Paying Tribute to a Fallen Officer

I've lived in the city of Guelph now for twenty-two years, and in all that time I can count on the thumb of one hand the number of police officers that have died in the line of duty. Two weeks ago was the first (and hopefully the last) time our community has had to mourn a fallen officer. Constable Jennifer Kovach died while en route to a call. Her cruiser went out of control on an icy curve and crashed into a bus. Thousands of police officers, firefighters, EMS personnel and citizens, not only from Guelph and the surrounding area but from across the continent, turned out to honour her last Thursday, at a funeral that saw a parade down one of our main streets, and the local arena filled to overflowing, with those not able to find a seat accommodated at the River Run Centre close by. The funeral was broadcast live on local television. And it had at least one local letter writer asking why the spectacle. In a letter to the Guelph Tribune, David Nash asks: Is not the life of a construction worker, who died "in the line of duty," just as precious? Or the pilot who died in Alberta, or the fishermen who died off the east coast? Why no elaborate, state-funded funerals for them? Was this simply not a display of "statism", and not an honour to the deceased constable at all? Now, Mr. Nash does not come off as someone who denigrates police officers, or does not appreciate what they do. He is, instead, asking a valid question, one which I struggled to answer myself in the days following the funeral. And I believe that no, the death of a police officer is not the same as the death of a construction worker, pilot, miner, or fisherman. No, the funeral was not a display of force by the state, but a fitting tribute to one of those few who are asked to give up much and risk all to keep the rest of us safe. A fisherman, a construction worker, a pilot, a miner--all of these occupations are covered by laws designed to keep them safe. While the death of any of these workers is indeed a tragedy worthy of note, it is not quite the same as the death of a police officer in the line of duty. Because a police officer, a firefighter, an EMS worker or a soldier are all lacking one thing that the rest of us take for granted--the right to refuse unsafe work. A police officer's work is by definition unsafe. Constable Kovach was rushing to the aid of another officer who was confronted by a routine traffic stop turned into a drug bust. She did not have a right to refuse this dangerous assignment--it's a condition of her employment that she engage in potentially life-risking actions. On the other hand, the construction worker and the fishermen and the pilot all had employers who were bound by law to keep them safe, and were themselves responsible for telling those same employers that they would refuse to work if the work was deemed unsafe. In addition, the construction worker, the pilot, the miners, the fishermen, if employed by someone else, all have the right to strike to improve working conditions. Constable Kovach did not have that right, either. Persons working in such an environment necessarily develop an extremely close bond. When your life depends on the actions of your comrades, you draw closer to one another for mutual protection. When one of those co-workers dies in the line of duty, it can be much, much more devastating than the death of a co-worker might be to an ordinary worker. I saw the pictures of lines of officers, firefighters and other uniformed personnel to be not a display of statism, but a display of solidarity for a fallen comrade. Each one of those uniformed personnel was intensely aware at the moment the hearse passed them that they could be the next one so honoured. As for the fact that her funeral was state-funded, I feel that is only appropriate. Our police officers and other emergency personnel give up a great deal in order to keep us safe. They give up the right to strike, the right to refuse unsafe work, and even the right to work sane shifts, as someone must be on duty 24 hours a day, every single day of the year. They give up Christmas and Easter and birthdays and holidays with their families. Constable Kovach gave up her right to be with her family to celebrate the birth of her brother's new daughter in order to work the shift that killed her. They deserve our public honour and recognition.

