Flu Shot Fiasco

The other day, I was at the pharmacy and saw a sign talking about the seasonal flu shot. I asked the pharmacist if they were offering it and he said yes but to come back after two o'clock because they were busy.

That afternoon, I dutifully returned and filled out the form to get my shot. The assistant asked me if I were a senior (which took my ego down a few notches), and I said no, I'm 54, and made a lighthearted remark about my hair being grayer than my mother's, so she wouldn't feel bad about thinking I was older than I am. She took my form (on which I'd written my birthdate, I might add) and directed me to the waiting area.

A few minutes later, the pharmacist called me in and gave me my shot, and I went on my way.

The next day, my husband and son went to the pharmacy to get their flu shots. I was working on the computer, and when they got home, they behaved very strangely. My son wordless took a blanket and tucked it around my shoulders like a shawl, snugging it around my neck. My husband bent to speak loudly, as if I were deaf, and asked, "Shall I make you a cup of tea, dear?"

"Okay, what's up? Why are you treating me like a little old lady?"

Because---as it turns out---the flu shot is only being given out to those over age 65. Why the pharmacy assistant didn't explain that to me and send me on my way, I don't know. The sign certainly didn't say it was for seniors only. And the pharmacist didn't say anything either, even though he had the form with my birth year on it. But they told my husband I shouldn't have received it yet.

My apologies to whatever senior doesn't get their shot because I inadvertently jumped the queue! And now I feel better that she asked if I was a senior because of that and not because I look it.

Writing in the Margins

You may know I've been struggling with writer's block the last few years. Well, not really writer's block. A feeling I have to write what sells instead of what's important. The publisher has turned down my four latest manuscripts, which tells me my heart isn't in it. But I find it difficult to focus on regency romances or fluffy entertainment when I see the imminent collapse of society thundering toward me.

I should explain that comment, I suppose. I am deeply aware of the impact of climate change, particularly as it affects food security. Food shortages are coming our way, and higher prices, and contention about the distribution of resources. And it's not just food, it's also fuel, and vaccines, and a number of other things. One country has a glut and other countries can't beg, borrow, or steal what they need. All of this is tied to potential civil unrest and economic meltdown. We've seen how quickly things can degenerate and how widespread the effects can be -- just look at Arab Spring. Look at how the disparity between the Haves and the Have Nots can trigger racism and violence. I'm not the only one who feels it coming -- there are actually online support groups to help those who are already grieving the environmental degradation and the beginning of loss of life as we know it.

I would like to hope that we can avoid chaos, but I'm growing less and less confident in the common sense of the common man. I've been quietly working on building up my food storage and looking at things like alternative energy and potential sources of drinking water. I'm looking at ways to collaborate with my immediate community to strengthen our food and water security. I want to inventory my neighbours to see what skills, expertise, and tools we collectively possess that could help each other in difficult times. I'm looking at my own children and assessing their resilience.

I was a little hesitant to discuss my thoughts with my hubby, who is imminently calm and rational in any situation. Would he think I was over-anticipating or being doom-and-gloomy? But on our drive home yesterday, he brought it up. He's been thinking about it too, and we agree on every point. So we're going to start focusing on some practical preparations that, if they won't avoid the crash, might help at least to soften it.

But there's another element of it that I need to think about, and probably write about. Some themes have been jumping out at me lately: Our recent two-day church General Conference seemed to have an overarching theme of "God loves you. Now go love others" that really struck a note with me. I've been doing Jack Kornfield's guided meditation on "steady heart and quiet mind." I've been pondering the scripture that says "Men are that they might have joy," meaning our whole purpose in life is to be joyful. Sometimes we get so caught up in the behaviours or obedience that lead to joy that we forget to arrive at the joy itself. And I keep thinking about that saying "When falling down a well, keep your eyes open."

I have taken all of this, rolled it into a ball, and come up with my own personal Approach to Life, which is this: Live each moment with compassionate awareness, because Now is all we have. Love others, because relationships are the only thing you can take with you. Find joy in each small moment, even the hard times, because that's where  joy lives, where life is distilled down to its essentials. We may not be able to avoid difficulty, or even annihilation, but we can be each other's witness and be compassionate in any circumstances. Life comes down to the first two commandments. Love God, love your neighbour. That's all we're here on earth to do. And if that's all we do, it's enough. Everything else hangs on those two commandments. It really is that simple. 

