Thank you, Samantha

Yesterday I spent several hours trying to work out my printer problems. I finally gave up and called the company HP Smart for technical support. The technician who I was hooked up with was called Samantha. Now, normally these calls can be hours long (which it was) and can be full of frustration and annoyance (which it wasn’t).

Because a variety of attempts to clear up my problem were needed, we both acknowledged that this was going to take a long time and some of the downloading processes were going to be very slow. We both settled in for the long haul.

For the next two or three hours, Samantha and I worked together to try and solve my problems. Meanwhile, we got to know each other as two human people with much in common. Even though we were separated by half a world (she was in India, I was in Canada), she seemed much younger than me (that’s an assumption), and we were two complete strangers, we connected.

She initiated the conversation and we quickly found out that we both had a love of writing, I a published author/a memoirist and she a daily journal writer and poet. We shared our losses in life of those close to us, including our beloved pets. We told stories about our loved ones. We shared our favourite poets and some of their work. We both love Mary Oliver. We laughed and cried and found common ground in our zest for life.

Slowly she helped me work out my printer problem and slowly we go to know each other as new friends. We both acknowledged that wouldn’t it be wonderful if we should meet some day face-to-face. When all was finally cleared and my printer was working again, it was time to say goodbye. “I’m having trouble saying goodbye,” she said. “Me, too,” I said. “Thank you for all you did for me and shared with me. You were wonderful.”

Will I ever talk with Samantha again? That would be unlikely for you know that when you call these companies, you are given a random agent, whoever is free at the time. But I am thankful for the time spent with Samantha. We had a very special connection.

Reach out to others. Despite distance and age and circumstances, we are all human. Thank you, Samantha. I enjoyed getting to know you. You made my day very special. In honour of you let me share your favourite Mary Oliver poem with others as you shared with me.

“When Death Comes.”

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox;

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.

—Mary Oliver

The Solar Eclipse – A Celestial Wonder

Photo by Bill Adam, Guelph, ON

“We are all finally settled in with our folding chairs and blankets, ready to view this celestial wonder that I’ve been looking forward to with anticipation for months. As I put on my special solar eclipse glasses for the first time, I can see that it has already begun. Without my glasses, the sun is a dazzling orb that cannot be viewed with the naked eye. With the glasses on, the sun looks like a golden ball with a small black nibble taken out of it.

I sit and just enjoy the whole experience which is going to take about 2 ½ hours from beginning to end, checking the moon’s progress intermittently as it gobbles up the sun slowly over the next hour or so. Each time I look, a big and bigger bite is eaten out of the sun. Meanwhile, I chat with the friends and family around me (there are 22 of us, children and adults), enjoy the children’s giggles and antics as they run and play in the green grassy field surrounding us, munch on a few snacks and relish the clear blue sky and tall trees around me.

I marvel at how lucky we are to have clear skies above us, as for the whole day leading up to the eclipse, the sky was thick with clouds that threatened rain. Just before 2 p.m. they began to dissipate and big and bigger patches of blue began to surround us leaving the sun high and fully visible in the sky. I text my daughters, brother, sister and niece who are spread throughout Ontario in Cobourg, Bancroft, Vaughn, Toronto, and Oro Station north of Barrie. All of them are looking at thick cloud cover and even, at times, rain. None of them are getting a satisfactory eclipse experience. What a miracle we have been granted!

The countdown begins . . . twenty minutes to totality . . . ten minutes . . . four minutes . . . two minutes . . . and my excitement is building. The sun is disappearing from the sky looking like a shrinking golden crescent as the black ball of the moon creeps across its surface. Soon it begins to look like a round toenail in the sky. The shadows around us are darkening and lengthening. It’s as if a dimmer switch is being slowly turned down. Like an exhaled breath, the temperature drops and I can feel the chill in the air. The sky is slowly darkening, the street lights are turning on and a flock of seagulls flies over us looking for their nightly roost. The air around us is strange, not like anything I have ever experienced. This is not a typical dusk. The colour is odd, muted, heavy, dark. It’s actually an eerie feeling, other-worldly, and I feel a little uneasy.

As the sliver of light shrinks, I can see beads of light flickering on the edges of the crescent. Scientists say it is the diminishing sunlight bounding off the valleys of the moon. These beads are called Bailey’s Beads, named after the scientist Francis Bailey who first documented them in 1836.

We are seconds away from totality when the moon will be completely covering the sun’s light. Everyone around me is getting excited and whoops and hollers of delight are being called out. People’s arms are shooting into the air, children are jumping, the whole park becomes energized and active. Ooo’s and ahhhh’s surround me as the view through my glasses goes completely black. We are in totality. Twilight is upon us.

Enveloped in complete darkness, I lower my glasses and look at the cosmic wonder in front of me high in the sky. It’s now safe to look at it with the naked eye. I see a black ball surrounded by a thin glimmering halo of light, a golden corona. Oh!! What a sight. The sky is black enough to see the stars and planets glowing as if it is nighttime. I can’t hold back my reaction of awe and wonder and I feel like a small child standing in front of a new world. It’s as if a portal to the universe has opened up before me and it invites me in to marvel at its uniqueness. For 1 minute and 18 seconds I can look at it unaided, without special glasses. I sit in amazement, held, suspended in its magic, unable to stop watching that giant black ball in the sky.

