But It’s All For You

Barbara: I didn’t know what I was going to write about when I sat down at my computer today. Deb, Colin, and I have been ruminating alternate titles for our upcoming demo-pilot and that’s pretty much all I’ve been thinking about lately, so I did think that maybe I’d find myself writing about that. But then I realized I kept thinking about this conversation I had with a female acquaintance the other day, which has now niggled deep into my brain and which I would love to un-niggle with you guys.

This woman had finished teacher’s college a couple of years ago and is now trying to find her way into the system. It’s a tough field with tons of competition—and I will add, also sometimes frustratingly occupied by teachers who are sick of the grind and the grist and who offer their students little by way of encouragement or inspiration. She bides her time—as so many young teachers do—by substitute teaching. We found ourselves in quick catch-up mode and she was telling me that when she goes into the schools, every single high school student tells her that they want only one thing from their teachers: to be seen for who they are. That’s it. See me. Hear me. These kids, she said, were almost unanimously engaged, interesting, thoughtful (as in full of thought), but many of them felt they were being marginalized by sweeping stereotypes: the bad one, the rude one, the druggie, the apathetic, the asshole. She could only shake her head and wonder why they weren’t being heard, on the one hand, and why they were living by the label, on the other.

One of the “worst” of the bunch, a student who was routinely “bad”, began an extended confessional with her. She discovered a highly intelligent, passionate but frustrated kid. When she asked him why he didn’t work up to his potential, he asked why he should bother: no one would recognize it anyway. My heart broke for him and others like him. Kids who might never find their voices because they feel like they’re caught in an echo chamber—a vast, hollow and futile void.

But then I also remembered my parental philosophy, one I constantly remind my children of (and one I constantly have to remind myself of): we are hunters and gatherers of information. We search out and find what we need amongst the endless details of human life and natural phenomenon. The more stuff we catalogue and the more stuff we pay attention to, the more information we have in our arsenal to use for our own lives and for the lives of those around us. In the end, it can’t matter that there is an apathetic ear or ears in our periphery. As hunters, the prey doesn’t, after all, come to us; we have to seek it out. As gatherers, we have to keep doing a kind of archeology our whole lives long, this sifting through of mountains of detritus to find our own nuggets of gold.

I hope that we can all remember that we need to keep searching. And we don’t do it to impress teachers or loved ones or parents or some faceless “audience”, we do it to enrich our own lives, to find our own waypoints, messages, secrets, answers. Which might, incidentally, also turn out to impress our teachers, our loved ones, our parents, and/or some faceless “audience” out there, but that’s not the important thing. The most important thing is that we see our world. Not that we are seen in it. 

PS Let's keep a thought for Deb and her mom on the big move home today!!

Deb: Barb, I love this and I just had a conversation yesterday with someone about the concept of “seeing our own world”, but we did not phrase it just like that. You have now given me a phrase to encompass those feelings: “see our world”. This is my favourite part of the living experience. The hunting, gathering, and learning. Knowing that we will learn until the day we die is, on its own, a reason to want to be here. I remember a time of fear in my life when I actually tried to shrink my world. It was during a time when I was afraid to fly. Now I am at a point where I want to expand my world, explode with sights and sounds and knowledge. Because to “see my world” is to “love my world”. 

Miracles, Meteors and Magdalene

Deb: This weekend our dear friend Cheryl––whom you met this year when we did a three-way with her––headed with her family to the Stratford Festival in Ontario to see the wonderful Canadian, Broadway-bound production of Jesus Christ Superstar. As it happens, this is the last weekend of the show in Stratford and I, being an official card-carrying member of the “I’m obsessed with all things Jesus Christ Superstar” wanted to see the show before it left Canada. This is the first time in fifteen years my husband and I have not been able to get to Stratford to see shows, missing many wonderful productions featuring, among others, our dear and talented friends.

So I set out to get a single ticket––as Colin was away in the Boston area doing a show (which some of you attended), but I was lucky enough to get, through a lovely friend in the production office, two cancelled tickets. So I asked Barb to come with me. She happily agreed to a wonderful day, which was supposed to consist of a gorgeous two-hour drive, lovely lunch, show, and a peaceful drive home. Or so we thought.

