It is Saturday and time to celebrate those special people who are heroes in our midst.

It was 1pm when I left Calgary for Saskatoon yesterday afternoon, later than anticipated but still ample time to make it to Saskatoon so that C.C. and I could go experience Rory Block put on by the Saskatoon Jazz Society at their fabulous venue, The Basement. Because a Rory Block concert is an experience worth having! I hadn’t heard of Rory Block before — and I love the Blues! She was magnificent. And the venue was perfect. Small. Intimate. Close. She chatted with the audience, interspersing the Blues with stories of her life and stories of her heroes like Robert Johnson, Son House and Mississippi John Hurt. Her road to Saskatoon began like mine, except, her’s included a tour bus that broke down and is now on its way to Seattle with all the rest of her equipment and merchandise and only one of her team. Didn’t matter. She didn’t let it get her down. She was magnificent and the evening was pure bliss.

Rory Block and the Saskatoon Jazz Society are heroes.

As C.C. and I sat waiting for the show to begin, we chatted with a woman at the next table (The Basement is set up cabaret style — very cool). Linda has spent her life struggling to make ends meet as a musician. She’s always managed to do it, but, as she told us, if it wasn’t for her adult daughter moving back home to help her out for the past year, she would be starving. Linda told us about the operation to remove a cancerous tumour from her body that put her out of business sometime, a year and a half ago. And then she shared, how while she was in hospital recuperating, friends got together and held a benefit concert on her behalf. “People I don’t even know, who’ve only heard me play, maybe, came and supported me,” she said. And she shook her head and added, “I still can’t believe how many people came and helped. It’s amazing.” That’s when it struck me. Gratitude lies at the heart of making a difference. It is the driving force in a heroes heart.

Linda of the no strings bass guitar playing, you have a hero’s heart.

During intermission, Linda got up to speak to friends and C.C. went to the bar to buy me a glass of wine. When he returned, he had a drink for Linda too. He put it on her table, sat down and never said a word. “That was nice,” I commented. He shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “It’s what her girlfriend bought her earlier. I figured she wouldn’t be able to buy another so, I did.” The lights were dim for the second half of the show when Linda sat down again. She didn’t know where the drink came from, but she was appreciative. And C.C. never said a word.

C.C. is a hero.

Before I was planning on leaving Calgary in the morning, I had tentatively set lunch up with one of the most caring, enthusiastic and energetic people I know working in the homeless sector. Mark Powers was the Manager of Volunteer Services, reporting to me when I worked at the Calgary Drop-In (DI). His ability to continually seek out opportunities to make a difference, to create space for Calgarians to come in and lend a hand and learn about homelessness was inspiring. Now, as Manager of Fund Development, he continues to fight fearlessly and tirelessly on behalf of the people the DI serves. He continues to make it possible for Calgarians to make a difference in the lives of those experiencing homelessness.

Mark Powers is a hero. 

There are heroes everywhere. Have you celebrated a hero in your life today?

And…. just because this is technology and just because I can, here’s Rory Block and her rendition of Robert Johnson’s iconic, Crossroads.

————————————-  And today’s Peace Poem:  War No More

Though there are those who might disagree, to me, a car is but a car… until it doesn’t start.

Then it becomes a point of frustration. An issue generating discord with the speed of a star falling from the sky.

Yesterday, my youngest daughter who has had my car for the past week as she drove to Vancouver with friends and my car is roomier and newer, called and said, “Your car won’t start.”

She’d arrived back the night before and as it was late, we’d agreed to switch cars the next day.

When her call came in, I was in the middle of working on a report. “The bumper cables are in the garage,” I told her. “You’ll have to get Ryan (her boyfriend) to drive you over.”

“Can’t you bring them over?” she asked.

“No,” I replied after taking a deep breath. In the past, I would jump to, jump at, any opportunity to ‘do’ for my daughters. And while I still like to do, I am learning to set boundaries and to allow them space to be competent in their own lives.

She came. Got the cables. Boosted my car and the day moved on.

