Freezing

My Beloved and I have been contemplating purchasing a deep freezer. On one hand, a small, apartment-sized, energy efficient freezer seems like a smart purchase, allowing us to make larger portions and freeze left-overs. On the other hand, such a purchase seems extravagent for spendthrifts like us. I mean, we live in Alberta. Couldn't we just use our balcony as a deep freezer for like eight months of the year?

Well, we ended up making the purchase. And once we got it home, where did my sweetheart wish to put our newest appliance? On the balcony!

a place for my soul to rest

In the past three years, I have moved as many times, crossing state or national borders each time. This last move was especially hard because I did not have a supportive faith community. My denomination does exist here, but it is not the same denomination I came from in the States. And most often I do not feel as if there is a place for me (a liberal, heretical, WOMAN pastor) here within my church.

This has caused much grief and sorrow as my denomination was one I CHOSE as an adult, one that allowed and encouraged me to bring my questions and my doubts, one that didn't require me to check my brain at the door, one that nurtured me and sustained me through my education and first decade of ministry. And now, I fear I may have to leave.

In many ways, the Unitarian Universalist Church would be an obvious fit for me. 1) On days when I profess a belief in god, I am more unitarian than trinitarian, and 2) If I consider the possibility of heaven, I would have to put myself into the universalist understanding of salvation. Unitarian? Check. Universalist? Check. And the UUs are so lefty and liberal. I love their commitment to social justice and to peace and the environment. And my Beloved is UU. So it should be a perfect fit. Except...

I am christian. At least, I am culturally christian. I may not take the stories in the christian scriptures to be literal truth, but they are my stories, the ones I grew up with, and the ones that resonate with metaphorical truth within my soul. Some of the christian stories I adore. And many I abhor. But they are the stories I know. I appreciate the sacred stories of other traditions, and I can find truth and meaning within them. But they are not my stories. They are not the ones which quiet the storms in my life or sing to my soul.

And I love christian liturgy, the hymns, the candles, the smells and bells, the familiar words, the stand-up-here-sit-down-there. There is a rhythm to it, and it matches the rhythm of my life. It's what I know.

When I visit the UU churches with Craig, I love the engaging conversations. I love the passionate commitment to serving on behalf of the others and the world. I love the diversity of thoughts, opinions, and perspectives (though not too diverse, not many conservative attend UU churches). But I miss the liturgy. And while the conversations are challenging and engaging, they are not engaging my stories.

