SOTC 351/365

A Moment for the Kindness of Strangers

The kindness of strangers over the last 48 hours or so has floored me--to the point that I can no longer keep the gratitude to myself. For anyone who needs some faith restored in the humanity around them today...

To the five people who pushed my car up a hill in a snow storm: you started as two. And when the neighbours, shovelling their own way out of the snow, noticed that two was not enough, they dropped what they were doing and flanked you both to help. I did not get a chance to say a proper thank you, but I heard you cheering along with me as you gave one last push into the intersection. ...I just want you to know, I made it home.

To the woman who helped me remove a shard of glass from my finger: I don't even know what you look like. I tend to get tunnel vision when I'm focused on a critical task; so as I stood at the sink in a busy public bathroom, all I was focused on was my finger. But I heard your voice beside me--encouraging me to squeeze the cut for you so you could help remove the glass. I know I could have worked it out on my own, but you saw a way to make it easier. I didn't see your face, but I saw your gentle fingers come in alongside mine, and gently wipe the shard away. "There! We got it!" you exclaimed. The accomplishment was as much yours as mine in the end. I heard you dispose of the paper towel, finally in a head space where I could look up to see you. But you had already turned away towards the door--and then you were gone. I just want you to know, tending another's wound--no matter how small--is a brave thing in my mind. Thank you for your bravery.

To the Airbnb guest who insisted on helping me clear my driveway: when I said, "1900 square feet," I was not exaggerating, but you didn't seem to mind. You grabbed the shovel while I started up my snow thrower--you did your thing, I did mine. I may have taken on most of the surface area, but you tackled all the stairs and the uneven path to the back gate. As far as I'm concerned, that's like voluntarily taking the heel of a loaf of bread; I just want you to know, I am extremely grateful.

To the lady who gave me her parking pass: I'd been pretty much go-go-go all day. And at the end of the afternoon, with one meeting still left, I stood in front of the parking lot pay machine, pausing to consider my options on the screen. There is something to be said for a pause in a busy day. As you started your car, your voice cut through the traffic around me, "Do you want my pass?" Thank you for sharing. I just want you to know, it may have felt like a little thing, but it was a meaningful thing.

Source unknown

SOTC 272/365

SOTC 271/365

SOTC 269/365

#IAmGrateful 21

Nature

Even at -20C, nature still moves about, inviting us into moments of wonder, delight, and awe. I am so grateful.

 

(c) Photos by Gina

 

#IAmGrateful 20

Challenge

(c) Photos by Gina

Challenge is when I can't see the end of the road, the top of the mountain, or anything more than the next step in front of me--yet I know I must keep going.

Challenge is a call to perseverance and daring; awakening my inner strength, just when we were getting comfortable.

Challenge tests my my boundaries, my integrity, and my stick-with-it-ness.

It reminds me to trust the One who is really in control.

Challenge is air in my lungs, power in my stride, and fire in my eyes.

#IAmGrateful.

"You can't fall if you don't climb. But there's no joy

in living your whole life on the ground."

- Unknown

SOTC 224/365

SOTC 184/365*

♥






* Officially over the half way point!

SOTC 139/365

SOTC 137/365

SOTC 136/365

The sign said the stairs were closed.

I said no.

Communion (SOTC 80/365)

com·mu·nion (n): a close relationship with someone or something;  an act or instance of sharing;  intimate fellowship or rapport.

I was not even planning on being at church today. I was supposed to be shooting some family photos for a friend. They must cancel at the last minute; I switch gears back to my typical Sunday morning routine. I soon find myself ready for church with plenty of time to spare. And the sun is shining. And the sky is so blue. And it's +3C outside. So I grab my camera and head for one of my favourite spots to capture the sunny Edmonton skyline behind the snow-covered River Valley. I know from experience that this view of downtown is best in the mornings.

Alas, I overestimated the winter sunshine. The buildings were perfectly alight, while the snow-blanketed foreground was still asleep in the dark shadow of the hill behind me. over which the sun had not yet risen. Apparently, this view is best in the mornings that are not within a week of the winter solstice.

Nevertheless, the school where our church meets also backs onto field in pretty much every direction. A morning winter landscape was not out of the question just yet.

By the time I parked in the church (school) parking lot, it was 10:22. Communion would start at 10:30. After a bit of internal wrestling between my punctual left brain and my creative right brain, I gave myself permission to explore the area until as late as 11:00, which is when the church service actually started. It is often the case that I find myself humbled by some aspect of a nature landscape; the photography simply becomes an extension of worship.

This morning, I was caught by the way the sun was shining behind the elm trees, and after a few minutes, ended up with this picture.

There is fellowship I feel when I am out taking photos in God's creation.
There is an intimate joining of two* to create something new.
There is Light that overtakes shadow.
Communion.





* Look closely. There are actually two trees in this image.

Winter Settling In

It's that time of year again. Layers. Foggy glasses. Ice on my windshield. Three feet of snow lining the driveway. Dark when I leave for work, dark when I come home; not exactly sunny during the hours in between, either.

Oh, winter.