Cut to: Our precious friend and sister Cheryl phoning me last night from Stratford. She was breathless and clearly in pain. She, her husband, and their daughter had been in a horrific car accident, but mercifully, they were alive and functioning.

They were stopped at a traffic light and some guy—who claimed the sun was in his eyes—came barreling into them, knocking them into another car and into the intersection and into yet another car. Their car was totally destroyed, but they came away relatively unscathed. The air bags beat them to a pulp, but ultimately saved their lives. Their daughter was belted and sleeping in the back seat. She woke up, crisis over, to the reek of the air bag gas. Cheryl and Bill were taken to the hospital where they were released in considerable pain, but alive and well ... and as a result ... in the mood for celebration.

The second and tinier miracle was that Barb and I were scheduled to go up the next day to see the final show of Jesus Christ Superstar. Cheryl and Bill of course had no way home and were elated that we were, in a last minute twist of fate, coming right to them! We said that we would chuck the show and simply come up to gather them and their belongings and take them home. Cheryl wouldn’t hear of it. “YOU MUST SEE THIS SHOW!” she said between halting breaths. She insisted that they would simply sleep and chill and gather their resources while we attended the show, which they did.

So we saw the show. And it was a stupendous production. I feel I am authorized to say that given the number of JCSuperstars I have seen on stage and in film. I urge you to see this show on Broadway if you can.

Spent from the production and spent from the wild and challenging events of the last few weeks, we picked them up, took them to the wreck yard, emptied the contents of their shattered car into Barb’s, and said our thanks and farewell to this little gem “Breezy” who had kept them safe these 12 years and held its own right to the end, honouring its owners’ years of appreciation.

We all celebrated the miracle of their survival. It hit me again like a ton of bricks when I saw the car in the scrapyard, broken and finished. We swarmed its broken frame, each of us in our own way giving thanks for their safe escape.

When Barb and I set out to get them, all shaky and full of emotion, we imagined surrounding our car in blue light against impact and then imaged a white light around that one. We always do this when either of us feels any weird or scary energy on the road. Barb said that she had read that there was another huge meteor headed towards earth this week and, although it was not scheduled to hit our green home, it was coming close enough to shake things up, to make unusual and bizarre things happen. True to its word in our corner of the world, it shook our dearest friends to the very foundation of their being and brought my Mom some potentially bad news, all in this one day.

But the real miracle was everyone’s reaction to these events. My Mom rolled with this punch in her can-do way, and even joked about it. Cheryl and her family simply looked at their car, brimming with emotion, but overflowing with thanks and gratitude. No anger. No regret. Just a breath of life sucked into their bruised lungs that told them, despite the searing pain, that they were alive.

Mary Magdalene offered our soundtrack. “Try not to get worried, try not to hang onto problems that upset you, don’t you know, everything’s alright now, everything’s fine, and I want you to sleep well tonight. Let the world turn without you tonight. Close your eyes, close your eyes and forget all about us tonight.”

Barbara: Deb has captured this extraordinary day in all its amazing detail: miracles, meteors and Magdalene, indeed. The last 24 hours have been astounding in their beautiful mayhem. Completely mind-boggling drama, and completely soul-warming communal love. We felt so lucky and calmed to be together and safe on the one hand, and so lucky and stimulated to be able to celebrate creative excellence on the other.

I don’t wish days like these on any of you, but I do wish—given that days like these happen on, well, a daily basis—that you are surrounded by just such love and light. And, more importantly, that you see it. xo

Weather Vane

Deb: Today is one of those days where I find myself embarrassed for the weather. 

I am not a complainer of all things weather. I take it as I find it, just happy to be alive and experiencing it. Actually, people complaining about the weather is number one on my pet peeves list. FOR GOD’S SAKE IT’S THE WEATHER, YOU CAN’T CONTROL IT, JUST DEAL WITH IT. 

However there are days like today when I find myself feeling embarrassed for it. Unable to really look at it in fear that it will spot my mocking glance and feel more ashamed of itself than it already does. For today we have a weather limbo, a rock and hard place, a shit or get off the pot kind of day. It is 8:15 am. It was supposed to pour rain. Fine with me. Then we heard sun and a little cloud. Great, bring it. But what we have is what I can only describe as Mother Nature’s constipation. It is dark and ominous, but nothing is happening. It tried to rain but barely misted. 