Nothing Lasts Forever

A note to my readers: I haven't posted in this blog for a while, because I wasn't quite sure what I was going to do with it. I've decided that I will indeed continue posting in this blog, but that it will be for sermons and scholarly reflections, whilst my other blog, Yeshanu's Fabulous Over Fifty, will be home to my reflections on life and living. This sermon was preached on March 14th (the date is important, as you'll soon find :) ), at LaPointe Fisher Nursing Home. The texts used are Isaiah 43:16-21 and Mark 12:38-13:2. Nothing Lasts Forever I opened my fridge today to check what was in it, and found, in the back, a container of sour cream. Best before February 2, 2013. Knowing me, it was probably lucky that the date wasn't February 2, 2012. I then checked my library account on line, and found that I had a whole whack of books due March 13th, and as you may know, today is the 14th. Not good. The big news today, of course, is the papal election. Pope Francis I is the 266th leader of the Roman Catholic church, and has observers asking: Is this a new era for the church, or same old, same old? No one knows--the only thing certain is that Pope Benedict is no longer in charge, and Pope Francis is. In our lifetimes, we have seen many changes. Things we thought or even hoped would last forever have proved to be transient. The Berlin Wall has fallen, the USSR is dissolved, Apartied has ended. The World Trade Center was destroyed, and has been rebuilt. People we thought were good and noble have proved to be, well, just people like us, and sometimes not very good people. Conrad Black, honoured by the queen herself with knighthood, was disgraced and spent time in jail. Martha Steward, that goddess of the household, reputedly decorated her jail cell very nicely. And we won't even talk about the myriad of politicians and Hollywood stars and prominent ministers of God who have been brought low by scandal and corruption. Our gospel reading this afternoon has Jesus teaching in the temple, and he warns against worship of that which is human. Don't desire to be like the so-called holy people, who walk around in fancy robes and have the best seats at the table, he says. Their fame won't last, and they will be condemned for the evil they do. He watched people put money in the temple treasury, and he tells those he is teaching: Do you see those rich people? They put in lots of money, but it's only a little bit to them--they still have lots of money left to live on. But that poor woman, who puts in just two little copper coins? She's given everything she has, and that's really impressive! Then he looks around the temple at the walls. Do you think these walls are strong? he asks. They are, but they won't last forever. In a few short years, every single stone will be thrown down. Isaiah, in our Old Testament passage, was preaching to the people of Israel in exile. The Babylonians had conquered and divided the people, and the people were mightily discouraged. How can we sing the Lord's song in a strange land? they lamented. And Isaiah tells them that the Lord says: Don't worry about what you've lost. I will do something new. Something better is coming. Nothing lasts forever. Not the Roman Empire, nor the World Trade Center. Not fame, or fortune, or disaster, or slavery. Only God is immortal and eternal, and God's love. As we sit here today, we wonder about the church and its future. Argentina, the land that gave rise to Pope Francis, is a land where more than 90% of the population identifies as Roman Catholic, and where fewer than 10% go to church on a regular basis. It's a familiar story in many places in the world today--as education and income increase, people feel that God is no longer relevant, or that God does not even exist, and they put their time and energy into making what they consider to be a better life for themselves and their families. Until the stock market crashes. Or a military dictator takes control. Or floods invade even New York City itself, hallowed ground of capitalist America. Until once again, a beloved or respected leader or financial advisor crash-lands, victim of overwhelming greed or lust or love of fame. Is there any hope, or do we travel towards a cross with no resurrection at the end? I am about to do a new thing, God says to us. I will make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert to give drink to my chosen people. And the temple has fallen, and the Roman Empire as well, but faith in God endures. In Christ, God has done a new thing, and we Christians are the result of that. But the wind of God's change does not stop, and new things keep arising. The Reformation gave rise to new things. The Second Vatican Council gave rise to new things. Liberation Theology gave rise to new things. The United Church of Canada, to which I belong, gave rise to new things. And new things inspired by God are continually arising, often in the most unexpected places, changing what was into what shall be. Nothing of this world endures forever, and God is continually at work, creating new things. So I say to you, do not mourn what is gone, or worship things of human making. Rely on God, and God's love, and you can't go wrong. What has passed is gone forever, for good or for evil. But God's love, God's promise, endures forever. God is making new things, better things for us, in this life, and in the life to come. Amen.

The Aliens Are Back, And They're Breeding!

I went to the bookstore with my mom last week, and lo and behold! Gini Koch's newest Alien book had actually arrived! (I'd looked for it just after release date, and every Chapter's store but the one I was at had a copy or three...)



So I picked it up, and saved it for reading on my three day holiday last week. (As a Christmas present, I had a room booked for me at a hotel an hour and a half from my home. Not so I could do any tourist-type things, but just so that I could relax in a room with a jacuzzi and a big bed and a television with lots of channels. It was wonderful!)

As soon as I was unpacked, the book was opened. I read it in the chair, in the jacuzzi, in the bed. I read from the time I got there at about one in the afternoon until I finally finished at one in the morning. By which you can tell it was riveting.

So, first off, the bad news. I'm not, and have never been, a Jeff fan. So sue me. He's too perfect, except for the jealousy thing, which I find disturbing more than endearing. Second, he may be a ladies' man, but I'm not a man's lady.

Which is to say, I'm a die-hard Kitty fan. I'll fight Jeff for her. :D

Seriously, any woman who reaches into her purse to find weapons with which to kill the bad alien superbing and comes up with a ball point pen or hairspray, and then actually proceeds to make it work--that woman is my type of woman! No other description needed. I can work with her music choices--I'm pretty open to anything that's not rap, even if I do prefer Beethoven to Aerosmith.