Until later that afternoon when once again, it wouldn’t start.

She brought it back. I drove to Canadian tire, remember to take the old battery in the garage with me from one of C.C.’s cars that needed to be recycled. I carried it in. (who knew batteries were so heavy?)

“Do you have the warranty card?” the woman at the service counter asked.

“I have the receipt from when we bought it,” I said, hopefully.

“I’m sorry. We really need the warranty card as it’s a government program.”

Ok. Well, why don’t I just buy a new battery (their service department was closed and couldn’t get to my car until the morning. I was hoping a friend could come and help me switch out the batteries. How hard could it be? Seriously?)

“What’s the size of your engine?” she asked.

“Just the right size to fit under the hood,” I smiled. Again. Hopefully.

Her smile said it all. Yup. One of those women. Knows nothing about cars.

“We need to know the size so we can get you the right size battery. What make of Calibre is it?”

“Um….. Blue?”

She smiled. Sort of. Again.

“We could use your registration and the VIN to figure it out.”

YEah!  I know what my registration is! I pick up the unreturnable (I think) battery. It’s still heavy. I walk back to my car. Get my registration. Put the old battery back in the trunk and return to the sales desk.

“You know. Seeing as you’re buying a new battery, we could take the old one back and give you the discount.”

“Sure!” I laughingly reply. “I’ll just run back out to my car and get it!”

She apologizes for the error. I laugh it off. Go, get the battery and lug it back in. I think it’s gained 10 pounds in the interim.

Batteries exchanged. Money paid. A few more laughs shared. Ryan set to come later after work to help me install it, I return to my car. I try to balance the battery on one hip as I search for my keys. Where the heck…?

Not wanting to leave my battery in the parking lot, I lug it back to the service counter where I have left my keys. Back to car, (it’s getting heavier by the minute I swear) I drive home and wait for Ryan.

It’s dark when he arrives. We fumble around trying to remove all the nuts and bolts only to discover this battery is bolted into the frame. You need a special tool.

I park it in the garage. Put the battery charger on it and go to bed. At 7am I’m at the dealership hoping to get it installed ASAP. I’m driving to Saskatoon this morning. I want to get going.

Scratch that. I’m driving to Saskatoon this afternoon. They can’t get to it until later in the morning.

Sigh.

A car is just a car. Until it won’t start.

How I handle it is what will either drive me crazy… or not.

I’m choosing the non-crazy driving route. It is just a car. And the day is no less sunny and beautiful even if it doesn’t start.

The difference is always in my attitude.

I laughed last night. Deep, bellyful laughter that reverberated through the room, lighting upon each of us in shimmering joy.

It was healthy. Fun. Invigorating.

It made a difference.

It began with a comment from one of the four of us gathered for a meeting. We had been talking about the collaborative power of the ‘peace circle’. Howard, one of the Summer of Peace originators, mentioned how each meeting he wanted to work to the Agenda, but the agenda kept taking a backseat to the creative process of being in the space of allowing the peace initiative to appear and evolve through the generative process. We were all in awe of how it happened. Of having been part of such a peaceful and, yes, miraculous, happening.

“But I missed my agenda,” added Howard.

Later, as we talked about what we wanted to create together in our new initiative around “The Essential Journey” one of the attendees teased Howard and said, “Is your middle initial ‘A’ Howard?”

Howard’s jaw dropped. Kerry went still and I looked at him askance. Excuse me?

“For Agenda,” he clarified quickly.

We all breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh good,” I inserted into the silence. “For a moment I thought you meant azzhole and couldn’t believe you’d call Howard that!”

And a huge guffaw erupted out of Howard’s body. His laughter was contagious. We all started laughing, because, truthfully, the A was a bit ambiguous and it could have been completely misconstrued had Ian not clarified his intent.

Later, I received a lovely email from Howard thanking me for my willingness to speak what is in the room, openly and honestly.

Like yesterday’s post about being conscious of my thoughts, I also need to be conscious of what I’m saying. Sometimes, saying what I’m thinking gets me in trouble.

