The Story of the Leaves

Somebody told me I should put some of my poetry on this thing so I picked my shortest one, just to test it out ;)

THE STORY OF THE LEAVES

Green leaf, turning yellow

Do you have any last words to say?

I suppose even if you did

The wind would carry them away

Your beauty promises barrenness

And your brightness impending doom

Do you despise the blossoms – pink and white

That in your place will bloom?

Brown leaf, breathing shallow

I’ll not cry over your demise

Though transience is moving

The pain we shared has made me wise

Explanation

This poem is about change and the transition. The green leaf turning yellow represents the approach of a new season. The outgoing season may wish to persist in speaking into your life without recognising that it is about to speak it’s last. However, the winds of change will carry even its last words as the new thing sweeps in.

Although the vibrant colours of the autumn leaves are beautiful, they “promise” the barrenness of winter, which is to follow. Autumn is a transitory season and the stark contrast between the season preceding it and the one succeeding it, creates a sense of loss and barrenness, not unlike winter itself. Even if the preceding season was unpleasant, change still brings with it a sense of loss and apprehension about the unknown.

The autumn leaves are just as beautiful as the blossoms, “pink and white,” but the difference is that the blossoms promise new life while the leaves are the symptom of an end. I wonder if the leaves are satisfied with their purpose or whether they envy their counterpart. I wonder if I am satisfied with their part, and can appreciate the function of both, or whether I despise certain season of my life even though they are necessary.

The brown leaf obviously represents the end of a season, which again conjures feelings of loss and the unfamiliarity associated with change. Though I may want to “cry” over the closure of one season of my life, the pain of that season and the lessons I have learned from the very process of transition has taught me that change is a necessary and natural part of life. 

Parents Part 2: Compassion

As explained in an earlier blog, I've decided to jot down a few things I've learned from my folks that have influenced the way I think and live. I'm doing this partly because I'm an uber-reflective person and partly because, well, maybe I shouldn't be the only one who knows this stuff about them. Besides, parents don't get much encouragement and yet, it seems to me that being one is the hardest job in the world. This one's for mum.

My mum was the tallest in her class at the end of primary school... and then... she stopped growing. Now my twelve-year-old sister uses her as an armrest - just as I have for many years. She also informed me the other day that she is shrinking! Though she may be a small package, my mum manages to keep a very big heart crammed inside of her. When I think of her and what she has taught me more than anyone else, I would have to say that it is compassion... not just the kind that feels sorry for someone, but the kind that rolls up its sleeves and seeks to bring relief.

Ever since I was little, I noticed that Mum seemed to have a self-administered job description of visiting elderly relations (and even neighbours), cooking for or delivering groceries to sick family and friends, and losing sleep at night over the struggles of other people. Throughout my childhood years this all gave me the impression that it was normal to seek out and take care of the sick, marginalised and burdened people in one's circle. It wasn't until I was a little older that I realised, it wasn't normal at all... my mum was in fact... very special.

Now as an adult I have had hours and hours of conversations with Mum, listening to her sorrow over the ailing elderly people in our family and wishing she could do more. I don't know anyone who gives as much time to visiting and caring for older people, and she has done it ever since I can remember. As I look back on my own life, in light of the person she is, I see her influence in the choices I have made.

I'm an Occupational Therapist who has specialised in working with the elderly. When I talk about my job with others my age a lot of them say things like, "Wow, that must be really depressing" or "I don't think I could do that job, I would get too emotionally involved." Whether it was people close to her, or people she only saw once a year, Mum has always had boundless respect and compassion for the older people in her life. She takes her chances and dives in where others are afraid to get too affected. Working in the field myself, and seeing all the difficulties of ageing on a daily basis, that is something I really admire about her (at least I get paid to do it!)

Mum has taught me to put myself out for others, give practical help when needed, appreciate and respect people who have walked the Earth longer than you and don't let discouragement diminish the compassion you first felt in your heart towards somebody.

Thanks Mum, you're a really good one :)

The Street Performer

It was a cold and drizzly day in Basel, Switzerland. I had a few hours to kill before meeting my dear friend, Shadi, and decided to have a hot chocolate before heading to the cinema for an afternoon film. I went to Starbucks... yes... ME... in Starbucks. Those of you who know me well will probably have heard me criticising the place mercilessly (apologies to my best friend who loves it) but it was convenient at the time.

It had been a hard few weeks leading up to this little weekend escape. Many things had gone wrong, and my life in London was feeling fairly bleak. As I sat myself down at a second-storey window overlooking the street below, I took some deep breaths and sipped my hot chocolate - Swiss-style. (By Swiss-style I mean that the look of disappointment and self-chastisement which usually follow a sip of Starbucks hot chocolate were lacking. It was Switzerland - the land where no bad form of chocolate exists!)

