No problem

This is the start of my modest campaign to get people to stop saying 'no problem'. I stopped saying it last year when I realized that when I said 'no problem' I was in some way indicating that whatever favour I had done for someone was of little consequence to me and therefore should not be appreciated.

It actually is of consequence to me when I do someone a favour or someone does a favour for me. I really got to thinking about this again yesterday when two people did favours for me and when I thanked them they responded with the now typical reply of, 'No problem'.

In the first instance my babysitter picked up a yellow shirt for one of the kids-- she's on the yellow team for winter carnival. I could have done it-- I actually thought about doing it but it was just one more thing to add to an already busy schedule and I decided she could live without a yellow shirt. Unbeknownst to me the child had already bemoaned the fact that she did not have a yellow shirt to the sitter and she set out to get her one. When I thanked the sitter she replied, “No problem.”

She took time out of her day to look for a shirt for my child. It may not have been a problem but it did take time and consideration and I think when we say no problem we downplay these things which are so important to how we live together as a society.

Yesterday I also asked someone for some information about an after school program. I sent a message to the recreation Facebook page. In the evening, after work hours, one of the staff from Recreation got back to me and answered the question. Once again when I thanked her she replied, “No problem.” Again, it was not a problem for her but it did take time and thought after her work day was supposed to be done.

I just want to call attention to this phenomenon of the 'no problem' reply. I want people to say 'your welcome' so that we will think more about the time and effort put into these every day favours. I think when we say 'no problem' we are selling ourselves short-- we need to think more about what we give and what we receive. I know I do since I banished the 'no problem' response from my repertoire.

It's hard—being a woman

It is International Women's Day and this day always makes me stop and think about what I am doing to further the cause of woman kind.

This day is important to me because I am a woman and even more so because I am the mother of two future women. It is because of them that I feel it is my responsibility to make being a woman easier.

The usual stories about unequal pay, unequal opportunity, and sexual harassment are often the talking points on International Women's Day-- but how do we as individuals fight such big culturally embedded inequities?

I don't have the answer to that but I do have an answer about how to make life better for the young women I have created-- show them the possibilities.

All of my life, any time I have started in a direction that was not what others perceived to be my path, I would meet with unconcealed doubt. Others doubting my ability has been something I have endured for decades and I am so tired of it.

This year I went back to school in science. The first response of most people when they heard that was my intention was, “That's hard,” accompanied by a pitying look that told me they thought I would not succeed.

I have faced this response anytime I have dipped my toe in scientific waters. Why is that the case? I can only imagine that the response would be different if I was a man.

There have been some few people-- most of whom were women-- who congratulated me on my choice to return to school in the sciences.

But it is the disbelief that I, a woman should attempt to enter the sciences, that I feel I am constantly fighting. Although I am happy to say a majority of my classmates are female-- I think progress is being made but the final proof is who graduates with a BSc not who starts out in the program.

I entered a BSc program because I have always had an abiding interest in how the world works. I am curious about that rock on the beach, how plastic affects reproduction, and a million other things. I also entered the program to set an example for my children; to show them that science was not something to shy away from, that their questions about the world around them could be answered and they could be the ones finding the answers. That women can do anything.

So on International Women's Day I feel I am doing my bit in my little corner of the world by by making my way along this path to scientific knowledge.

It is hard-- being a woman-- moving beyond all the doubters.

This little light of mine

You never know where life will lead.

Just over seven years ago I had a big decision to make; I found myself newly single, with a 1 1/2 year old child, and pregnant.

I was living off the generosity of my family and had no idea what the future would hold.

I had just left all that I had established in the world as an adult; my job, my house, my friends and flew toward the unknown. I was completely adrift with no idea how I could move forward and had no way of turning back from whence I had come.

Finding out I was pregnant was a surprise although I had been trying to get pregnant ever since the arrival of my first child; I believe in the benefits of having more than one child. But then life got in the way and got messy. I wasn't looking for a second child anymore; I was looking for a way out. And I took the first available flight. But on the other side of the world I got the news that I was hoping for only months before. My timing needed work.

So my decision, which did not take me long to make, was to continue with the pregnancy. Although all I had to offer at the time was less than nothing financially. And love...I was not sure I had that either. Could I really love this new child? I was so devoted to my first child there barely seemed room enough for even the thought of love for anyone else-- let alone a baby that I knew would demand most of my already monopolized attention.

Time moved forward and so did that child inside of me.

Unlike my first pregnancy I really did not feel a great deal of connection to the life I was carrying. I think I was too busy getting through the toddler days that left me too exhausted to think about much else.