It’s so much better when it gets me into laughter.

Laughter is healing. It energizes my body. It lifts my spirits. Laughter reminds me to not take myself so seriously. To not be so concerned about what others are thinking about me — because really, they’re probably not thinking about me in the first place!  It’s just my ego that would lead me to believe they are, thinking about me, judging me, measuring me against some unknown yardstick I’m not measuring up to when, there is no yardstick to measure up to.

I laughed last night. Deep satisfying laughter that spontaneously ignited feelings of joy. And in laughter’s healing grace I was reminded, we are all connected. And when we connect through laughter, we create more of what we want in the world — feelings of harmony and joy.

Laughter makes a difference.

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And my Make Peace Happen poem is all about the laughter.

This is where peace becomes.

http://makepeacehappen.me/2012/08/08/this-is-where-peace-becomes/

Sun on a tree makes peace within me

I have decided it’s time I change my thinking around SPAM. No, not the SPAM of meat by-product fame, but rather, the SPAM of internet proliferation polluting my InBox every morning with stupid ads for stupid things I do not need.  (Ooops, I slipped.) I mean, the SPAM that leaves messages for me every morning in my InBox. (whew! That’s better.)

Oh, and while I’m at it, I’m going to make peace with the stupid crow who sits outside my bedroom every morning squawking at the damn squirrel who’s trying to steal food from the birdfeeder, or is it trying to dig up the bulbs, again, that  I just planted.

Oh, and what about that nerdy driver who must wait for me to reach that intersection every morning because for the past week he’s been there three days in a row and each time he’s cut me off and I’ve had to slam on my brakes and…. I know it’s the same guy ’cause I memorized his license plate so he must know it’s me which is why I know he’s doing it on purpose.

And I breathe.

Being angry about life’s little ups and downs over which I sometimes feel helpless takes a lot of energy. And it disturbs my peace of mind.

And I wonder…. is that what leads people to pack weapons into a crowded room and start firing indiscriminately? Is that what causes us to blow gaskets in our minds and steam all over the place? Feeling helpless over the big and small things of life and believing there’s only one way to make a difference?

I know it’s not as simple as that. I know being angry at the stupid crow, I mean, the crow outside my window, is not going to lead me to get a rifle and shoot it, even though I sometimes lie in bed in the morning and imagine doing just that. No. Cancel that thought. I don’t. Really. Though I do think about sneaking outside and blasting it with water streaming from the hose…

But, if all things are connected, and we are all connected, then that man in Wisconsin’s actions are connected to my thinking. And in my thinking are the seeds of discord. And in those seeds, anything can grow.

It’s being conscious of the seeds I’m planting that makes the difference between our connection.

In Wisconsin, a man kills seven people and injures many more, and the people affected open their doors to their community to invite their neighbours in. And in that gesture, understanding, compassion, community, forgiveness and peace are invited in too.

I am not in any way trying to minimize or suggest what he did was acceptable. It was deadly and will have lasting repercussions in the community — which is why I admire the Sikh community’s move to create peace, and not fuel the flames of anger and discord further.

All things are connected. If I follow the thread of my anger about the crow outside my window, where will it lead?

I’m not saying I will invite the crow into my house. No way. But, what I do need to be conscious of are the thoughts I invite to take seed in my mind. Nurturing seeds of discord creates more discord. Being open to the willingness to let those thoughts not take root creates greater opportunity for seeds of harmony to flourish.

Louise Hay, author of You Can Heal Your Life, writes, “It’s only a thought and a thought can be changed.”

Perhaps it’s not about changing my thoughts around the SPAM or the crows or the squirrel or the driver or…. Perhaps it’s learning to simply delete the SPAM without the angry outbursts and expletives. Learning to roll over and bury my head under the pillow when the crow squawks or closing the window or investing in earplugs. Or, simply letting the experience flow free and not giving my angry thoughts room to take root and grow more anger.

There are many ways to make a difference in the world. And always, they begin in my thinking.