Things were already looking up... I settled into my chair, pulled out my journal and gazed out the window. There awaiting me was something very odd. I had box seats to the show in the street but it still took me a couple of minutes to work out what I was looking at. There was a tall man with khaki cargo pants tucked into his hiking boots, a pink jacket, and a Noddy-esque cap. He already cut a striking figure in the wet, cobble-stone street, but there was more. He had large cardboard signs that said things like, "You are beautiful" and, "Listen! Everything is possible! The only one who can stop you is your own self!" Next to them was a large teddy bear declaring himself to be "Winnie the PooR." Altogether, quite the spectacle!

I wasn't sure what his angle was yet. He was just standing there at first. Eventually he started to do 'warm ups'. For a good fifteen-twenty minutes I was confronted with moves like this:

Finally a couple of daring kids, who seemed to be around twelve-years-old, saw the juggling balls on the ground and asked to see some action. He picked up three of them, tossed one up in the air and covered his eyes with the other two as he dramatically "watched" the single ball fall to the ground. He got one of the kids to give it a try too, and he awkwardly did so. You could see by the look of satisfaction on his face that he was completely chuffed by their interest and finally started to toss a few balls around. Once he got going, he was pretty entertaining! Other passers-by stopped to watch as well. The arrival of each new small child inspired him further and he pulled out his whole bag of tricks for them.

After a while I realised: I was smiling.

A little boy, about three-years-old, walked up to him, and instead of putting his coin in the case, he boldly held it up to him and didn't move until he stopped juggling to take it. The Street Performer stooped down to receive it with a heart-warming smile and placed his hand on his heart to express his gratitude... All the difficulties of recent weeks disappeared in that one beautiful moment. I know you're going to think I am just a big girl, but a couple of tears may have welled up at that point. This random guy, who at first seemed to be missing from the local psychiatric ward, was so full of love and warmth to those around him.

With my hot chocolate well and truly drunk, it was nearly time to walk down to the cinema. I grabbed a few Swiss franks and headed downstairs where the little crowd had dispersed and the juggler was now on his own.

I crossed the street and went over to him. He stopped what he was doing and said, "Thank you!" as I dropped the coins into his case. I had a little speech ready, but thankfully he saved me from having to use my rusty German by speaking very good English himself. When I told him where I was sitting he said, "Oh you were the one up there!" I told him that I had been sad but he made me smile and I wanted to say thank you. He gave me a big hug and told me to stay positive and not give up! He was a "gypsy traveller" (as he put it) from Hungary who moved around a lot. I don't know what his story is, but he smelled homeless and obviously made his living by doing this sort of thing. It still amazes me when I think of how bright his smile was, how open his heart was.

If he could be like that in his situation, then I could certainly find a way to be so in mine.

Parents Part 1: Courage

Since moving overseas by myself I have had to learn a lot of things very quickly and draw on all of my resources in order to survive. It often leads me to reflect on various things people have taught me throughout my life – especially my parents. As always, these valuable lessons have been transmitted, not by the lectures given or rules made, but by the example they set as I was growing up. For the record, I have FOUR parents and since I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, I’d like to take the time share a little something about each of them and what they have imparted to me as a person. I’m going to break it down into four parts to make it easier reading, so let’s start with Dad!

My dad is one of the most courageous people I know. I’m sure he doesn’t always feel very courageous, but in order to bestow something on someone else, you must have a measure of it yourself; and, as a father, the most precious thing my dad has passed onto me is his courage.

Dad waged his anti-fear campaign from very early on in my childhood. Whenever I saw something scary on TV or heard a strange noise in the house he would always explain them to me…

“It’s not blood, it’s tomato sauce, and that’s not a real shark, it’s a robot.”

“There’s no one out there. It’s just the water pipes banging. Houses make noises all the time.”

Yep, I have countless memories of my dad saying: “You mustn’t be afraid.” He gave me the impression that truly scary things were very rare in life and we shouldn’t let the fear of them rule us. I didn’t realise how profoundly this attitude had shaped me until I moved over here. I mean, it had occurred to me before, when my girlfriends were freaking out about a big spider or a noise that seemed like a burglar trying to break in, that I was able to draw on my dad’s “It’s nothing to be scared of” doctrine, but now I have come to think of it as an invaluable part of who I am.

Friends that thought I was crazy for going outside to prove that a noise was just the wind and not a criminal thought I was even madder when I moved to a new country where I did not know anyone or speak the language. I landed in Italy with the nebulous reassurance that somehow I would find my way – and I did. I see now that that quiet confidence is a gift from Dad that, for me, has become a life philosophy: “You mustn’t be afraid.” Fear can rob us of so many things, and no matter what I do with my life, I hope that I will always make the choice to be brave.

My dad has seen some pretty awful things in his time and been through many tough times, but he has always kept going, kept working hard and not given up. I have to tell you, I’m really proud of my dad. Every time someone tells me that I have guts, the person they are really paying tribute to is the man that taught me how. I am so grateful to him, and if I ever have kids, the one thing I hope to pass onto them is the courage to live an intrepid life.