This next while, I am going to focus on just being present, soaking up the beauty of the world around me, and trying to look at everything with love. And if/when it becomes necessary, I want to be able to let it go and look on whatever comes next--be it good or bad--with the same compassion. And from that lens, I want to write -- about things of the soul, about that awareness, about the grief of what we're doing to our beautiful planet, about what we're losing, and about how we need to reach out to each other. As my husband said, in the end, it may be that the only thing we can do as the plane goes down is hold the hand of the person next to us. And that will be enough.

Somehow I don't think my publisher is going to like this next book either...

Archery Tournament and Thoughts about Family Traditions

One of my neighbours has set up her horse pasture with several targets and benches and is having a family archery tournament. I don't know if this is an annual Thanksgiving tradition, but it should be. What fun! How cool is that? 

It got me to thinking about family traditions. I don't know that I've been very good at establishing them with my own kids. There are some I wish I had implemented earlier. For example, on New Years Eve, I want to gather everyone together in the backyard, have everyone write down on paper all the disappointments and failures and challenges of the past year, and then burn the papers in a glorious campfire. I've done it myself and it's quite therapeutic, but I've never involved my kids in it, and I'm not sure why not.

On the other hand, sometimes we may catch ourselves mindlessly carrying on traditions and habits that brought joy to our ancestors or parents but only cause stress to try to pull off with our own family and its unique circumstances. We might try to live someone else's life, or impose our childhoods on our own children. Sometimes traditions need to be rethought and adapted to feel more authentic to our own situation. The pandemic has been good at teaching us to rethink our usual get-togethers and find creative ways to commemorate life events outside of our usual practices.

I have a friend who is fantastically successful at establishing family traditions with her kids and grandkids. They have family sports days, observances, and holiday events -- even something as simple as a girls' night out together turns into something memorable and amazing. She has a real talent for playing with her family. Sometimes I start to feel down about not keeping up. But I remind myself that her family all lives fairly close by, and she didn't work full time outside the home as her children were growing up. I can't compare my situation with hers and I shouldn't try to imitate her traditions or recreate her circumstances. I can only develop my own and be authentic to who my family is, taking into account their likes and dislikes and natural inclinations. Not one of my sons would enjoy a family sports day...but if we instituted a regular family Warhammer Painting Day, they'd be thrilled. We need to honour what makes our family unique.

But yeah, an archery tournament would be epic!

Sacred Demise by Carolyn Baker

I'm reading an intriguing and thought-provoking book right now by Carolyn Baker. I've read it before, but this time new things are jumping out at me. For example, she talks about coming pandemics (the book was published in 2009). But of all the concepts she's discussed so far, the one that rings the most true to me is that we have learned to say no, but we haven't learned to be told no.

A two-year-old is supposed to be taught boundaries. They can say no (hopefully within limits), but sometimes they also have to learn the finality of being told no. And when I look around at many of the adults today, they never seem to have learned that concept. They act entitled, as if they are somehow exceptional and have the right to do whatever they want, when they want, on the scale they want, even if it hurts others.

Even more important than having boundaries put upon us, though, we need to learn to tell ourselves no. Just because we want to do something doesn't mean we need to or get to do it. And sometimes we just shouldn't do it. As adults, it's our role to tell our two-year-olds and ourselves no when we need to. And that includes saying no to things we probably do have a right to, but for the good of everyone, we should decline them anyway. 

Boundaries can be useful things. People can say yes to shelter but no to 7,000-square-foot air-conditioned homes, for example. And for those who assert that the 7,000-square-foot home is their right, how do they then turn around and explain why everyone in American doesn't have that kind of home? If it's a right, everyone should have equal access to it. And to take it further, why doesn't every person in the world have equal access to it? What justifies saying I have a right to something that others don't? I'm not saying that as succinctly as Carolyn Baker does in her book, but you see the point of the argument, anyway.

It's a ridiculously simple concept, but I think we've lost track of it in the last couple of generations, and it would solve so many world problems if we could all get a handle on it now. I think instead of "Just say no!", Nancy Reagan's campaign would have done better to say "Just tell yourself no!"

Such a Let-Down

Walking with Brio, and the black walnut trees are dropping their walnuts everywhere, which happen to be the same size and colour as tennis balls. Brio got quite a frenzied look in his eye -- "What! Overnight, someone has just left all these tennis balls everywhere, all over the ground?!" But of course, they turned out to be a nasty-tasting disappointment. Poor puppy. He now disdainfully refuses to look at or sniff them.