I cannot change what happened in Wisconsin, or anywhere else in the world. I can add my prayers and let them ripple out and connect to the prayers of millions of others. I can consciously choose to create harmony throughout my world today by being that which I wish to create more of in the world. Peace, Love and Joy.

Namaste.

Ellie grabs some shade on her birthday walk.

I remember the day we brought her home. A tiny ball of golden fur.  All she wanted more than anything else was to cuddle and be held.

We named her after Ella Fitzgerald but she quickly became Ellie. Sweet. Gentle. Sometimes mischievous. Always loving. Always faithful.

She liked to be where ever I was. She followed me around the house, sitting in my lap, or any available lap of whomever happened to be closest. Ellie liked to be close.

The guide books said to kennel her whenever we weren’t home. Ellie didn’t like being kenneled. I didn’t do it. She was fine. She never chewed anything. Not a shoe, piece of furniture, or book ever fell prey to her teeth. Though she did, and still does, like to get into the garbage.

Ellie is a garbage hound par excellence! Once, she stuck her head through the lid of the bathroom garbage can and when she removed it, the lid came with her. She made us laugh that day, as she has made us laugh almost every day for the past 12 years since that day we brought her home in early September, 2000.

Yesterday was Ellie’s 12th birthday. Happy Birthday Ellie.

We celebrated it as we always do. A nice long walk in the morning. A special treat. Lots of hugs and time together. It’s the least I can do for this wonder pooch who has brought such joy and comfort to our lives.

Ellie has always been there for me, in good times and in bad. She has walked mile after mile by my side as I walked out my blues and confusion. She has sat by me hour after hour as I cried out my fears and frustration. And, in the really dark times, she has hidden with me in the dark, body pressed against me, lending me her strength and warmth.

The Birthday Girl!

When I think of the things that make the biggest different in my life, Ellie is high up on that list. Family, my beloved, friends, Ellie the Wonder Pooch and Marley the Great Cat. And then comes my work, my hobbies, my passions of writing and painting and all the other things I do that hold value in my life.

People and animals are the gifts of life. They bring me joy, happiness, community, companionship, friendship and Love.  Always Love.

Ellie turned 12 years old yesterday.

What a blessing. What a difference she has made in my world.

The first time I met Judy Atkinson was fifteen years ago at a house party where the hostess had invited a woman she knew to come and give the 20 or so guests a drumming lesson. I was intimidated and awed. She was beautiful. Graceful. Vibrant. She sparkled.

Fifteen years later, I met up with Judy again at my first Summer of Peace Calgary 2012 meeting. Once again, I felt intimidated and awed. She was still, beautiful, graceful, vibrant. She still sparkles.

Except, I don’t feel intimidated anymore. That was just my ego anyway and in Judy’s presence there is no room for ego. She is all in. All there. All present. In Judy’s presence, there is only room for Love, peace and joy.

Today, Judy shares her story of how she became a “Messenger of JOY”. How she lives the power and force of drumming to create lasting change, in our hearts and beings and in the world.

Thank you Judy for shining your light here, and throughout the world. Thank you for always drumming up joy! You make a difference.

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When the DRUM calls, Listen!

by Judy Atkinson

Today, I am affectionately known as a “Messenger of JOY”.  Wow, what a great title! My Mom says that I was born happy, and certainly I had a delightful rural upbringing in Northern Alberta.  However, 20 years ago I was not so joyful.

I was a 40-year-old single mom, head and heart spinning with disappointment, sadness and fear, trying to protect and care for my children and also get my feet on the ground after divorce.

BC, (before children), I completed an undergrad degree in Sociology and then took a job to support my husband as he completed his law degree. I was in the highly competitive dog-eat-dog corporate world of sales and marketing and knew I didn’t want to go back there!  After the divorce I knew that I wanted to “Take my Soul to Work”,  to authentically love what I was doing and at the same time make a difference in people’s lives, as I had been doing  in my children’s lives, and for  those who attended my parenting education workshops.  So I enrolled in a Master’s degree in Adult Education.

