Kintsugi: Beauty in Brokenness

The weather forecast today called for a mix of freezing rain, ice pellets, snow, and rain. I tipped the shutters this morning before sunrise to see what kind of precipitation was occurring and was in awe of the beautiful red sky. "Red sky in morning..." is a warning of bad weather ahead and within an hour, freezing rain and snow did start to fall. I was grateful to enjoy a few moments of beauty on an otherwise grey day.

I have admired Japanese kintsugi for some time. Last weekend there was a kintsugi workshop at a local hospice, but the spaces were filled when I tried to sign up to attend. Kintsugi seeks to embrace what is flawed or imperfect and the repairs accentuate rather than disguise wear and tear on a piece of pottery. 

"Kintsugi (金継ぎ, "golden joinery"), also known as kintsukuroi (金繕い, "golden repair"), is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum; the method is similar to the maki-e technique. As a philosophy, it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise." (Wikipedia)

I found a local artisan who does kintsugi pottery repairs using 22K gold powder mixed with sap from the Urushi tree. I ordered a couple of teacups and was pleased with the quality and beauty of her work. 

I have been fortunate to meet people over the years who have demonstrated great resilience in the face of brokenness and misfortune. None of us will avoid the wear and tear of life and hard experiences come to everyone eventually. We can choose our response to difficulties and decide if they will weaken or strengthen our character. These patched teacups remind me that our cracks and scars, while still visible, can be repaired and do not need to sideline our purpose or resolve. There is strength and beauty in the restoration.

Going Green(er) in Toronto

I usually visit Toronto a few times a year but December 2019 was the last time we spent a day there free from Covid restrictions. We tried to visit the Distillery District's Toronto Christmas Market last November but couldn't find a parking spot as many of the lots we used in the past have been sold to condo developers. It took us a long time to get out of the city core that day making it clear that public transit is the only reasonable way to visit the city. Yesterday I parked for free just north of the city limits and we took a 43-minute subway ride to Union Station. I purchased a Presto card which allows me discount fares for my age. The subway system is much more extensive than when I rode it as a teenager. One of my favourite places to visit when our family lived in Toronto was the Royal Ontario Museum. The subway station at the ROM now features interesting pillars of ancient Mayan and Egyptian influence. 

Our first destination was Toronto Comicon which returned this weekend after a two-year hiatus. We visited The Becka who had a table in the Artist Alley. The Comicon is very family-friendly these days as costumes that are excessively revealing or composed of body paint are no longer allowed. It is a place where nerds of all ages can have a good time. The event was sold out but it was not too busy until early afternoon. While mask restrictions are being eased significantly this month, I will still remain cautious where there are large indoor crowds.

Bloor St. W Toronto near Trinity-St. Paul's United Church

We hopped on the subway again and rode to Bloor St. W to visit BMV Books, an old-fashioned bookstore featuring discounted and pre-owned books and music. I say "hopped on" when I really mean "hobbled on" as subway stations have more stairs than escalators and I had already walked 11,000 steps on pavement. My joints are definitely not used to this degree of stress! Biking is far easier for me than walking or prolonged standing, and walking on dirt trails is far more gentle than doing the same distance on hard surfaces. Toronto has a good network of bike lanes that are well marked and safe for attentive adult riders and rental bikes are available in several locations. A visit to Toronto's Centre Island is on my bucket list and I would definitely rent a bike for touring that area. 

Toronto CN Tower (courtesy of The Becka)

We ended the day in The Becka's hotel room which overlooked the CN Tower and the Lake Ontario waterfront. We ordered from Aroma Fine Indian Cuisine, a restaurant we enjoyed for the first time three years ago. When we opened up the bags of food, there were no eating utensils included as we have come to expect with take-out meals. There was a federal government plan to ban single-use plastics including straws and eating utensils by 2021, but this target was softened during the pandemic. But I noticed that several Toronto eateries have proceeded to follow the proposed rules. Finding something to eat with on a Saturday evening was an adventure for a daughter with stronger legs than mine. She found a package of bamboo sporks at a 7-Eleven store several blocks away. The food was delicious!

Today I am sewing little bags to hold a travel set of eating utensils for everyone in the family! I have become accustomed to excessive single-use plastic in the hospital environment because of Covid. It is good to remember that we must do better in reducing waste.

A Beautiful St. Patrick's Day!

