Happy Valentine’s Day!

red-love-heart-alone-6068The day of love.

Contrived into a commercial “holiday” for the benefit of jewellers, chocolatiers, restauranteurs and florists.

I’m not against celebrating love.

Just the way we do it.

Personally, a bouquet of overpriced roses (simply because it’s Valentine’s Day) means little to me if the person presenting them neglects to use kind words the other 364 days.

And since I gave up sugar four years ago, those heart shaped boxes of waxy blobs of sweet don’t cut it anymore. I now prefer high-quality dark chocolate. A square or two mitigates the urge to eat more. (Yes, I’ve become a chocolate snob!)

Jewelry lost its sheen for me when I tried selling some rings and I was offered five cents on the dollar! All that glitters not worth gold!

Here’s what the Day of Love means to me: spending time with people I love.

Today I’m visiting two of my octogenarian friends and an aunt who’s in town. I’ll spend time with my Grandtoys this afternoon and see more friends this evening.

I’m enjoying listening to all the love songs on my favourite radio station.

Most importantly, I expect to continue building an aura of love that will spill into every day for the rest of my life.

I don’t expect it to be onerous. I believe we are all connected. One.

So when I’m kind to others, I’m kind to myself. I like to be kind to myself.

Like everything else, it seems the more I practice the better I get.

I encourage you to begin creating a day of love everyday. What better day to start than Valentine’s Day, the Day of Love?

The Wisdom of the Enneagram

enneagramHave you ever bought a car, one you think is unique and as soon as you own it, you notice the same model everywhere you go?

The Enneagram (pronounced ANy-a-gram) is like that for me. A fellow member of my speaking mastermind group suggested I read the Wisdom of the Enneagram when I was wrestling, yet again this spring, with what to be when I grow up.

I borrowed the book from the library and answered 75 quiz questions for each of the nine personality types. I later learned they are available online, see http://www.enneagraminstitute.com/

Over the last three decades I’ve taken a number of personality tests, Myers-Briggs-type measurements of who I am. Some measure me in colours, (I am blue or green or red, depending on the test). Some peg me by letters, CV or IF. Others use animal names to describe the personality types: owls and otters come to mind. Some tests are like horoscopes.

No test has ever come as close to pegging me as the Enneagram did.

In June, I signed up for some ten-minute business coaching. To my surprise, my coach was familiar with Enneagram. She was able to suggest actions to improve my habits that fit with who I am. She helped me focus on my gifts and find tools to work around my weaker areas.

Here is what the Enneagram has taught me so far: I am a Seven, the Enthusiast. I love new beginnings. One of my obstacles to success is my propensity not to finish things, and Enneagram said, especially educational pursuits.

It’s true. I’ve taken several courses and never written the exams so I could get the piece of paper. The knowledge has always been what interests me; the accolades are less important.

But accolades and various pieces of paper matter to the world, especially when one is a leader and expected to show proof of one’s ability to do the job.

A light came on for me. I had agonized whether I would finish my Toastmasters path. I had just one project to go to achieve Distinguished Toastmaster, (DTM), a rather arduous one-year commitment to mentor four Toastmasters clubs. I decided to change my life: to get my DTM by the end of the Toastmasters 2014-2015 season. I’m already three months into the year commitment. And I will finish.

The final bit on synergy I want to share with you (remember that new car?): a few weeks ago I attended a business women’s networking meeting where I met Eileen Head, a lovely woman who spoke about her failed 35 year marriage and how she was using the Enneagram to help others heal their relationships.

Having survived two failed marriages myself, it wasn’t hard for me to imagine how much more enhanced relationships would be if we understood ourselves better. Truly knowing the way others see life would make it easier to collaborate and reach mutually beneficial solutions.

I’ve included a link to Eileen’s business. www.EileenHead.com I urge you to discover your own Enneagram and consider calling on Eileen to help you heal your relationships using this amazing tool.

The best part for me about Enneagram was its declaration of my greatest gift: the joy of living. This is so true of me and now that I know it for sure, I look for ways to celebrate and help others celebrate life everyday.