The moon is on the move, however, and thin shots of light begin to appear as the sun moves out of totality and begins the return to its normal view. Just before I slip my eclipse glasses back on, a shot of light flashes out at about 2 o’clock on the surface of the black orb and the edge of the golden circle. The diamond ring effect! It flashes and then, once again, with a full explosion of light, it does it again. It’s a golden ring with a large twinkling diamond on it that suddenly catches a direct beam of light that sends beams of sparkling rays shooting out into space.

As I watch, the sun continues its return. The dusk begins to disappear, daylight builds, the world is becoming normal again. But I know, I will never be the same. I was granted a front row seat to a celestial wonder that won’t happen in my area again for over one hundred years. I am truly blessed.

“It Doesn’t Taste Like Yours”

(Photo by Deborah Rainford)

“I followed your recipe and it didn’t taste like yours.”

This Easter weekend at our family gathering Gerri, Maegan’s mother-in-law, was telling my daughter Brittany that she had tried Brittany’s famous-in-our-family’s Kale Salad and it didn’t turn out as good as Brittany’s. Brittany laughed and said, “It always tastes better when someone else makes it.”

Why does that happen? You think you are following a recipe carefully and perfectly and yet the final product doesn’t taste as good as that prepared by the original cook.

There are a lot of factors. It has happened to me too as I try to duplicate Grandma’s Cucumber Salad or that delicious Spinach Avocado Dip I had in the restaurant the other day. The availability of fresh-off-the-farm ingredients, the age of your spices and pantry items, the cooking pans and utensils you use or the variable heat from oven to oven, it didn’t cook long enough, you stirred it too much or too little, can all be factors that change the taste of something from cook to cook.

All we can do is not give up and keep trying. Practice makes perfect. Use the best of ingredients, vary your techniques, taste as you go, and enjoy the process.

And perhaps what Brittany said is true. It’s always better to be the recipient of someone’s else meal made with loving hands.

Held Hands

“Holding hands is a reminder that we are never alone in this journey called life.”
~Unknown

From my book “10 — A Story of Love, Life, and Loss”:

“(The nurse) dropped the bedside rail, took my hand and put it in Tom’s hand. I was surprised because I had hesitated to touch him as earlier when he was conscious, he didn’t want to be touched . . .

Time kept passing and he was gasping, struggling to stay with us. My hand was beginning to go numb in his but I didn’t dare let go. He needed me . . . “.

” . . I said aloud, quietly and calmly, ‘Relax.’ I said it as much for myself as for him. ‘You will decide when you go and I will stay here with you, holding your hand. I’m not going anywhere. When you know it’s time to turn and face your new journey, my hand will be the last thing you feel as you leave. As you turn, you will go directly into God’s hand. You will not go alone.'”

Reach out to someone today. Give them a hand. And if you find yourself alone, I believe that we are never alone. Watch for the hand, even if it comes from another world.

(Embroidered Hands on Tulle by Kathrin Marchenko)

1 Teaspoon of Paprika

The Internet is a wonderful place for synchronistic connections. I was working on my next chapter “Pass It On” which focuses on recipes passed down from my Hungarian Grandma Haydu. Many of them include Hungarian Paprika with its unique taste. It is different from other paprikas and Hungarians can tell the difference. Well, lo and behold, I came across this beautiful photograph on another Facebook site I belong to and thought “How perfect!”

The photographer Phillip Dove lives in Saltburn-by-the-Sea, United Kingdom, and graciously allowed me to use his photograph in my upcoming book “For the Love of Food: Family Edition.” All he asked for in return was a copy of my grandma’s Hungarian Goulash which I gladly sent to him. Thank you, Phillip. Check out his website at phillipdovephotography.com

Pass It On

I am now working on my next chapter of my upcoming book “For the Love of Food: Family Edition.” The chapter is called “Pass It On” and I write about our connections to our descendants.

“Look back. Our descendants made us who we are today. We fit together like nesting dolls going back and back in circles of time. Because of my mother, I exist. Because of her mother, she exists.

Our bodies are living continuations of our parents, our grandparents, and all those that came before them, generation upon generation. Our ancestors are literally a living part of us. We carry their diets, their lifestyles, their hopes, their traumas, within our very cells. My hands become our hands. My spirit becomes their spirit.