What I really want is the intellectually rigorous sermons I heard preached in the churches of my denomination back in the States. What I want is to hear somebody wrestle with my stories, really wrestle with them: to explore the historical and cultural context in which the texts were written, to examine the original languages and see what might have been lost in translation, to ask whether there is meaning in these ancient texts for contemporary followers, and to empower listeners (i.e. me) to respond.

~~~~~
From my apartment, I can see the steeples of two churches just blocks from where I love (when asked about my religious views, I should give this answer sometime). One of these churches is Robertson-Wesley United Church. Earlier this spring, I knew I wanted liturgy for the first Sunday of Lent, so walked down the block, through the park, and through an alleyway, and slipped into the pews for a wonderful reflection (by both ministers!) on the idea of "journey". In the bulletin, I saw an announcement for a bible study which I attended several times in cognito. I have worshipped there on several other occasions since.

I was initially disappointed on Pentecost (my favorite liturgical holiday) when instead of the Pentecost story, the minister began a series on, of all things, the doctrine of the trinity! But the sermon was fascinating - giving the history of the doctrine, acknowledging the lack of biblical support for the concept of a three-for-one, I mean three-in-one god. It was challenging, inspiring, uncomfortable, and I LOVED it. I may not be a trinitarian christian, but I can certainly appreciate how many people find meaning in understanding divine revelation in three different ways. I personally think the number three is limiting, but I get that others appreciate it. And this is pretty much what was said from the pulpit at Robertson-Wesley!!! "We don't need to chuck the whole thing out, but let's understand why people, why our tradition, thinks this is important, and you can decide for yourself if this is meaningful for you."

Yes, this is a place where my soul can rest. After these many years and many moves, this is what my soul is needing. And I think I may have found some companions for the journey.

Banff (in photos)

Lake Louise:

Yoho National Park (BC):

Johnston Canyon & Falls:

wildlife in Banff:

"artistic" shots from around Banff:

from Tunnel Mountain:

Fiesta

We have learned that if you want good Mexican food in Edmonton (especially decent vegetarian options), you had better make it yourself. So, thankfully, Sarah and Kevin hosted a Mexican potluck dinner last night. Craig made his delicious guacamole. And I prepared Mom's famous green enchiladas and my own delectable chipotle beans. We had salsa, tamales, empinadas (more Salvadoran, but still), burritos, and quinoa and corn (more Incan, but still). And I cannot forget the margaritas. Sarah certainly provided the "top shelf" spirits. And John and I mixed up some tasty drinks. (I fear that, for some, the 'ritas were a little too tasty.)

It was a perfect evening. Good food. Good friends. Babies. Dogs. My two regrets from the evening were that I didn't think to get a piñata until way too late yesterday afternoon; not only is good Mexican food hard to come by in E-town, but so are piñatas. I also wish I hadn't forgotten my camera. Alas, no photos to prove summer has officially arrived in Edmonton.

Doctor, Doctor

For the most part, I have been very pleased with health care in Canada. Having worked in hospitals in both Texas and Virginia, I saw how horrendously unjust the American health care system is. Immediately upon beginning my work here in Canada, I realized that I was not counseling a single patient or family member who was afraid of going bankrupt or losing their home due their the escalating costs of their care. I saw this ALL THE TIME in the States. Canadian health care is not without it's problems. I have heard stories of long waits in emergency rooms, shortages of physicians, and problems with standardized assessments. But everyone here has access to care. Everyone here will be treated, eventually. And your place in the health care system is not determined by your ability to pay.

I have been particularly impressed with the focus on preventative medicine. It makes sense, when you have the same entity, the province, both paying for service AND providing the service, they are more likely to see the long-run cost benefit of preventative medicine. Whereas, if you have two separate entities paying for service (insurance companies) and providing service (physicians, hospitals, et al), both are trying to make/save money, so the insurance company is going to try to avoid payment for treatment for as long as possible, and the physician isn't likely to provide treatment unless s/he is certain of payment. Thus, illness, ailments, conditions, etc go untreated until they become life-threatening (or until the life is taken and treatment is no longer needed, which seems to be the insurance companies' ultimate goal). In my role as a chaplain here in Canada, I have seen people hospitalized for conditions/symptoms that would never warrant a hospital stay in the States (simply because no insurance company would cover it). The reasoning of the Canadian hospitals is that treating the person now will save money down the road. Even if the focus is still on finances, at least here, the patient is treated.

As a patient, I've had no complaints about the health care system, with the one exception that it's extremely difficult to find a primary care physician. Canada has a doctor shortage, so most physicians are not accepting new patients, and one doesn't go to their PCP for immediate concerns (colds, broken limbs, stitches, infections, etc.). People go to their PCP for physicals, paps and the like. For any immediate need, you go to a walk-in clinic (for non urgent medical needs) or the emergency department of the hospital (for the urgent concerns).

My first experience at the walk-in clinic (for an infected cut on my finger) involved absolutely no wait; I was home with my prescription of antibiotics within an hour and a half of walking out my door. I had about a 30-minute wait on my second visit (for a sore throat). Nothing like the rumours of 30-hour waits that fearmongers spread throughout the States to warn people about the "horrors of socialized medicine".