There is wisdom in the Enneagram.

 

Divot the Dog Celebrates her 14th Birthday in a Big Way!

photo belongs to www.ShelleyGoldbeck.com

photo belongs to www.ShelleyGoldbeck.com

Health Lessons from an Old Dog

Last week our Golden Retriever, Divot, turned 14 and she had a wild and crazy birthday.

It began with a lunchtime party with the Grandtoys, who simply love to have dog parties. I barbecued chicken legs. The wind blew the aluminum foil cover off the pan and Divot gobbled down a chunk of the chicken-skin-flavoured foil before I could stop her.

Peanut butter on rice cakes is her usual birthday fare but this year it was leftover blueberry pancakes with peanut butter. And my Grandtoy had put so much peanut butter on the pancake it stuck to the roof of Divot’s mouth. So funny as she struggled to suck it off! See video of Divot’s party. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FSPwqV3D8V8&feature=youtu.be

Finally, Divot and my husband went to see an old friend, Betty, who fed Divot most of a bag of popcorn. Later while hubby was sitting at the table with Betty he heard a slurping sound from the living room. There he found Divot’s nose in a box of chocolates. He dug some out of her mouth and deduced she may have swallowed one or two. Not the end of the world.

As you can see Divot still behaves like a puppy. She has slowed down in some ways: our walks are often strolls. She can no longer jump into the truck; in fact, she can’t even put her paws up to boost herself. She sleeps most of the day.

But the tiniest sign that we’re ready to walk: I brush my teeth, get my phone, ensure I have my Epi-Pen, put on my shoes, any one of those signs gets her excited about our walk. She bounds off the back porch like a puppy. Divot loves people and is happy to greet others as we walk around our neighbourhood, canines less enthusiastically than humans. Her pace going is faster than coming home, something she’s always done, anything to prolong the walk.

We are privileged to have Divot in our lives for 14 healthy years.  Divot is our living experiment. When she was ten weeks old we decided to feed her a diet that was more in keeping with her nature. As a descendent of wolves, we knew she would thrive on a wolf-like diet.

photo belongs to www.ShelleyGoldbeck.com

Divot’s Supper – photo belongs to
www.ShelleyGoldbeck.com

Since then she has eaten almost all raw food. Her typical meal consists of ½ cup raw meat, ½ cup cooked brown rice, ½ cup raw veggies like carrot or cucumber. She gets garlic and parsley; she gets fish, olive and coconut oils and some other supplements. An integral part of her diet is the raw beef soup bones she has two or three times each week. They keep her mouth healthy and her teeth cleaned. She has all her teeth and they’re not black, as is expected by this age.

Despite losing most of her hearing and some of her sight, Divot has had few health issues. Apart from some antibiotics for ear infections from swimming in the Bow River, she has taken no medications. At two years old we removed a large wart from her paw. No diabetes, epilepsy or other modern dog ailments. She is not obese and she has never stunk, like most dogs do.

Divot has lived two years longer, so far, than the long range for her breed. We think it’s her diet and lifestyle. If it works for a dog, it should work for humans.

So here is what I recommend based on Divot’s fine example. Eat whole, real food, suitable to your species as much as possible. Not too much. Drink plenty of water. Exercise everyday. Sleep lots. Play whenever you can. Surround yourself with people you love and choose to be happy.

If Divot were a human she’d be pushing 100. And I’ve just shared the secrets to her longevity!

Happy Birthday, Betty!

Betty's 90th Birthday

Betty’s 90th Birthday

A new old friend, Betty recently celebrated her 90th Birthday by inviting 20 people to a buffet dinner in a local hotel. There were representatives from almost every decade in the last century, literally from 9 to 90!

Betty has endured so many hip surgeries over the years that she has only one hip. As a result she is unable to walk or do much for herself. Caregivers come to her home three times a day to get her meals and help her in and out of bed.

You might think Betty is sad or depressed. You might think she would feel sorry for herself. But not Betty! She may not be able to walk but she is a walking example of how to enjoy life.