“Ships are safe in harbour, but that’s not what ships are for.” – William Shedd

Italian Stallions

The secret weapon of the Italian Stallion is all in the way he looks at a woman. It's an art. The surreptitious glances employed by Australian men are alien concepts in Italy. Italians have no qualms about staring at you unrepentantly and yet they manage to do it in a way that is flattering, not freaky. They make you feel like they really SEE you. This is cryptonite for women. After a fair whack of time in this country, I'm fairly immune by now, however, a recent Italian Stallion incident was an apt reminder of their capabilities.

I was sitting at the base of a monument in Milan's Piazza del Duomo when a couple of guys sat themselves down next to me. It has to be said: One of them was quite good-looking. Let's call him Giorgio. Giorgio had a shopping bag from some Milan-based designer store and a cigarette he insisted on smoking in that smooth European way. His phone rang several times and it was evident that he spoke at least 3 languages. Impressive. Suddenly, Giorgio jumps up, raises his dark eyes wrathfully toward the sky and then beseechingly at his friend: "Did it get me?"

Yes Giorgio... It got you...

A pigeon had pooped on his pin-striped shirt. The friend giggled, and Giorgio despaired. In Italy, your clothes are practically your curriculum vitae.

Then... What did he do? He turned to me with one of those looks... As if he were asking me the deepest and most meaningful question in the world... "Do you have a tissue?" Recovering from the bomb blast of his weapons of mass seduction I altruistically produced not only a tissue but a bottle of water to help save his shirt. What a caring person I am... It was only after he had thanked me profusely and reflected on how fortunate he was that I was there, that I realised what was happening. I injected myself with a hardy dose of anti-cryptonite and moved on.

Now I hear you asking, "Is that the only story you have from your five weeks in Italy?" Of course not! Nowhere inspires me to write this blog like Italy! As soon as I get back to England I'll fill you all in. At least Giorgio had a full arsenal to work with. Stay tuned for a couple of guys who came at me with the likes of catapults and butter knives. HahahFor now, I'm trekking around Eastern Europe for ten days. I was sad to leave Italy this morning but now I'm in Prague and looking forward to my first stint in the Eastern Block! Catch you soon!

Lovely People

“A loving person lives in a loving world. A hostile person lives in a hostile world. Everyone you meet is your mirror” – Ken Keyes Jr.

I can’t tell you how much I agree with this quote.

In my job I meet new people every day from all kinds of backgrounds and situations. It’s amazing how people cope, or don’t cope, with the difficulties of life. Today I met one of the loveliest couples I have ever encountered in my life. They are an elderly couple living in Essex (where, coincidentally, I now work), and for the sake of maintaining patient confidentiality, I’ll call them Bill and Jan. Jan suffers from a particularly severe manifestation of osteoarthritis. Her joints shoot out into all kinds of irregular directions and her feet and knees and visibly deformed. She has every excuse to behave like many of the bitter and prickly characters I have likewise met through working in healthcare; but Jan is the sweetest lady you could imagine, and her husband, just the same.

“They say that society is going downhill, but I think that people are still pretty friendly, don’t you?” said Bill when we were discussing technology and its social impact.

“Yes definitely,” concurred Jan, “I say hello to people and I get warm greetings back. People are generally nice.”

I responded to them with what I said to you guys at the start of this post: “They say the world is your mirror. Loving people live in a loving world and hostile people in a hostile world. I think that saying is really true and you are both the proof of it because you’re both lovely.”

About five years ago I found that quote, scribbled it into a notebook, and it has stuck with me ever since. The more people I meet, the more I agree with it. When I was younger I was quite introverted and mistrusting of people. I thought they were bound to disappoint you in the end. I’ve realised over the years how wrong I was. People really are wonderful; flawed but wonderful. I meet more and more fantastic specimens at every bend in the road and I never want to take any one of them for granted. So I just wanted to take this moment to really cherish the nourishing and uplifting time I spent with that gorgeous couple today.

I shared a fact about my hometown with them and Jan said, “Oh I’ll always keep that with me now and I’ll think of you when I remember it.”

Jan… I will remember you too, and I won’t need anything external to prompt me to do so…

Pondering at the Park

It's a warm spring day in Kansas City and I am lying under a tall tree in Jacob L. Loose Park.

With my line of sight little higher than the lush green lawn I see the city from a new perspective. The lawn seems like a metropolis of grass edifices trembling in the comforting breeze. They seem to dwarf the actual skyscrapers that serve as their back-drop. And as I look up toward the hazy blue sky, my view of the light is filtered by the skinny boughs of the tree that shades me. It is obvious that the winter has only recently passed, but the naked branches are starting to show signs of new life springing up in the form of butter-coloured blossoms.

My bag serves as a pillow and the wind is leafing through the pages of the magazine resting on my tummy. That rustling sound and the threat if it blowing away all together keep me present in this moment.

The guy on my iPod is singing about God being a dad who wants to take care of his little ones: us. Somehow lying here, amongst everything I've just described makes it a little easier to believe that. He surely didn't create all this to do me harm...