Half way through this grad degree I found myself at an international business conference in Mexico called Take your Soul to Work!  “Right out of the blue” so they say.   Thank you Universe!  I attended everything that was offered, and mid-week, not even knowing what it was, I attended a drum circle workshop that blew  my mind!  It was simply transformational.  I literally melted into the experience, time stood still, and I experienced heaven on Earth.  It was a real live epiphany which changed my life forever!

It was like a huge magnet attached itself to my heart and dropped me right into the middle of the circle.    It tugged me in and then gently nudged me out at the end, tears of joy streaming down my face.  I knew clearly, without a shred of doubt that this was what I was to do with my career and life from that day forth.   I knew that this was a powerful tool for human transformation, my calling and my new world service.

It made no sense from a head place.  Here I was, a middle class, white woman trying to make a living as a single mom drumming in the corporate world 15 years ago in red neck Calgary!  My friends and family rolled their eyes, but supported me because of the sheer passion pouring out of me and the sparkle they saw in my eyes.

15 years later I am facilitating over 200 drum circles a year all over the province and country.  From corporate to community, team building to cancer work, weddings to funerals, I run a thriving small business giving people a taste of the experience that I had that warm moist night in Mexico.  My drums and I bring joy, hope, love and laughter, release, community, possibility, spirit, healing and connection to thousands of people every year.  I know that what I do makes a difference as people release pent-up stress, feel supported and connected to themselves, to each other and to something bigger…   You’re right Mom, I am a Messenger  of Joy!

My message to you is:  follow that heart tug when you feel it.  It might make no sense at the time.  It might be a huge shove, or a gentle nudge, but listen to it.  Today I realize that the drumbeat is simply the vibration of love.  When the drum, ( Love), calls listen, it is your heart trying to be heard.

I truly hope to join rhythms with you in a drum circle sometime soon!  Bless your heart.
Judy Atkinson, Circles of Rhythm, 403-253-2023, judy@circlesofrhythm   www.circlesofrhythm.com

Yesterday, my eldest daughter Alexis had a blog she wrote published at Project True, Learning to exercise your right to be you.  I wanted to stand up and cheer  and yell and scream. Go Alexis Go! What courage. What determination. What beauty and honesty.

And then, I wonder.

Where did it begin? This eating disorder. How?

Was it when she was little and a pickie eater and I didn’t insist she eat everything on her plate, even the stuff she didn’t like — unlike my parents who made me clean my plate even though I offered to pack it up and send it to the starving children in Africa ?

Was it when she had sugar and the after-effects immediately presented themselves in a tantrum and I cut sugar out of her diet because I knew it wasn’t good for her?

Or maybe it was from birth? She was a spitter-upper. Some books called it projectile vomitting. Breastmilk. Formula. Pablum. Didn’t matter, she could chuck it up like a lumberjack tossing a log at a strongman contest.

Was it when… and I search the memory banks for reasons why, as if I expect a path to clear and expose, The Source. As if I expect the clouds to part and reveal, The Cause.

As if I believe there is one moment in time, one instance, that if I see it I will know the whys and hows and ins and outs of her eating disorder.

As if that would make a difference.

It doesn’t. Make a difference. It doesn’t change what is. My daughter has an eating disorder. And her eating disorder is not about ‘food’. It’s not about eating sugar, or not. It’s not about cleaning your plate as a little girl, or learning to eat your vegetables.

An eating disorder is deeper than what’s on your plate. An eating disorder, like so much of what makes us who we are, is found deep within our psyches. And my daughter has had the courage to dig into her truth. She has had the strength to face ‘Ed’ in the mirror and say, “You don’t own me”.

She is the one doing the healing. She is the one doing the hard work of recovery. She is turning up, courageous, passionate, sometimes scared, sometimes fearless, always real. She is turning up, in all her woundedness, in all her beauty. She is turning up. And turning up makes a difference.