Eventually the girl arrived. As soon as I held her I knew that I had made the right decision and the love that I had wondered about came out in full bloom.

Within several weeks after my girl was born things became even less tenable-- I had to leave the United States and return to Canada. With a six week old infant and a 2-year-old toddler I drove to Nova Scotia and waited to see what would happen next.

It was hard going-- I have never been poorer but I never once thought I had made the wrong choice about that second child. She's a great light and life would have been tougher as a family of two.

My grandmother, ever practical, told me it was unfortunate I had had this little one. That didn't mean she didn't love the girl but she saw my decision as a harder row to hoe-- and well it might have been harder in some ways but not in others. I would have regretted not having a second child, not giving my first child a friend for life, a sibling.

This girl is fascinating, caring, funny, and a million other adjectives. I look forward to the next piece of wisdom she'll impart to me at the supper table. I love the way she values her sister, her grandparents, and her friends. She's a wonder. The best decision I ever made.

Happy birthday to his little light of mine. She's going to shine.

The Third Degree

It has been some months now since I set out on this latest voyage and now I have a few minutes to share this experience.

Returning to school is always a daunting prospect, no matter who you are or where you are in your life. I have taken on that challenge several times and each time is different.

The first time I went back to school after a hiatus of several years was to pursue a second degree in Kinesiology at Dalhousie University. I decided, after two years slogging away at the same job I had done while finishing my first degree; that I needed more education to get out of the dead end work life that a Bachelor of Arts provided.

I entered Kinesiology as a practical approach to a life that I intended to live in Nova Scotia. It was a program that promised a career and stable work. Some parts of the program I liked, some I didn't. But the few years between myself and most of my classmates seemed like a chasm as wide as the Grand Canyon. I was not going to break into that social group-- I was ahead of them in my life; had a partner I expected to spend the rest of my life with and was in the program to get the job that would sustain a family.

As they say, best laid plans; they certainly do go awry. Relationship failed and I decided to move away from what was practical ie: Kinesiology and move on to another adventure—in a land far far away.

After three years of speaking in truncated English and living a reckless life in South East Asia I found something to right my floundering ship; a Master's program in Bangkok. I jumped at the chance to go to school and put some meaning back into my life.

My Masters program was exactly what I expected it to be-- a small group of people with a common interest. We were a real mishmash of people; different ages and stages in life, different countries of origin with different academic backgrounds.

At first I was very nervous about being back at school. My years teaching “It is a cat” to three-year-old kids had affected my ability to communicate in a rich and meaningful way. I felt that my mind had atrophied and had my doubts about my ability to write cogently on any subject let alone at a high academic level.

When I handed in my first paper, on Thai art, I was a wreck. It did not make matters any better that the Professor disappeared for three weeks and failed to return the marked papers for a month. After that first A, I got my confidence back and went on to finish course after course and write a fairly interesting thesis; if I do say so myself.

After I had left Dalhousie my academic confidence was shaken, not that I could not handle the work ( I was on the Dean's list) but whether or not I had the staying power to complete what I started. With my Master's degree in hand I fought back that uncertainty. And then I had a family.

I know I am happiest when I am learning something. And yes you can learn things without being in school but I need the force of deadlines and the guidance of professors to lead me to new things. Whenever I am not in school I feel something is missing in my life.

For years I have looked at a Masters in Adult Education that was available at a nearby university. As a single mother with two young kids I could not see any other way to get my educational fix-- the thing I needed to feel most content in my life. I got the application papers several times, had a meeting with the program chair and tried to read the relevant academic journals. I just could not make the project seem interesting despite it being the most obvious choice for me.

I had been working in adult education for more than a decade; a job I just fell into during my years in Asia and which I was lucky enough to continue doing when I returned to North America. But I have my own ways of teaching, tried and true techniques-- I was not looking forward to studying pedagogy and theory about things I had already conquered in the classroom. Not that I am a perfect teacher but I am set in my ways and have read too many ideas about teaching that I completely disagree with to want to pay to read such theories and then write papers and exams about them.

The other disincentive for doing the MA in Adult Education was that I already had the jobs that such a degree would prepare me for. I taught at the university, I taught in my home community-- all adult education programs. There was no where this degree would take me that I had not already gone professionally.

So I sat on the fence. Application forms for the MA languished in my desk for five years.

Last spring I got a serious itch; one that told me I had to do something new. I have always loved science and decided to take the plunge and apply for a Bachelor in Science. Kitchen science experiments with the kids just weren't satiating my appetite.