When I smell the spicy scent of paprika, I am sent down the paths of the past to Hungarian kitchens, to cuisine birthed in European soils. When a cloud of flour rises off grandma’s wooden noodle board, I envision golden stalks of wheat and oats flowing across miles and miles of Canadian prairie fields waving in the distance. The soft touch of a feathery dill that tickles my nose when I bend to take in its powerful scent, sends me back through the past to steaming kitchens as cooks fill crocks and bottles with nature’s bounty. When I shake the dirt off a carrot yanked fresh out of the garden, I am doing what my ancestors did as they worked their fields with sun on their backs, mud on their feet and fullness in their hearts.”
~Barbara Heagy from “For the Love of Food: Family Edition”

Stop and Smell the Roses

Stop and smell the roses. An old cliche, but it still holds true. Too many of us get caught up in this busy world and lose focus of what is really important to us. I read a wonderful Facebook post by Canadian singer/songwriter Jann Arden this morning that made me look at my own rushed and busy life. Thank you, Jann, for reminding us to slow down. I, too, used to pride myself on hitting the floor running each morning. Now I stretch a little, think a little, say a little prayer, and slowly ease myself into a day. There are still days when I have to set that alarm and get going but, with retirement, those days are few.

I still get caught up with my daily to-do list but I am more reasonable to myself and prioritize activities throughout the day. I still need to chop away at those obligatory “I shoulds.” I get trapped in false measures of success and don’t always fill my cup with my own desires and wants first. I still need to learn to say “No” more often. I still need to re-structure my day so that I feel I have spent it doing worthwhile activities that have meaning to me.

Balance is a hard one for me; peace, joy, love, and a personal sense of accomplishment. That’s what I seek in my life. At the end of each day, I should ask myself, “Did I find moments of peace today? Did I find a burst of joy today? Did I share love today? Did I accomplish at least one of my goals today? I do pray at the end of each day for the world, for my loved ones, for others but I rarely say a prayer for myself. Let me learn to do that better. To know and love myself better.

What Makes You Laugh?

Do you have a favourite comic strip? A hilarious comedy movie? A sure-to-make-me-laugh book to read?

I love the comic strip “Pickles” with its characters Earl and Opal. It always puts a smile on my face. My friend Harold and I share them. Mrs. Doubtfire, with the incredibly talented and funny Robin Williams, always makes me laugh and Stuart McLean and the Vinyl Cafe stories have me slapping my knees and laughing out loud. The first one I ever heard was on CBC radio and was called “Toilet Training the Cat.” I had tuned it on my car radio and ended up sitting in my car in the parking lot for another 5 minutes to catch the ending because I was laughing so hard I just had to finish it.

Another surefire way to get you laughing is to catch some Internet videos of giggling babies. That’s one of my quickest ways to get an instant smirk. Laughter is contagious. I hope you find some today. What are some of your surefire ways to get a good laugh?

Carol of the Bells

Carol of the Bells – A Christmas Story – Barbara Heagy

Mr. Lethbridge is coming to our classroom today to begin our rehearsals for our Christmas song.

Every year just before the holiday season, the local radio station in the town of Galt highlights elementary school children singing Yuletide carols for the community as a special celebration. We all look forward to learning a more challenging song than what is offered in our regular musical program for Mr. Lethbridge is a trained music teacher that travels from classroom to classroom throughout the city to create a program for the public that he thinks we all will enjoy.

This year is special. Mr. Lethbridge is excited to find that some of the boys in my grade 8 class have hit puberty and their voices have changed. For the first time, he will be able to teach a song in 4-part harmony. He chose “Carol of the Bells.”

Day after day, we learn and rehearse our song. First the sopranos begin with joyful tune. I am an alto and wait for my cue to join them with blended notes. It’s exciting to hear the voices unite in layered harmony.

“Hark! How the bells,
Sweet silver bells,
All seem to say
Throw cares away . . .
Christmas is here
Bringing good cheer
To young and old,
Meek and the bold,
Ding, dong, ding, dong,
That is their song,
With joyful ring,
All caroling.”

As the music builds, the boys join in tenor and bass notes with chiming bell sounds:

“Ding, dong, ding, dong . . .
Ding, dong, ding, dong . . . “

Soon, we are a four-part human carillon, chords and melodies ringing out our Christmas cheer. The music builds and builds to a crescendo of pealing chords as soprano, alto, tenor, and bass, join together in a cascade of musical notes claiming the joy of the season.

Then, just as quickly as the music rises to an elegant peak, the melody echoes back down in a soft retreat of resonance, lingering bell sounds slowly fade and die.

“Ding . . . dong . . . ding . . . dong . . . “

The room is hushed. You can’t wipe the smiles off our faces. What joy!

Thank you, Mr. Lethbridge, for your years of service, offering your skills and love of music. I will never forget you.

Christmas Choices?

I was at a family Christmas event yesterday and I was telling my nephew about my busy life and how I feel overwhelmed at times. He said, “Aunt Barb, you are retired and have nothing but time to do exactly what you want and use your time for the things you really want to do. You are making choices to keep busy and overwhelmed. You don’t have to do that.”

He’s right. I need to zone in to my inner heart and prioritize my needs and wants. I need to “listen to the whispers of my soul.” Especially in this holiday season of shopping, baking, partying, and feasting.

Enjoy the holiday season but give your energy to those things that are truly important to you and not just expected by others. Give because it fulfills you to give, not because you feel obligated. And remember, there are many ways to give. Time is a gift. A Christmas card is a gift. A plate of cookies is a gift.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Holidays to all.