A year-long membership to the Royal BC Museum arrived in my mailbox yesterday. To the person who bought this for me, I wish I knew who you were so I could thank you in person! (If you want your MasterCard receipt, you will have to self-identify, because it came in the envelope with the membership card.)
Author Archives: Gillian
Recollections
I quasi-started this blog in 2004… Seven full years ago. However, my first serious postings began in January of 2006, around the time when Canada’s serial election of minority governments began. I did a lot of blogging about the election then. On a stroll back through memory-lane, I chuckled at the cartoon I published in one of my first post of January 2006. We’ve accomplished the first square… on to the next one. PLEASE!
My Evening With Bruce
I went to see Bruce Cockburn last night, live at the McPherson Theatre in Victoria. It would not be an understatement to suggest that it was one of the better concerts I have been to… but then I probably say that after every good concert I attend. I also had a fantastic seat: front row directly infront of Bruce. This photo was shot on my phone from my lap.
Not only is Bruce a phenomenal musician and guitar player, there is something about his ability to craft lyrics that is always profound and thought-provoking. It was an incredible experience to be able to sit and hear him sing them live. He performed a mix of songs off of his new album (to which I have not yet listened) and old favourites. Some of the favourites (how does one pick a set list from a repertoire as long and as deep as his?) were ones I had hoped he would play (Pacing the Cage comes to mind) and others were songs I had forgotten I loved. One of the classics I was struck by all over again as I remembered its beauty was Strange Waters.
I’ve seen a high cairn kissed by holy wind
Seen a mirror pool cut by golden fins
Seen alleys where they hide the truth of cities
The mad whose blessing you must accept without pityI’ve stood in airports guarded glass and chrome
Walked rifled roads and landmined loam
Seen a forest in flames right down to the road
Burned in love till I’ve seen my heart explodeYou’ve been leading me
Beside strange watersAcross the concrete fields of man
Sun ray like a camera pans
Some will run and some will stand
Everything is bullshit but the open handYou’ve been leading me
Beside strange waters
Streams of beautiful lights in the night
But where is my pastureland in these dark valleys?
If I loose my grip, will I take flight?
Every time I read or listen to these lyrics, something different jumps out. I think that the first thing that grabbed me last evening was the phrase “You’ve been leading me beside strange waters.” The reference to Psalm 23 is unmistakable, however instead of the “still waters” of the psalmist, we have “strange” waters. Strange seems more accurate to life, certainly to life right now.
Two other lines that jumped out to me last night, and continue to do so today, are in the first verse: [I’ve] Seen alleys where they hide the truth of cities / The mad whose blessing you must accept without pity. Part of their impact is a recollection of my time in China. As we walked down a backstreet near the river in Xining, my Chinese language partner turned to me and said, “If you were here with a party member on an official visit, you would not be allowed to come here.” It was a mud-track road with tumbling down brick building on either side. The cavernous doors opened into dark, dank mud floored “houses” where chickens ran around freely and large families squeezed into a single room. Yet this is where a large number of people lived. And the government was trying to take it from them: pushing them to goodness-knows-where so that their houses could be bulldozed and tall apartment blocks put in their place.
The next place my thoughts went was to some of the ideas I am pondering as I reflect on church’s stated mission of being the “Cathedral to the City” and what this entails. It is something I am trying to incorporate into my Holy Week meditations and has therefore been on my mind a lot lately. What does it mean to be the Cathedral to the City? Part of that is being aware of those around us and working to integrate our worlds: our guest preacher last week called it being an “indigenous church.” In our part of the city, we are faced with both the beautiful but expensive houses and the people who have no other choice but to pull a tattered blanket over themselves as they lie in the doorway of a closed shop. The latter are the truths that the city would rather hide. They are the truths that we must confront if we are to live an engaged life within our community. Some of these individuals are indeed the mad whose blessing must be accepted without pity.
How then do we practice this engagement? I have no answers. It is much easier to ask questions than to actively search oneself, find answers, and make changes… or even find a path to what might eventually become an answer. I hope, through the process of reflection as I prepare for Holy Week, to begin to step onto that path and invite others to walk with me.
New Do
I got my hair cut this week. It is more in the neighbourhood of a pixie cut than the last few cuts were. In fact, it means that my hair is the shortest it has been in the couple years.
It is strange how naked and exposed my face feels now. There is absolutely nothing on or remotely covering my face anymore and I feel like all my features – good and bad – stand out even more. I love how quick and easy my hair is to do in the morning and how light my hair feels. It is great!
Knitting History
One of the reasons I no longer (well, rarely) walk around with headphones in is because I like to be open to interact with the people around me. [If I have my headphones in, it is likely because (a) I’m listening to a really good program on cbc radio or (b) I don’t want to talk to anyone so leave me alone.]