And it's pretty obvious where she gets her mojo from--her mother is awesome, too, and her long-suffering father is totally true-to-life in his eye-rolling glory. (And Kitty, don't worry that you never really knew what your parents did for a living. Does any child really know her parents before she becomes an adult? I sure didn't!)

Of all the guys in the book though, I have to say I prefer the humans over the aliens. Chuckie is a great character--revenge of the nerds, and all that. Reader is just plain hilarious.

And I just realized I have to take that back--there is one alien who gets more words in this book than he has in previous books, and it's all to the good. Richard White, the Pontifex, steps off the page and into reality as an extremely able partner for Kitty, who once again is left to save the day. He's the only alien so far that's made me want to turn straight...

I do have to say that getting Jeff out of the Armani and into jeans (which does actually happen in this book) is a Good Thing, and amusing to boot. Hope it happens again. (Hint, hint.)

All in all, this one was a very fast-paced and captivating read. The best book of the series so far, in my opinion, though it beats out the first by only a hair. Lots of action, lots of really gut-busting humour, and a bit of truly flesh-creeping horror thrown in. I can't wait for the next one!

Same Old, Same Old

It's that time of year again.

Yep. New Year's Day, and the time to make New Year's resolutions.

Lots of people don't make them any more, I'm led to understand. They don't make them any more because they make the same ones every year, and by the first of February (if they're really persistent and serious about their resolutions) the habits are gone by the wayside. (If they're not persistent, the new resolution might last until the 5th of January or so...)

Get fit. Eat more healthy foods and less junk (she says as she's writing this, pop and chips near to hand...). Lose weight. Clean the house. Get the finances under control. Write every day. Finish a book and submit it to publishers.

Yep. If you've been reading this blog for more than one post, you'll know exactly whose resloutions these are.

And those who have known me for years know that they're the same resolutions I have made every year since I can remember making resolutions.

Why do I do it, if I continually fail to acheive my goals?

There are a couple of reasons I do this:

1) I do it to remind me on at least an annual basis (and usually more often) that I do have goals that are worth the time and effort to pursue.

2) I do it because I find that the reminder really does help me. I'm not in the same place finanacially where I was ten years ago, I am eating more health-fully, my house is cleaner.

I'm not where I want to be, but I am closer to my long term goals. I've made such amazing strides in the past month and a half that pretty much everyone who interacts with me on a regular basis has noticed. My daughter is saying, "Who are you, and what have you done with my mother?" My ex is enjoying two home-cooked meals a week at my place, and it's noticably lessened his stress. My parents are visiting now. They haven't seen me since September, and my dad's first words to me (and this from a man who is very quick with the backhanded compliments) were, "You're looking really good! What are you doing?"

Things are changing, and they're changing because I continually resovle and re-resolve to get fit, eat healtfully, lose weight, write more, and so on...

So, once again, I'm making New Year's resolutions. Yes, they're the same old, same old. They're not the kind of goals I can really "fail" at. I can get sidetracked, but if I do, all I need to do to get back on track is to review my goals and figure out how I got off track, and then get back on the wagon.

No guilt, no worry. Just pick myself up out of the mud, wash myself off, and carry on.

I Have a New Job!

No, I'm not working in a theatre again, and I didn't get any jobs with a church (except for filling in for our administrator when she's on holidays, but I was doing that before...).

I skipped the painful submit-a-resume-wait-for-a-call-and-maybe-get-an-interview-but-I'll-never-hear-back-again type of job hunting, and instead applied to our local newspaper to be a...

Paper carrier type person!

Yes, Ruth the paper girl is back. My first run as a paper girl was at the age of ten, my second was about fifteen or more years back, and I'm at it again.

I admit that I need the extra money, but to be honest, I could earn more (a LOT more) flipping burgers for an hour at the local grease joint. I get $0.13 per paper delivered, and my three routes have a grand total of 36 papers. Which is $4.68 per day, and it takes about an hour to deliver. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I also deliver our local free paper plus flyers (way more flyers than paper!). They pay .02 per paper & 1 flyer pack on Tuesdays, and .025 on Thursdays, and an extra .02 per flyer pack above the first. On Thursdays, I've had an average of 3 flyer packs. So each of my 36 deliveries nets me an extra 8.5 cents each per week, for a total payday of 32.94 per week.

Not exactly big money, especially since I use my car to do it and probably spend between five and ten dollars on gas.

Still, it's a really good deal for me.

First off, when I started two weeks ago, I was suffering from back pain so bad that I had to take a fairly expensive OTC medication twice per day in order to remain functional. Within a week, I was down to extra strength Tylenol, and now I'm down to nothing most days. Savings, about $25 per week, plus my liver.