 

My great-great-great-grandmother, Mary Ann Griffin was born in Enniscorthy, County Wexford, Ireland around 1840. That makes me maybe 3% Irish, assuming that none of my other ancestors have Irish roots. Today was a day to celebrate anything green!

Winter has refused to loosen its grip this month and we shovelled snow more days than not over the past week. Yesterday was supposed to be warm but fog and clouds prevailed keeping temperatures down. But today was a spring day that reminded me of the sudden transition from winter to spring in Narnia. We still have a lot of snow, but in open areas, it has retreated quickly in the past 24 hours as temperatures approached 20 C. I checked out the area near the river where snowdrops bloom in March. The plants were still surrounded by snow but the blooms were just starting to open. 

I started to walk down the trail along the river with my walking poles but quickly changed my mind as the pathway was solid ice. The neighbourhood here is lovely and it was much safer to stick to sidewalks. I was surprised to see that someone had tapped a couple of sugar maple trees along the city street. The pails were half-full as the sap ran quickly in the sunshine. Hopefully, our local sugar bushes were very productive today as well. 

Our yard is still snow-covered and Robins pecked around looking for whatever they could find in the bits of mud near the house. Juncos ate seeds from dead plants in the garden (a good reason not to clean up the garden completely in the fall), and many other birds visited our feeders. 

A Mourning Cloak Butterfly emerged from hibernation and flew by. They spend the winter in "cryo-preservation" under loose bark or in tree cavities. Their wings are often tattered and worn, but their return to life as the temperatures rise above freezing is nothing short of amazing for such a fragile creature.

To top it off, a beautiful full moon rose in the east. Technically, it will be full after midnight but I choose to call this "Worm Moon" a St. Patrick's Day full moon.

There are many Irish blessings shared on this day but my favourite is known as the Breastplate of Saint Patrick. The lorica is a prayer of protection and the classic version has eleven stanzas. Here is a paraphrase of the eighth stanza. 

Christ above me, very God of very God.

Christ beneath me, incarnate of the earth.

Christ before me when seen.

Christ behind me when unseen.

Christ at my right hand in my strength.

Christ on my left in my weakness.

Christ all around me, filling all things everywhere with himself.

Christ within me formed by faith.

Stretching my Mind with Poetry

I write a lot of words in a day. Most of my compositions are objective and subjective observations about my patients, from what they tell me about their health to the measurement of things like oxygen saturation during exercise or the amount of sputum they expectorate after surgery. These words are hardly inspirational but are part of an important legal document. I was subpoenaed once to testify in court on behalf of a patient I had seen ten years earlier. The patient was dead, but the family had filed a lawsuit against the property owner of the apartment building where she lived. Lawsuits can take a lot of time to get through the court system and I did not remember the patient at all. She was one of many hundreds of hip fracture patients I have treated in my career. Thankfully the lawyer had obtained my charting record from an employer I no longer worked for. I was relieved to read my thorough assessment and treatment notes. Not all my charting has been as stellar but the court experience has made me more aware of the importance of good records with clear and easy-to-understand notations.

My good friend Lesley is a tenured university professor who has spent much time researching the life and works of Gerard Manley Hopkins, an English poet and Jesuit priest of the Victorian era. She speaks of Hopkins as if he is a well-known and loved family relation, so familiar is she with his writings. I uploaded a photo of a Belted Kingfisher in an earlier post this year and she responded by sending me a Hopkins poem called As Kingfishers Catch Fire. My methodical and literal intelligence was no match for the poet's brilliant and beautiful use of words and I was at a loss in deciphering the meaning of the poem. I felt like my Grade 7 self who disappointed her admired teacher, Mrs. Mummery when I failed to correctly analyze a sight poem that was on a midterm English exam. I remember her rebuke well when she told me she was surprised that I missed the poet's meaning. 

Manley draws on themes of nature and spirituality as he describes how birds, dragonflies, stones and bells act in a way that is true to their nature. Likewise, man, when reflecting the nature of God is called to represent Christ to the world with beauty, justice and grace.

That is my very rudimentary understanding of a poem that should be studied in much greater depth. I would get no more than two marks on an exam for my explanation, but I no longer need to read poetry to please an English teacher. I have come to love this poem listening to it read on YouTube and reading and re-reading the lines. Eugene Peterson was so inspired by the poem that he published a series of his sermons in a book called, As Kingfishers Catch Fire: A Conversation on the Ways of God Formed by the Words of God. In his writing, he encourages Christians "to live lives of congruence. Put another way, that the inside matches the outside. Or as we used to hear, that we indeed practice what we preach".