Seriously, the only complaint I have is the doctor shortage. I needed to go for my yearly physical and pap smear. With the shortage of physicians here, you only go to a gynecologist for gynecological problems; you go to your PCP for your routine examinations. Only I didn't have a PCP yet. And with the shortage, I didn't have many options. So I went with the one closest to my home. And he was terrible. He wouldn't look at me when asking me questions. He seemed disgusted at my body and the thought of having to actually touch me. And he answered my questions is a condescending tone as if I know nothing about health, anatomy, medicine, etc. (I am the daughter of a physician. I do work in health care. I am an intelligent woman. And I do know a thing or two about medicine and my own body.) It was such a dehumanizing experience. I refuse to go back to this doctor.

Luckily, I don't have to. For most concerns, I will go to a walk-in (there are about six within a 10-minute walk of my home). And for anything more serious, I will go to a specialist. And I won't have to go to another PCP for a year.

I won't let a bad experience with a bad doctor become an anecdotal justification in support of privatized medicine. The States has bad doctors, too. I have been to a few. (And worked with many more.) While I would prefer a doctor who would actually look at me and treat me as a human being, I will accept a system that actually looks at everyone and treats all people as human beings. Dr. R is just a jackass. And I would rather be abused by a single jackass than an entire jackass system.

and a tradition commences

In Canada, different holidays are celebrated, and holidays are celebrated differently than in the States. For example, there's "Family Day" in Alberta in February. It's a day when schools are out and businesses and governmental offices are closed so that families can have a snow day together. Also, Thanksgiving is celebrated in October (which makes sense if one considers when the harvest occurs way up north, but it's still weird for us ex-pats). There's Boxing Day (December 26) Canada Day (July 1), Victoria Day (in May), and Good Friday is an actual governmental holiday. (Canada has so many governmental holidays, it hasn't even bothered to name them all. For example, the holiday in August is simply Civic Holiday. Seriously.)

Craig and I have started our own traditions for celebrating Canadian holidays that aren't necessarily holidays in the States: we get tires and root beer. And we walk. A lot.

Back in October, on Canadian Thanksgiving, we needed to have all new tires put on the car in order to pass Albertan inspections. We drove our car to Canadian Tire, and intended to take the bus back home. We hadn't anticipated the buses being on a holiday schedule, so we ended up walking and walking to find a bus stop where we could actually catch a bus. As hunger came on us, we headed to the nearby A&W.

Last night, we came out of the church to find one of our tires flat. We had run over a screw. Our spare also had a hole in it. So we took our tire home (by taxi). Today we dropped the tire off at Canadian Tire for repair (it was still under warranty), walked home, walked back when it was ready, and took a cab back to the church. After changing the tire, we noticed the A&W across the street. Sensing a tradition in the making, we went for a root beer.

Driving away from A&W, our fixed tire securely on our rear wheel, root beer in our cup holders, I noticed Craig folding the receipt from Canadian Tire, tucking in the screw that had flattened the new tire.

I giggled and asked, "Father, why is it that on all other holidays, we visit family and celebrate with food and festivities, but on this holiday we get tires and drink root beer?"

Craig laughed. "Well, son, we get tires because..."

political geeks

In case you are wondering just how dorky Craig and I can be, let me share with you this conversation we had this morning:

"Which do you want? Red or blue?" Craig asks, referring to the tops of the two pyrex containers holding leftovers to be taken for lunch?

"Guess," I answer.

He then proceeds to put the red into my lunch bag.

See, red is my very favorite color. In a manner, not unlike a nine-year-old, I surround myself with my favorite color. Red car. Red coat. Red cell phone. Red wallet. Red backpack. Red purse. Red. Red. Red. ad nauseum.

Craig's favorite color is blue. Though he doesn't feel the same passion for blue as I do for red.

This red/blue divide does not indicate any political divide within our relationship. In the States, we are both staunchly blue (with a tinge of green), so Craig's color "wins". Had we been living in the States, he might have muttered, "Republican" under his breath as he put made my lunch, just to get a rise out of me. However, in Canada, with the color divide inverted (here, we are so red, we're orange), he keeps silent as he hands me my lunch.

I can't resist though. As he takes his blue pyrex, I mumble, "Torie." He hears me, of course, and takes the bait, which then launches us into a debate as to weather it's better to be a "Liberal Republican" or a "Conservative Democrat". Is it better to be my former senator, Evan Bayh (whom I find to be a despicable, slimy, opportunist who doesn't hold values so much as a weather vain to determine which way the political wind is blowing), or to be Craig's former governor, Mitt Romney (whom Craig's sees as a despicable, slimy, opportunist who doesn't hold to values so much as a weather vain...).

At this point, my lunch made and a bus arriving in minutes, the conversation seems to end as we kiss goodbye. As I head out the door, I mutter, "Evan Bayh" once more. "Mitt Romney," he calls after me. Then, both repulsed by the insults we have hurled at each other, we apologize, kiss again, and I leave.

April Fools

You know, these Canadians can't take a joke. Actually, they can take a joke, but only until noon. Apparently, if you play a prank after noon, you are the "April Fool" and they get to pinch you. I would have liked to have known this before 10am this morning. I was scrambling to get all of my pranks in by noon. And even had to call off a few.

Silly Canadians.