Second, my autistic son accompanies me most days. In fact, I got the route because it was something we could do together that would get us out of the house. I investigated volunteering at our local Re-Store, but they really didn't have anything suitable for us to do. But Robin likes to walk, so the paper route was perfect. The cost of having someone else do something like this with him varies from $10 to $25 an hour. Even on the cheap side, we're saving $50 a week.

Third, I'm out walking every day for most of that hour. According to today's paper (which is another bonus -- one of those papers I get paid to deliver is mine, and it's free!), that will add another 10 or so healthy years to my life. How do I calculate the value of that, I ask you?

And I used to pay about $35 a month for a gym membership I never used, because it was so inconvenient. The paper routes I deliver are a lot closer to my home, and because I've signed a contract, I *have* to do the exercise every day, rain or shine, sick or well, grumpy or happy.

And for the most part, I've been happy. Exercise releases natural endorphins, that help dull pain and decrease depression. I also have met several of my customers, all of whom are friendly and generally cheerful.

One customer I talked to yesterday is eighty years old, and still goes snowshoeing! That's what I want to be like when I'm eighty, and having a daily paper route is a step in the right direction.

A common suggestion of get-out-of-debt books is to take a second job. What most of them don't say is that when you look for a second job, it's always good to think outside the box. Instead of looking for another eight-hour-a-day grind in a factory, try something a little lower class, but with more benefits.

Working in a theatre gave me the chance to see a lot of first run movies for free.

Working at McDonald's gave me more than I wanted of employee-discounted junk food.

Working at Chapters over the Christmas rush last year gave me an employee discount on books, just in time to buy gifts for my family of avid readers.

Now I've got a free paper and an exercise plan -- and they're paying me for it!

Think about where you spend your money, or what activities you enjoy doing, and look to those things for a second job, or a retirement income, or even your primary income! Sometimes, the benefits are worth the lower pay. Don't let anyone tell you that a particular job is too "low life," or "beneath your notice," or "just for kids." Only you can decide the true worth of a job to you.

NaNo Post Mortem

So it's over. Thirty days, fifty thousand words, all done. What next?

Well, first off, the plan outlined in an earlier post actually worked like a charm! I made it all the way through November, and I wrote every single day, and I wasn't sick once, and while I did eat out a few times, I ate breakfast every day at home, and almost all my lunches and suppers (as in over 90 percent of them) at home as well.

I did not gain thirty pounds pigging out on junk food. (I also didn't lose thirty pounds, but that wasn't in the plan...)

I actually have started getting daily exercise, because I signed on for three daily paper routes, and that started a week ago.

My ex walked in to the kitchen yesterday and did a double take at the uncluttered counter. He'd have really flipped out if he'd looked in the cupboards -- one more to go, then the kitchen is organized! And I worked on it during November.

The two major events I've been part of planning are almost done -- the one last week went very well, considering it was our first time. The one this coming Saturday is looking to be better than last year. We're almost all ready -- I have a list of stuff to do tomorrow and Saturday, but I'll still have a fair amount of free time to celebrate with my daughter and her friend, who also reached 50K.

And most importantly, I can envision myself continuing the process of daily writing until this year's novel is done. My plan is to then go back and finish my 2008 NaNo winner, which was abandoned in mid-December of that year. Then it's on to revision for both of them.

So what did I learn?

First off, I learned that when my space and my life are organized, I can be a tortise, and I learned that slow and steady really does win the race. I honestly thought I didn't have it in me to do something at an even pace over a long period. I thought I was doomed to be the hare all my life, and fall asleep or give up just short of the finish line. (Or else burn myself out with a last minute burst of speed that might or might not propel me to a win.)

Second, I learned that what the FLYLady says really is true: I can do anything, fifteen minutes at a time. That's how the novel got written, the dishes and laundry got done, the clutter got pitched, the papers got delivered, the bills got paid, the bed got made... Focus on one thing at a time, for fifteen minutes, and you can get a lot more done in a day than most people do in a week, because all too often our time is wasted wondering what to do next, instead of doing!

Three, I re-learned the power of companionship. I'm not one who likes to journey alone. I will if I have to, but the few times I've done that, I've phoned home every day. I need friends and family to journey with me. This year, I had the girls, I had a bunch of folks over at the Absolute Write Water Cooler, and one friend my age who I met through the NaNo forums. I cheered them on, they cheered me on. We warred with each other, spoke and wrote encouraging words, and the novels got writ. More of my NaNo buddies showed up as winners this year than in any previous year, and I gave out a lot of rep points at the Cooler, and received almost as many in turn.