Last Thursday was one of those days when I was glad I had the headphones out. I’ve been knitting regularly for about 8 months – my Oma tried to show me how to knit when I was eight or nine but it didn’t stick. I actually gave up after about two inches of a scarf for my teddy bear. I re-learnt 17 years later when a long Pacific crossing from Japan to Hawaii forced me to learn a hobby or go crazy from boredom and cabin fever.
All of that is to say that knitting doesn’t seem unusual to me. I knit. A number of my friends knit. Sometimes we all get together and knit together. However, sometimes I discover that I am more unusual than I had thought.
Last Thursday I was sitting, and knitting, at Swartz Bay, waiting to board the 11am to Tsawwassen when an elderly gentleman sat down next to me. With a thick European accent he commented on my knitting. He was so happy to see me knitting, he said, leaning towards me with joy in his face.
It has been a long time since I have seen a young woman knitting.
I immediately thought back to Oma and her generation. So many of them knit and made clothes for their entire families. It must have been a common practice. I could see the elderly gentleman being transported back in time to his youth at this memory.
He then asked me when I had learnt. I explained that I had only seriously been knitting for less than a year, but that my Oma had first taught me when I was a child. At the mention of “Oma” he perked up once again.
Oma… you are from where? My family is from The Netherlands, near The Hague. Ah, Holland. I am from North Friesland, near the Danish border.
With that, he launched into a story of his activity during the Second World War. It was an interesting conversation: part recollections, part justifications, and part desire to pass on his story to another generation. He told me of sailing through the North Sea, watching out for Allied ships. He told of occupying the Netherlands but bringing food to the young families starving in the villages he and the army (he never actually said it was the German army) occupied. He spoke of his fear of being shot at by resistance groups and later Allied forces as they liberated the countryside… he didn’t like the word “liberated” as he felt he and his companions had looked after the villages in their charge. As he told his story, I continued to knit.
This exchange was perhaps the first I’ve had with a soldier who was on “the other side” during the war. It could have been the young family of my Oma, Opa, Aunt, and Uncle that he was bringing food to while he occupied their village, though I know it wasn’t. This gentleman, probably in his 80’s, shared with me, a complete stranger, some of his challenges during a troubling time. It was like he wanted me to know that those we so often think of as the enemy are not evil: there is humanity on both sides of every conflict.
Then the gates opened and the masses surged onto the ferry. I didn’t see him again but am thankful for the conversation that knitting opened up – to hear a part of his history and his story.
Friday Photo
On Writing
There seems to be so much going on yet writing doesn’t come as easily right now. Perhaps this is a factor of my current fragmented schedule. Perhaps this is because I am no longer spending hours at a time on my computer and have no reminder to write and need no distractions from other writing. Perhaps it is because I am not writing anything write now: no papers, no discussion posts for school, and sometimes not even my journal – I am out of practice. Perhaps it is all of the above. Posts still get partially formulated in my head but by the time I remember to jot them down, they are gone.
I spent two days in Vancouver last week. It actually ended up being only about 40 hours from the time I left my door to the time I walked back in it. My computer was turned off Wednesday night and not turned back on again until Monday morning. After 18 months of non-stop coursework via computer, the ability to do that is wonderfully freeing. [I still check email on my phone and remain connected to the world that way, but there is something wonderful about turning off the computer and not having to be connected that way.]
This weekend I begin another project that will have me spend more time reflecting on spirituality and spending more time on my computer. I am planning a follow up to our successful Holy Week installation at the Cathedral last year. I hope to share my reflections and ideas as I go forward on this and hopefully the writing will get me writing other things as well!
Friday Photo
I’m a little late on getting this up… I was in Vancouver for a couple days during the week. One thing I can say for sure, however: we have more of these blossoms here in Victoria than they do in Vancouver!
Rolling up the Rim
Each year, when springtime rolls around, Tim Horton’s does their “Roll Up The Rim to Win” campaign. People who wouldn’t normally shop at Tim Horton’s suddenly become fans of their coffee. People who go regularly suddenly have the need to drink twice as much coffee. I know this because I work beside a Tim Horton’s and have witnessed the behaviour of the people in the parking lot and of my coworkers (and myself… until last Wednesday when I gave up coffee for Lent).
I’m all for free stuff, I’m part Dutch with a little bit of Scottish after all, but something about this whole campaign sits a little wrongly with me. I think it started with the big signs in each store encouraging us to bring in our travel mugs to save the environment. Then it was witnessing an individual do just that but then receive the empty Roll up the Rim cup on the side so that they would still have a chance a the prize.
Nice mixed messages on environmentalism: consume many more disposable cups daily than usual while encourage people to bring their mugs in only to waste a cup on them anyway. It would be nice if Tim Horton’s could figure out a better way to encourage waste reduction during their prize season. It isn’t like their bottom line is hurting during this campaign.
Dear Editor…
I ranted. It was suggested I write. I wrote. It was published.
gillian's island 