In closing, here is the poem beautifully read by The Wordman who writes this on his profile.

"Reading a poem is like reading the score of a piece of music instead of listening to it when played! Ergo: POEMS SHOULD BE HEARD, NOT READ!!"

My Memories of March 13, 1990

Uncle Bill, Mom and Grandma - April 4, 1953

I just came indoors after shovelling the latest few centimetres of snow off the driveway and sidewalk as flurries continue to blow in from Lake Huron. Throughout the day I have been thinking about March 13th thirty-two years ago, a day that was unseasonably warm and spring-like. 

Grandma D had a heart attack three days earlier and had declined to have a pacemaker inserted. I didn't get to see her in the hospital but Mom and my uncle, along with my brother Mark and one of my cousins were with her when she died. Grandma lived independently in the community until she was admitted to the hospital even though she had become frailer at the age of almost 94 years old. 

I was reading today how Queen Elizabeth at 95 years old is no longer able to walk outdoors with her Corgies or stand for long periods as she has become weaker since her hospitalization in October 2021. Age sometimes creeps unseen upon those we love most, those whom we have relied on and think are invincible. 

Grandma was a realist who lived practically and graciously and died with dignity. I was too young and willingly blind to see that she was aging and relied on her for advice and support until the end. She never talked about her own aches and pains and always directed her conversations toward others. Grandma gave up driving her car on her own after having a minor accident and moved from her large house five years before she died, downsizing to a condominium apartment a couple of blocks away. She loved her family deeply and unconditionally and adored her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She was a good friend to many people.

Today I read the compelling short novel The Bridge of San Luis Rey by Thornton Wilder. The book tells the stories of five people who died when a bridge collapsed in Peru in 1714. It closes with these lines which were read by Tony Blair at the 9/11 Memorial service in New York City.

"But soon we will die, and all memories of those five will have left earth, 

and we ourselves shall be loved for a while and forgotten. 

But the love will have been enough; 

all those impulses of love return to the love that made them. 

Even memory is not necessary for love. 

There is a land of the living and a land of the dead, 

and the bridge is love. 

The only survival, the only meaning." 

Liminal Spaces

Thoughts on Change: Part 2

I took this picture in January 2013 when my brother Mark and I visited our mother in Mexico in the final weeks before her death in April that year. The adjective "liminal" refers to being on the threshold of something new, but you are not quite there yet. Walter Brueggemann* describes it as 

"an unsettled feeling at the threshold of something new, 

when life is gathered into a wholly new configuration".

A bridge is a good illustration of a liminal space that connects where you've been to where you are going. Life itself is a liminal space beginning with birth and ending in death but within a lifespan, we enter thresholds of adolescence, adulthood, career, various family changes and retirement. Physical liminal spaces such as elevators, stairways, hallways, bridges, roads and the sky are known to make some people anxious. 

What if the elevator gets stuck? What if the plane crashes? What if the bridge collapses?

The bridge above represents well the uncertainties of 2012 to 2013 for our family. The endpoint was near but the journey was not smooth as we held onto hope that Mom would respond to treatment and recover.

Montmorency Falls, near Quebec City, Canada

Emotional liminal spaces are transitions with an endpoint, but that endpoint may not be clear when we embark from one side to another. It is easier sometimes to look back at an event and see it as a line in the sand. I often refer to my life before 1982 as B.C., or "Before Children". My A.D. life is "After Death",  referring to the death of my mother and then my father. Both transitions were significant and caused me to reflect on life in very different ways. 

I am generally risk-averse and when we visited Montmorency Falls I had no desire to walk across the suspension bridge that spanned the space far above the brink of the cataract. I do not enjoy heights and would likely turn back after walking a few metres across the bridge. Sometimes, changes in our lives can be equally intimidating, even terrifying as we see what could happen if we fail to navigate the transition.

Wasauksing Swing Bridge near Parry Sound ON

Some people refuse to embark across a challenging emotional threshold leaving themselves "stuck in a rut" as they resist personal change. But many of life's liminal spaces do not offer the chance to cling to old ways or make a U-turn. The current pandemic and been a long span with an indefinite endpoint and this uncertainty has created increased feelings of anxiety and depression. The swing bridge above reminds me of the suspended journey we have been on for the past two years as our lives have been disrupted by Covid-19. That swing bridge will be closing soon to allow us to finish crossing the channel. Other difficult transitions like illness and death force us to adapt in some way. The people who do it best have the support of others as well as faith and courage when facing a new future.