I need my friends!

Together, these three learnings have given me back my hope. I've been writing since I was six years old. It's always been a part of me. But I don't think I ever really believed that I could become a professional, because of the lack of daily habits.

I now know that I can do it. So it's on to the next phase: actually doing it. Writing every day, revising what I write, having it critiqued and revising it again. And finally, submitting it to an agent or publisher, and dealing with all that comes from that process.

And I know that a prolonged absence from a writing community is not a good idea for me. So I'll keep in touch with the folks from the Cooler, and I'll keep writing, and one day you WILL see my name on the bestseller list!

Happy writing!

Loving My Inner Perfectionist

I came to an interesting conclusion today. There's a lot of talk about our "inner child," and how he or she can sabotage our well-intentioned efforts to lose weight, eat well, stay within our budget, or even get out of bed in the morning.

The theory goes that instead of beating this inner child into submission, we need to embrace her (or him), reason with her, and allow her the occasional treat. And we need to learn to love her.

Folks who do this say it really works. They've managed to control the urge to overeat, overspend, and oversleep that comes with the simple immaturity of their inner child, all without feeling the grief and anger that comes with beating their inner child (who is really them) up.

I can see the wisdom in this approach, and practice it myself on occasion. Athena is the fun, kiddie part of me. She's important -- she allows me to be silly, to enjoy kiddie entertainment, to relax. I can control her the way I controlled my own flesh kids when they were little -- by being aware of her needs and not exceeding her capacity for endurance or understanding, by giving her the occasional treat, and by explaining in simple language exactly why we need to exercise control. I control her with love, not fear.

But when it comes to "perfectionism," we tend to have a different attitude. FLYLady in particular is against our inner perfectionist. When we find our inner perfectionist gaining control, instead of treating her with love, we treat her like a dirty rag. "The 'P' Word," she calls it. It's a swear word!

FLYLady's the most recent example (for me) of this attitude that I've come across, but certainly not the only one. "It doesn't have to be perfect!" we say.

And we're right to say that -- most of the time.

Look at it this way. If I'm a student, and I score 95 percent on a math test, that's not "pretty good," it's excellent! If, however, I am a surgeon, and 95 percent of my operations go well, and in 5 percent I make a serious mistake, that's 5 out of a hundred patients who are facing serious medical problems, because I, the surgeon, thought 95 percent was good enough.

Or if I, as a writer, only spell 95 words out of a hundred correctly in the book I'm writing, it will be rejected out of hand by any professional editor, and scorned by critics and readers alike. That's one reason why self-published books aren't highly regarded -- the folks who write them are so in love with their own writing that they don't see its faults, and are in too much of a hurry to get published to deal with the perfectionism that is part of producing a truly excellent book. (And I've read a couple of good self-pubbed books that could have been outstanding had the writers gone to the trouble of getting them professionally edited and published.)

We as writers need our inner perfectionist (which the NaNo folks call our "Inner Editor," and who gets locked away during the whole month of November) as much as we need our inner child.

If it's wrong and counter productive to beat your inner child into submission, it's just as wrong and counter productive to beat your inner perfectionist into submission. The way to deal with her, I think, is to give her a name, love her, and explain why she can't always have her way. Give her a chance on occasion to express herself, but set firm limits.

Just as you do when you're dealing with your inner child.

This morning, my inner perfectionist (I'm pretty sure that this is the real Yeshanu, by the way) helped me clean my living room. I started out only wanting to sweep and mop the floors, and realized that I had the time, the energy, and the will to do a bit more.

So I set the limits (we will NOT patch and paint the walls, refinish the coffee table, or buy a new lamp or TV cabinet!), and let her run wild.

The floor got swept. Then she decided to dust (I know, it should have come first and we did end up having to sweep again after). Straigtened out the pillows on the couch. Took down some tacky pictures. Loaded the broken stereo into the car to take to the dump tomorrow. Decluttered some stuff, and put up my creche. Tidied up the toys and hid them behind the TV cabinet (the little kids don't visit very often). Cleared out the old magazines. Mopped the floor.

And the living room looks fantastic! After we finished up, we sat down for a break, and were truly able to relax in our lovely living room.

November is a hard month for my inner perfectionist. NaNo means she's got to be quiet about a whole lot of writing going on, and the pace of everything else in my life means I don't really have time to listen to her. But allowing her out, for a limited period of time and to deal with a single, well-defined project, was a wonderful experience.

I feel a real sense of accomplishment right now, and we had fun, albeit in a very adult kind of way.