Betty has lived in her inner city home for 50 years.  Her oldest neighbour, Mary was taken to a nursing home on the day of the party. That was sad for Betty. Part of her purpose lately has been watching out for Mary, who has steadily deteriorated over the past few years. First her hearing; now her, mind. She’s been showing up at Betty’s at 10:30 at night, thinking it’s morning and scaring the Dickens out of Betty.

After five decades as neighbours, Betty and Mary are more like sisters than friends. Sadly Mary’s mental decline is ending their relationship. When Betty and Mary are both gone, their old homes will be dozed to make way for duplexes or mansions. Their decades of memories will be wiped out.

Betty’s kitchen is like Grand Central Station. I pop in to water her flowers or bring Divot, our 14-yr-old Golden Retriever, whom Betty loves, for a visit. Invariably I meet a different person every time, having tea with Betty!

Betty is determined to stay in her home until she dies. I hope she makes it. No matter how well meaning the “homes” are, they’re not the same as Home. The parade of visitors will slow to a trickle and eventually dry up. The staff is so harried and thinly spread, they have little time to interact on a human level. And the food is dreadful, almost completely void of nutrition and therefore, taste. No wonder people are dying to get out of there!

At her party the guests inquire with each other about our connection to Betty. One woman said her parents lived two doors down the street. For years Betty drove them to the grocery store. “Knowing my parents,” she laughed, “they didn’t buy one drop of Betty’s gas, so this is payback for me!” In her tone, shone love for Betty and the honour she has in paying back Betty’s kindnesses.

I know why Betty came into my life a few years ago: since my grandma’s been gone, I need old ladies in my life. They help connect me to “the good old days”, when I was eight and Grandma was my best friend. Much of what I learned from Grandma, I see again in Betty. They’re both tenacious old birds with a love for their people. I continue learning from Betty:

Have friends of all ages. And celebrate with them. Friendships take effort. It isn’t called “cultivating” friendships for nothing! I doubt Betty was thinking about being 90 when she was driving her old neighbours to the grocery store. Pay it forward is not just a cute slogan. It really works. One day when I’m old I hope to have younger friends who are willing to lend me a hand or an ear from time to time. I’m counting on good deeds being like stocks, paying me dividends in the future.

Happy Birthday, and thank you, Betty, for your friendship, for your never-give-in spirit and for reminding me that longevity depends on friends.

My Finishing Mom

mildred

Photo owned by www.shelleygoldbeck.com

I am blessed to have had three mothers. My first mother, of course, gave birth to me. My grandmother assisted in my rearing; I consider her my second mom.

Then there is my ‘finishing” mom.

I call her that because she finished the job of raising me. You see, I was 17 when I married her son and like most 17-year-olds, I thought I was pretty smart. In reality, I knew nothing.

Through her open heart, smiling face, undying service and unconditional love, she gave me many tools that have shaped my life.

We bury her today. This is my tribute to Mildred Olsen.

My grandma met Mildred through work. They became fast friends. Grandma started attending the church down the street and found the Olsens attended there.

That’s where I first met my third mom. I remember her incessant smile. I also remember sitting behind her and seeing her rearrange the sausage curl at the end of her hair.

I was 14 and had an immediate crush on her son. Three years later I became her daughter-in-law and she became my mother-in-law, a title she hated because of the negativity surrounding mothers-in-law and the ensuing jokes. She worked hard to dispel the stereotype and she achieved that.

mildred2

Photo owned by www.shelleygoldbeck.com

She always treated me as though I were one of her children.  My Christmas and birthday gifts were as generous my sisters-in-law’s gifts.  She both praised and scolded me (gently) as if she were my own parent. I never resented it. In fact, I loved the feeling of family she instilled in me.

I imagine she was taken aback by my ignorance of keeping a home.  As the oldest in my family, I was expected to labour outside on the farm. The extent of my kitchen skills were peeling potatoes, setting the table and washing dishes.