Of course it wasn't the best time to go back to school; I still had two young children and would have to take a double financial hit--paying for the courses and paying someone to watch my kids while I went to school. But I thought, either I start now or start later, it does not make much difference except I'll be happier if I start a new goal now. So I did.

The first semester I took only one course, in the evening and it hardly felt like going to school at all. I did not feel like I was 'back at it'. And the course I took was not particularly challenging. It was about things that I encountered in my normal reading life; climate change, health, earth history. I was looking to expand my horizons and hoped that when I got into more classes I would find something outside of my comfort zone.

This semester has certainly done that. I am now in the lab, running experiments, learning a bout things that I would not have encountered if I did not take these courses. This is exactly what I was looking for; finally I feel like I am back in school.

And being back in an undergrad program with people that could be my own kids might have been weird; I expected it to be. But it has not been. The students I work with in lab don't blink an eye when I counter their hangover stories with ones about how my kids kept me up all night. They don't treat me any differently than anyone else, they chat before class, and I don't feel like I am 20 years their senior-- although I am.

Acceptance from my classmates is a good thing. It makes going to class more enjoyable—that camaraderie is something that I have missed.

The third degree is very different from the first two. In some ways there is much less stress and in others more. When you first go to university you feel like your whole life depends on what you do there, the marks you make and the debt you acquire. And that is true; that is a lot of responsibility to carry around. At this time in my life, this degree is just gravy. I have several well-established career paths; not always stable ones but I can confidently say I am a journalist and a teacher. So this degree does not make or break my future.

And there is the money-- I have no loans, just pay as I go. In those respects things are less stressful.

On the other hand there is the stress of driving to and from university -- will the car make it another day, month,year? The guilt of taking time away from my kids to do my studying. The difficulty of working and going to school. And, at first, the stress of reentering the world of academia-- did I still have what it takes?

So far all those things are ticking over-- I have had exams in all of my courses and have been happy with the results. The winter driving sucks and I am saving money as much as possible for another car if/when needed.

I am much happier now that I am back in school-- have a new mountain to conquer and am using my brain in ways I haven't for years.

I have been meaning to write about this experience for weeks now – but there has been no time. Whenever I had a minute to write – it had to be for work. If I had a minute to read, it had to be for school. I have a total of 10 exams this semester but after the first few crazy weeks I am getting a handle on this school stuff and am starting to melt into it.

I am starting to love the third degree.

Mirror, Mirror

Who do you see when you look in the mirror? Is it the person you now are or the person you once were? Surely your age will help define your point of view.

I was alerted to these questions last night when I was visiting the local nursing home to hand out Christmas cards and one of the residents told me in a confidential tone, “They make me sleep in a room with two old women.”

Clearly she did not think she was living among her peers and I wondered what she saw when she looked at her reflection. The general observer would look at this woman and see someone who was old and unwell.

I don't know this lady but I can imagine how she feels. Even at 40 I sometimes have to remind myself that what I am contemplating is not age appropriate. Admittedly that mainly comes into play when I admire a good looking young man. And it was catching myself in such thoughts that made me feel the cage that age could be especially if you have never mentally adjusted to your chronological age.

Such moments have made me think of my grandfathers; one was a fan of the television show The 20-Minute Workout in the 1980s and the other was a keen observer of his young female health care worker. No one had any illusions as to why my grandfather liked the 20-minute workout; spandex-clad, bending, and thrusting women. But the female health care worker just didn't understand that my grandfather, although 90 years old, was still thrilled by her trim figure puttering about his room.

Both of these men still had eyes for young women and no doubt, somewhere in their minds, thought of themselves as the young men they once were, but it was the reality of age that let them only feast with their eyes.

As time moves on I see physical changes in myself but none that seem too drastic. I still look very much like my High School graduation picture. I have never been afraid of aging as I am generally relieved to be alive at all given my medically precarious beginning. But I do wonder if I will ever be able to accept that I belong in a room full of old women.

Burnt Shadows--Kamila Shamsie

There was a section in this novel which struck me as a page from my own life. It occurred towards the end of the story when an American asks an Afghan—Have you ever read the Quran? To which the Afghan replies-- Of course I have. And the American retorts-- Have you read it in a language you understand? The Afghan states unequivocally-- I understand Islam.

I had similar arguments with a man who I once loved more than anything else in the world. For approximately three years I tried to understand him and Islam. He was a Thai Muslim and I was the all-knowing Westerner who tried to square my love with his religion. This literary exchange made me realize how foolish I was to think that my reading of the Quran in English translation meant anything compared to his life raised in the faith.