Now the poor weather is so stopped up, it is panicking. Getting darker and darker with nothing to show for it. Poor impotent weather. It is so still outside, like the weather has gone all quiet hoping someone will notice and bring help. Need to rain ... Need to rain ... but ... just ... can’t.... 

Don’t worry weather, help is on the way. I’ll wash my car. 

Barbara: And what brings the sun out, I ask. Throwing a shower? Er… 

By the way, I’m the total opposite. I’m that person you hate. I blame the weather for everything. My headaches, my mood, other people’s moods, fatigue, depression, stress, bad driving, bad traffic, being late, being sick, you name it! It’s the weather’s fault. I frown at its snow and storm, I grumble at its cold and damp. I revel in its sun and warmth. But I am in constant communion with it. It makes my day or holds it back. Bad weather, bad news; good weather, good omen.

It’s a bad habit, I know. And when people like you tell people like me to get a grip, I smile benignly and pretend you have a terrifically valid point, then turn my head and mumble under my breath that the weather better smarten up and only rain, gloom, or snow on days when I have nothing better to do. 

Deb: Okay, you are going to say that I put the Polly in Pollyanna ... I WISH. But ever since I was a kid, I had a weather-appreciation gene which always had me seeing the upside of any weather whatsoever (try saying “any weather whatsoever” three times fast). If it was raining, for example, I would think, “Yeah, I can get to my scrapbook and have tea.” The only issues I had were “the tanning years” where even a second of cloud could send me into the deep doldrums!

Sadly the enjoyment of my favourite weather––which is a thunder and lightening storm––is dampened (pun intended) by the terror and disgust emanating from my little blonde dog! Coincidence, Barb? So, the next time you are pissed at the weather, dear friend, just wag your tail and reach for the nearest complimentary adjective! 

But I won’t lie to you ... freezing rain will be a challenge! 

Barbara: You have a terrifically valid point.

A Duck Out Of Water

Deb: I have a few Donald Ducks in my life. Allow me to explain. When I was a kid watching the Mickey Mouse Club, Donald freaked me out. Yes, I was very young, but still. I was always so confused at his anger and jealously towards Mickey. 

I find myself to this very day confused and confounded by the Donald Ducks in my life. People who cling to jealousy, who can’t let go of a grudge, who don’t know how to forgive and forget. How do they function with all that hate and anger? The best life lesson I have learned to this point is forgiveness. It’s the lesson that keeps on giving. Heals you, heals the other guy. It is what brings me peace, and I think/hope it has helped me on my quest to be a better person. 

I have always strived to be Mickey with his sweet optimism and Pollyanna spirit. Mickey is a lover of Man and Mousekind who doesn’t have a bad word to squeak about anyone. He inspired me as a child and still as an adult I was always enthralled with the idea of “Anything can happen day” on the Mickey Mouse Club. I try to look at my journey as an “Anything can happen Life” where every day is a new and positive adventure. And in those moments of my life when I was jealous, vindictive or envious, I thought of Donald with his angry scrunched up sweaty face and I thought, “Yep, that’s what I look like inside and out”. I hated that reflection and the realization that in those ugly moments, the only difference between Donald and me was that I was wearing pants. 

Last year I made a big decision to change something in my life that was causing me to see Donald’s reflection in the mirror on a daily basis. It was a very painful decision, but now when I look in the mirror I see Mickey with his huge hopeful eyes. M,I,C––see you real soon, K,E,Y––why, because we love you! M O U S E. 

Barbara: That’s at once funny and painfully sweet, Deb. 

We’ve spoken many times about the best way to handle things when life gets tough. There’s often a Donald/Mickey quandary, isn’t there? Do you Donald it up and say what you mean and truly feel, and in so doing let that little scrunch-faced-bare-butted brat have his way? Or do you Mickey it, look on the bright side, decide you’re going to be okay if you don’t make those twenty valid but demeaning points, pull up your little be-buttoned shorts, and put your best paw forward? 

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been tempted to let Donald have his quacking way a few times over, even wished afterwards that I’d been “brave enough” to fully unleash his voice (even sometimes long afterwards), but I can truly say now that I have not regretted a single one of Mickey’s good-natured victories.