Rail Bridge across the Grand River, Cambridge ON

I named this blog The Other Side of Sixty-Five recognizing that I was entering a new liminal space that was not just about retirement. It is easy to fall into thinking that things were better in the past making us increasingly cynical about the present and future. There are traditions that have value but sentimentality does not age well. I have written down a few quotes from recent reading that encourage me as I continue my journey.

" I am not young enough to know everything." 

Oscar Wilde

"We are prepared to believe most things as long as they align with 

our preconceptions and predispositions." 

 Marie Henein

"We must decide if we have faith that seeks understanding or if our learning is just power-packed as knowledge... Can we honour the pain-filled voices of marginality or will we notice only the tired claims of old monopolies..."

The world waits for newness;

settled wisdom knows nothing of newness

settled wealth knows nothing of newness

settled power knows nothing of newness.

(thoughts on 1 Corinthians 1:27-29)

*Walter Brueggemann from his Lenten devotional A Way Other Than Our Own

Early Spring Arrivals

 I discovered the difference between meteorological seasons and astronomical seasons this year and have decided that March 1st as the first day of meteorological spring is very much to my liking. Astronomical spring arrives March 21st on average but the birds know that the season is well underway before then. We went for a long muddy and icy walk along the river this morning. The river had overflown its banks on the weekend but the trail was passable today. The current was still swift and there were fewer water birds around compared to last month. But some of our earliest migrants have arrived in the past few days. 

We saw our first male Red-winged Blackbirds who were staking their territories before the females arrive next month. These birds are widespread across North America, including Mexico but they do not stick around during winter in our area. They are not shy and are easy to hear and see along rivers, creeks and bogs. 

Black-capped Chickadees are singing their spring mating songs and are searching for cavities in which to build their nests. During the winter they are quick to take seed from a human hand but they were not very interested today. This bird landed twice on my husband's hand and that was it. Chickadees are between 9 and 14 grams in weight and as we watched them in the low bushes near the trail, we noticed two birds that were much smaller.

The birds flitted too quickly in the brush for me to get a clear picture but I recognized them as Golden-crowned Kinglets. They weigh between 4 and 8 grams, approximately half the size of a Chickadee. I haven't seen one for a few years even though they are not rare. 

A short distance away on a patch of open ground, a worm of about 15 American Robins hopped around looking for grubs. I always record my first Robin sighting in the spring and the average date is around March 9th. There is too much snow in our yard to attract them yet, but they are congregating in areas where the snow has melted.

I have also seen a Kildeer and Common Grackle this week and my husband saw a couple of Turkey Vultures yesterday. These are all ordinary birds that hardly earn a second glance later in the year, but they are most welcome in early March because they let me know that winter is really coming to an end.

Two Years Later

Last day of my full-time job -Feb 2020

Two years ago today I started a 9-month physiotherapy contract position at a local acute care hospital. I had retired from full-time work three weeks earlier and wanted to ease out of my career gradually. That week of March 9, 2020 brought the end of normalcy around the world as COVID-19 changed life quickly. Due to pandemic demands, my contract was extended a few times and I am now a permanent part-time employee. I am very grateful for this job which gave me purpose when things were shut down and has provided many opportunities for learning and personal growth. I was hired to work on the Chest Unit and it quickly became one of the COVID units. In just under two years, there was only one day when there were no COVID-positive patients in the hospital and we still have 20 plus inpatients who are affected by the virus. 

I remember life before everyone wore masks, when we visited restaurants without a second thought, and when we had no restrictions in our social activities. Our 2-year-old grandson has not enjoyed the degree of socialization his older sister experienced at the same age. And time will tell how months of online learning have affected the education of students.

My preconceptions of what retirement would look like are forever changed. One cannot live well without a purpose, without connecting with other people, without new experiences and some sort of routine. People who remained isolated and inactive for the past two years have risked a detrimental decline in their physical and mental health. 

This winter has been cold and long but spring is almost here. I look forward to a gradual return to some kind of new normal in this country but am also aware of the suffering war is bringing to Europe. Five years ago I was working through a stressful situation at work. I drew this diagram and kept it at my desk to remind myself of what I could and could not control. There are many things we cannot change but we can continue to grow personally and work for positive change in our circle of influence.