She taught me how to cook. Not so much taught, but allowed me to observe and ask questions. I often helped her do her Christmas baking. I learned how important food presentation is. The tomatoes weren’t simply sliced, but neatly arranged on the plate. I still serve tomatoes this way.

Her apple pie was legendary. In fact, Pastor DeMaere told me she made the best apple pie he ever ate and he had been served thousands of slices of apple pie over the years. A roast beef dinner evokes sweet memories of her Sunday dinners.

Not only did I learn how to cook in her kitchen I learned hospitality. Mildred loved nothing more than having company. Out would come the coffee and squares or cakes. Her reward for serving her guests was their company. That suited me well. I am thankful I learned hostess etiquette at her side.

In her kitchen I also learned how to clean. Her kitchen gleamed. Everything was wiped down daily and because of that regularity it was easy to keep it up. I will never claim to be as meticulous as she was but I learned how nice it feels to work in a clean kitchen.

Her message was consistent: whatever you do, do it to the best of your ability. Go the extra mile. Make it look beautiful just because.

I used to marvel at her energy. She was the first one up and the last to bed, always working, always doing, usually for others.

When my babies came, she taught me how to care for them. She was their second mom and I always felt comfortable leaving my children in her care. I knew she loved them at least as much as I did. I am forever grateful that my children got to have all those comfortable memories of time spent at Grandma’s.

mildred3

Photo owned by www.shelleygoldbeck.com

She was our moral barometer. When the girls were teens and trying out racy language, they would claim it wasn’t so bad. “Would you say it front of Grandma?” They would hang their heads, “No.” Settled. If we were ashamed to do it in front of Grandma it was likely shameful.

She and I used to talk for hours on the phone or play games Sunday afternoons when the men were napping off their big meal. Those conversations shaped my thinking. Mildred also influenced me by sharing her self-help library. To this day my reading includes self-help books, which most people find boring.

Mildred had class, quiet dignity. She genuinely cared about people. She was happy in her roles of wife, mother, grandmother and homemaker.

Luckily, I see Mildred in my girls. R____ has her darker skin and hair and voluptuous figure. She reveals her pain through her eyes, just like her grandma. She is also meticulous in everything she does. H____ shares her openness, loving spirit and her innate sense of morality.  She thrives on company too. My girls both appreciate having known this wonderful woman and they acknowledge her profound influence in their lives.

As I compile this, the memories of her love flood my mind and it’s hard to choose which should be included.  The most indelible one is this:

My grandma and Mildred were neighbours and friends for decades and forever connected through their descendents. In the last years they were in the same seniors lodge for a time.

My grandma began to deteriorate. At one point she was unable to walk to the dining room for lunch. The lodge wasn’t exactly accommodating.

One day my sister arrived at the lodge in time to see this: Grandma was perched on the seat of Mildred’s walker. Mildred, bad heart and bad hip notwithstanding, was pushing Grandma slowly towards the dining room.

This image of my finishing mom supporting my second mom, regardless of the hardship it might cause her, is the statement of how Mildred lived her life. It is how I will forever remember her.

In service to others in her own quiet way. With a smile and great love.

“There is no greater love than to give one’s life for a friend.”

Thank you, Mildred, for finishing me, for being my grandma’s longest friend and for helping me raise my daughters. I could not have walked this way without you.

My Baby Sister

 

April on Tinker, circa 1970

April on Tinker, circa 1970 Photo owned by www.shelleygoldbeck.com

Today, my baby sister, April celebrates her 50th birthday.

It’s hard to imagine her being 50. I wonder how my parents feel: their baby is 50!

What to get a 50-year-old woman who has a very happy life? She wants for nothing. She has family, friends, a nice home.

A party is out of the question. She hates being the centre of attention. She once threatened my life if I even thought of a surprise party like the one we threw for her husband’s 50th birthday.

Finally inspiration. A Letter to the Living. A few years ago I wrote about the importance of telling people how you feel about them before their eulogy.  I call them, “Letters to the Living.”

And I have never sent one to my sister. So here goes.

