait a little longer. You just went pee a few minutes ago.” To all those people sitting around me last night, I sincerely apologize for stripping her naked right there in our seats, but it just seemed a whole lot easier than pushing past all those increasingly impatient people in my row.
– Ah, but despite all that other stuff, THANK YOU Shriners for giving me an enjoyable evening with my two youngest daughters. Thank you for that look of delight on Julie’s face when she watched that man hang upside-down on his motorcycle on a very high tight rope. Thank you for Maddie’s giggles when she watched the dogs go down the slide. Thank you for the look of delight on MY face when yet another suicidal motorcyclist entered the globe of death. And thank you for the appreciative little hug Julie gave me as we walked back to the van.
by Heather Plett | May 3, 2005 | Uncategorized
My mom changed her name for the first time this weekend. She had the same last name as my dad, so when they got married, she didn’t need to change. Now, at 67, she finally got her long-time wish – a new name.
I’m not sure what to say about the wedding. It was lovely, mom looked beautiful, the tulips we placed on the tables were cheerful and colourful, lots of mom’s friends were there, the music was nice, the food was good. It was all those things. But more than anything, what I want to say is… it hurt more than I expected.
It’s hard to know how to feel when you see your mom marry someone you barely know. Some people try to tell you how you should feel… “oh, you must be SO excited for your mom” or “how LUCKY your mom is to find someone again” or “it must make you feel good to see your mom so happy again.” Perhaps they’re right. Perhaps that’s the way I SHOULD feel.
Other people – well-meaning people, I suppose – see you fighting tears and think they have a right to imagine what you’re feeling… “So how do you feel today?” or “It must be a little hard to see her with another man” or “I understand what you’re going through.” Some of them have a right to ask – those who love me and know my heart, and those who are hurting too because they know this will change things for them too. Auntie Cecile, Auntie Cathy – those people have a right to ask. And they ask in the right spirit. The other people who hardly know me – well, I try to put on a brave face and say “I’m sure she’ll be happy and that’s what counts.” They don’t need to see the jagged pain that reaches back to my father’s death. They don’t have access to the dark places in my heart.
How do I feel? I feel betrayed when I see her kiss a man who’s not my father. I feel worried when I think her life will change and I will be less a part of it. I feel a little jealous when I see her hold his grandchildren on her lap. I feel sad when I think that this man is 9 years older than her and will probably not be able to keep up with her youth and vigour. I feel concerned when I see her single friends who think they’ve lost a piece of her. I feel angry that she couldn’t have spent the rest of her life with my father.
And yet, I have to try to hang on to those other, more positive things I feel. She looks happy. I like to see her happy. She doesn’t look lonely anymore. She’s got a new spring in her step. That’s all good. She’s looking forward to companionship, travel, bike rides, laughter… I hope she gets all those things and more. I hope he still has a lot of youth in him and that he gives her energy instead of taking it away. I hope he makes her laugh. I hope they’re happy. I hope she doesn’t forget what all the other people in her life mean to her.
Post Script: I don’t know why I named this blog the way I did. I shouldn’t have, but I can’t help myself. I can’t type those words without hearing my Dad singing the song – one of many he’d sing with a twang and with relish. It doesn’t make it much easier to bring Dad into this picture, but you can’t always change what’s going on in your heart.