This novel brought so much back to me, opened so many ideas about my own past; places I have lived and histories that in some way intersected with my life although they were distant in time and space from my own experience.

The novel begins in Nagasaki, before the atomic bomb and after. My life has been touched by this history, in a round about way, as the lives of anyone with a connection to Japan since the bombs dropped has been affected by those few days before the end of the war in the pacific.

That war, the surrender of the empire, the resulting impact on the Japanese psyche, touched my life in the person I chose to father my children-- much as the impact of those last day touched the lives of children born to, or related to, characters in the novel, who had never walked under a Japanese sun.

The thread in the first half of the novel that tied the main characters, almost all who were in exile from their homeland, was very engaging and when the story shifted to the next generation I almost put the book down. But soon I was drawn into a Muslim world where, although there was war and death, there was also a hint of that acceptance and love that I had experienced in the Thai Muslim communities that had once been part of my every day life.

I have never felt more love from strangers than in those small rooms and cinder block houses on dirt tracks in the jungle or small housing projects on the outskirts of Bangkok; peace be with you-- said my new brothers and sisters. I miss waking up to the call to prayer and the feeling it gave me to see an old man, one of my traveling companions, unfurl his prayer mat at the break of dawn when we stopped at a roadside gas station.

When I read this book I thought of how many people would read it and miss this point-- although the writer shows you the love that exists, even in the heart of a tacit supporter of the Taliban in Kabul-- I predict very few westerners will be able to accept it. In general, westerners fail to see the humanity of jihadist. I think that only when we can see them as people, try to understand their motivation, will we be able to end the so-called war on terror.

Of all the themes in this novel, the most important one, in my reading, is the possibility to look beyond fear, hate, class, and religion and find a brother/sister.

Being part of a Muslim community was one of the most important events in my life. It taught me to see the most demonized people of my time as part of my heart. I am forever grateful.

It was the image of the burnt cranes that drew me into this novel. I expected to be disinterested in the portion that I knew was coming at the end of the tale; that section dealing with 9/11. I have hit the saturation point on that topic, but this was not what I expected. It reminded me of a part of my life I don't think about often enough and the people that taught me how a true believer really acts, lives and loves in the world.

I hope other readers will see this in the characters of Abdullah and Ismail and give them their full attention. There is the potential for greater understanding here; I encourage everyone to take the opportunity.

Not the assignment

“That's not the assignment,” a student told me recently when I questioned her about an observation she made in her paper. And that is, in large part, what is wrong with the education system today; students are not challenged to think outside of the box, or to think at all in many cases.

These days I am looking at the education issue from many points of view simultaneously; as a teacher, a student and a parent. None of these perspectives makes me feel we are winning on the education battlefield. Occasionally I have students that challenge the status quo, have original ideas and make me want to spend more than my allotted 30 minutes with them. Unfortunately I don't see enough of that type of student.

What I do see more often than not are students that have summarized information. Questions about what all this information means are usually met with blank stares. I can handle that. I wish I had more time to lead these students down a path to greater understanding but that is not my job—which is also part of the problem.

Sometimes I feel like an emergency medic-- patch them up to get them through this crisis-- this deadline, that thesis statement. I am not there for the major surgery, the recovery, the revelation.

I have accepted my role and as I said I sometimes get wonderful shinning students in my office and sometimes I get ones that tell me, “That is not the assignment.”

In the case mentioned above, the student had made an observation that I found anthropologically significant; in her work experience at an nursing home there were only white faces in the resident population. I asked her what she thought that meant and received the terse reply noted above.

I am very curious about what her observation says about our population, our culture. There are many African Nova Scotian communities near this nursing home as well as one Native community; why were they not represented in the nursing home population? Is it due to the cost of care or the connectedness of those communities where elders are taken care of at home for as long as possible? I don't know the answer to the question but it intrigues me and it should have intrigued my student. And therein lies the problem-- it didn't.

This student did not want to think outside the boundary of her assignment and when I asked her to do so she became confrontational. What does it say about university when students expect not to be asked to use their minds beyond the scope of a stated problem?

Universities were initially a place for people who desired higher learning. That is sadly no longer the case at most post-secondary institutions. Universities are now akin to financial institutions who trade in credentials. Said credentials, once paid for in both money and time by the consumer, will presumably translate into higher income brackets for the newly certified. That has become the goal of university students, not knowledge.

I would like the focus of academe to shift to knowledge over commerce but with rising tuitions and unrealistic consumer expectations—that is unlikely. In the meantime I will relish the students who come to me and show they are the wolves in the flock of status quo sheep.