It is hard for me, her mother, to accept that there is no one moment in time where, if I had done this, or said that, it would all have been different. That there is no one incident that if I’d just seen, or heard, or been, or done something other than what I did or said, that it would have been different.

I want to make it all about me. I want to find what I could have done to make it all different, that one thing, or many things, I didn’t do that would have changed the course of this disease.

It is not about me.

And that is hard to accept because I want to believe there is ‘an answer’ that will give me the power to take this away from her. And there isn’t. And in acknowledging there isn’t, I have to accept, and honour, the truth.

I love my daughter, exactly the way she is. And who she is includes having an eating disorder. It is messy. Ugly. Painful. And I can’t take it away from her. Because an eating disorder isn’t who she is. She is a young woman of great courage, beauty and strength. Her courage is founded in her strength, her willingness to be real, to be authentic, to share her journey, beauty, warts and all, and be true to herself.

There were many paths, many instances, may acts that brought her to this moment in time. It isn’t the path she took to get here that is making the difference. She is making the difference in the choices she makes today. She is making the difference in speaking out, turning up, standing up for herself and others. She is shining a light on the path of recovery for others to follow and in her brilliance, there is truth.

It is scary at times being the mother of a daughter with an eating disorder.

But not as scary or hard as being the one carrying the secrets and shame of this disease. Not as hard as being the one learning to let go of ‘Ed’ so that you can heal.

t is hard work looking into the darkness of ‘Ed’ to see the light. But, as my daughter is showing so many, when you do, you will find yourself at the core of your being the one you are, the beautiful, magnificent, shining human being of worth beyond your wildest imaginings.

And I want to stand up and shout and cheer  and yell and scream, Go Alexis Go!

The long view

It was a picture-perfect evening for a walk. A stiff breeze blew through the trees, clouds billowed like heavenly cotton candy at the foot of the mountains to the west. Ellie and I walked in the sunshine, our gait sure as we travelled the path we travel every day. East along the ridge of the reservoir and then west, back towards the parking lot where we began.

Being with Ellie on any path, reminds me always to see the world through fresh eyes. She is eager to begin. Always excited by every step. She doesn’t care that we’ve walked this path hundreds of times. She only cares that she is outside, exploring the big wide world, experiencing life beyond the confines of our home. She sniffs and investigates as if she’s never been or seen this place before. Each blade of grass calls her anew, each fresh scent beckons with tantalizing aromas she must explore. Ellie does not know the word, ‘bored’.

Ellie’s Friends

Last night as we walked, we rounded a corner and came upon a group of artists painting the view from the top. They are part of the Friends of the Weaselhead, preparing canvases for a showing in the spring. Each had their own take on the view, their own style, their own interpretation. Realism. Cubism. Abstract, they each interpreted what they saw through their own unique style.

Les Artistes

Like each of us. Seeing the world through our own unique perspective, filtering life through our own experiences, ideas, values and beliefs. Where one sees darkness, the other sees the light. Where one sees the shadows, the other sees the angles where the sun hits.

Ellie and I had a delightful walk last night. The sun cast shadows upon the path. Summer was in full bloom along the trail. Sailboats scuttled across the water, looking for the perfect gust of wind to carry it further and faster. Families gathered around picnic tables sharing food and laughter. Bicyclists sped by. Two stopped, called out our names and Ellie, her whole body writhing with joy, bounded over to say hello. It was her favourite friend, Dejana and her boyfriend Mike. When C.C. and I were in San Francisco, Dejana, a long-time friend of my daughters who is currently writing her Masters thesis, came and stayed at the house. Ellie was in heaven. All day company. Many walks. Tons of affection, and buckets of treats. Seeing Dejana made the walk extra perfect in Ellie’s mind. She got hugs and pets and lots of attention. what could be better than that?

Catching the wind

It was a perfect evening for a walk last night and as Ellie and I meandering along the path I said a prayer of gratitude for the beauty of the evening, the wonder of the world and the joy within my heart.

Ellie the Wonder Pooch

Seeing the world through fresh eyes every day makes a difference.
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Today’s Peace Poem is The Way.