Dear April:

I remember the day you came to this planet. Mom announced to Dad that the baby was coming and our brother and I were shipped off to Grandma’s. I remember staying home with Dad a few days too.  He fed us and cared for us but he didn’t wash one dish. I remember Mom facing a pile of dirty dishes when she got home with you.

Dad’s parents were immediately taken aback by your name, as no Germans are named April. Named after a month! How absurd! All discussions ceased when Mom reminded them of Great-Uncle August. I happen to think April is a pretty name.

You changed our family. Our parents were finally old enough to be parents and they showered you with love, as much as they were able. In fact, Grandpa exclaimed that at last he saw “Mutterliebe”, mother love in our mother when she brought you home.

Brother and I loved kissing your soft baby arms, cooing, “Chicken wings, chicken wings!”  You would giggle and then pinch us so hard we would cry.

In typical sibling fashion your presence was barely tolerated at times. Other times, I was fiercely protective of you. I remember a friend of mine excluding you when I was eight and you were two. I insisted on your inclusion. She had no siblings. I concluded she didn’t understand love for a little sister.

Brother and I quickly figured out Mom and Dad had a soft spot for you. You became our ambassador, our negotiator. If we could convince you to ask them on our behalf, we reasoned, odds were in our favour of scoring.

Alas, you soon learned of the power you held and you often wielded it for your own good and against us. You adeptly extracted favours for your petitions to parents or you out and out refused us. I suspect you savoured your power over us.

You were ten when I left home. I have often regretted being wrapped up in my own life and not being a mentor or even a good big sister to you, especially as a teenager.  Somehow you grew up and became someone that I have long considered a lifelong friend.

Sisters we may be but we are different in so many ways. I have always known that you were the most intelligent of our parents’ children, though I wouldn’t admit it when I was young. Of course I let on that I was the smartest, but deep down, I knew.

As an adult, I enjoy the intelligent conversations we have. I relish sharing books with you, knowing you have the capacity to understand them as I do.  It’s not easy to find intellectual equals, but I have my sister.

There were times I was jealous of your relationship with Mom and Dad. Thankfully, I grew to value it. You did much to teach them how to love their children and to teach all of us how to have good relationships with our parents and children.

I remember a time when I doubted you would ever be a mother or much of one. How wrong was I?

One of my proudest thoughts has been of you tenderly rearing your children to be the fine citizens they are. I often boast about the accomplishments of my niece and nephew; we all know their mother was integral to their success. Thank you for having a son, whom I think of as a son. He holds a special place in our family of girls.

I am grateful for your thoughtfulness to my daughters and for being an example and mentor for them. They regard you highly, and they recognize the impact you’ve had on their life choices.

I admire how you handled being a stepmother and a grandmother at a really young age. I witnessed that you were always fair and loving towards your stepdaughters. I see you continuing to support them as they raise their families, exploding that whole evil stepmother myth. Well done!

I have you to thank for getting my business books in order. My detail-orientation gene is not as strong as yours.  When you did our books I enjoyed the regular interaction it forced. I miss that.

Your devotion to Grandma in her last years left an indelible mark on my heart. I couldn’t be there but I was comforted that you were and you would defend her to the death. And you did. Thank you for carrying that burden for our family. You did us all a great service.

I can’t think of many others I would enlist to plan a special event or navigate through government bureaucracy. I’m glad you’re the younger sister. You are better equipped to organize my geriatric care than I am yours!

I admire your ability to keep house so much better than I can. I simply didn’t inherit Grandmother’s neat freak tendencies and my priorities are different. But I sure do enjoy walking into your beautiful, neat, clean and orderly home.

Your ability to rise above life’s hurdles and mud holes is inspiring. It’s not easy to crawl from the depths and fashion a brand new life but you did it. You held up your head. You did the hard work. And you emerged a wonderful woman, wife, mother, sister, daughter, and friend.

I honour the day you were born, 50 years ago today.  I am thankful for the day I was given a sister. I am proud to call you my friend.

Happy Birthday, April!

Love, Shelley