In glimpses here and there, I do see its beauty. Slow, fluffy flakes, gracefully twirling down to the earth. Frosted branches lining the River Valley. Pristine snow fields, and their sparkle on that rare, sunny day.

But I tell ya, on the whole, winter is not exactly inspiring. My drive to take pictures of its beauty are trumped by the cold. My desire to be active outdoors is as fleeting as the sunshine. While in the summer, I am bursting through the back door to get to my garden, my hammock, my bike--the winter sees me sprinting into the house after work to get to my PJs, my blanket, my TV.

(And while yes, snow blowing does come with some feeling of satisfaction, I must say, it's been eating up a significant amount of my free time, and I'm about done with it.)

One thing I have recognized this year, though... is that while my general cravings--sunshine, the outdoors, taking pictures--seem suppressed by the cold and dark of winter, I am far from entering into sloth. I have simply traded those things in for activities that--I think--are more reflective of the pace of winter. Hot baths. One really good book after another. Tea. Yes, I do take in more television--but I don't really watch trash. The shows I watch tend to be as riveting for me as a good book. Plus, I generally have a cat on my lap. Win.

It is a season of drawing in, rather than exploring.
A season of wrapping myself up rather than spreading myself out.
And that is okay, too.

SOTC 35/365

SOTC 34/365

A patch of snow on the birch tree, a dollop of snow on the ground. It is a beautiful day for snowshoeing in the mountains.

Despite receiving a large dump of snow in Edmonton just a few days prior to my weekend retreat, there was no time to take advantage of it in the city.

And really--what better way to take in the first snowshoe of the season than through the birch and pine trees, with a backdrop of sunshine, blue sky, and the jaggedly majestic peaks of the Rockies?

Every Day I'm Shovelling

It's not even 8am. Normally at this time, I am just getting my coffee prepped and my lunch into a bag before heading out the door. This morning, however, I was up just before 6, to bring my car in for 7, to get her winter tires put on. It's rough being up this early, but I always need to have one of the first appointments of the day, because I need my car for work.

Unfortunately, it was yesterday that Edmonton received nearly a foot of heavy, wet snow. I drove slowly, I drove carefully. I was not one of the roughly 200 motor vehicle accidents. (I was, however, one of the roughly one million snow blowing their driveway after work.)

My brother, having spent much of his adult life in Lethbridge, says this is the most snow he's seen at once in nine years. I told him if he can make it through his first winter here, he could make it anywhere (except maybe NWT). But I told him not to snow blow yesterday, and I'm kinda glad I did. I think he would have tapped out on winter entirely.

Snow blowing yesterday was about 10,000 kinds of awful. I generally quite like snow blowing. There is supreme satisfaction in watching several of inches of snow disappear under your feet. That being said, I have never had to blow through snow so thick and dense with wet. I lost count of how many times the pipe got clogged with snow (I had to scoop it out with a trowel every 5-10 ft. Who carries a trowel with them when they snow blow? Honestly.) Still quicker than shovelling manually, I cleared the driveway fairly well.

The snow continues to fall today. I will have to shovel. Or snow blow. I'm not sure which at this point. The weekend forecast calls for sunshine across the province, and I am hopeful of that.

A few blog posts ago, I talked about intentionally seeking beauty in every season. While this is only Day 2 of snow, it is day 5 (6? 7?) without sunshine. All week has been a "hazy shade of winter." Snow just adds insult to injury, but I think I am taking it in stride. Today. All the tree branches are topped with snow. In my ageing neighbourhood, it means the elm trees on each side of the street come together in a beautiful frosted canopy. While the backdrop is a little grey right now, the first sunny day will be glorious.

Today the flakes fall slow, gentle, fluffy. There is beauty in this, too. In another month, this will be downright holy.

"But You came like a winter snow,

Quiet and soft and slow

Falling from the sky in the night

To the earth below."

     -- Chris Tomlin

248/365

A brain-heavy morning meeting;
A not-entirely-happy tummy;
A snow storm.

An early afternoon off;
cozy clothes,
cat cuddles,
photo putterings;
lighthearted texts to friends.

234/365

Where's The Fairness?

Lovely Weather for a Snowshoe AND 229/365

We were spoiled this winter. Temperatures sat around -5C most days, and very little snow. While farmers are already complaining, my snow shovel certainly was not. Still, without any snow, Edmonton lacked any sort of winter aesthetic quality that it could have had. Also, there was no snowshoeing.

Snowshoeing is generally a weekly excursion in the winter--a chance to catch up with friends and be physically active at the same time. Not so much this year. I snowshoed in Edmonton four times. I gained eight pounds.

So, when it was suggested that we go snowshoeing in the mountains, there was actually a fair bit of excitement about the idea. Factor in a great deal on Expedia, and you've got the makings of a good girls' weekend. It seemed like it had been forever since I'd had a girls' weekend. Really, it was only last summer, but we only ventured about an hour and a half from home on that trip, so I guess it didn't really feel like we "got away." A five hour drive to the mountains (complete with awesome 90's music and a Gasoline Alley pit stop)--now that feels more like a getaway!

We opted to trek along the Chester Lake trail near Canmore. I was actually worried there wouldn't be enough snow--how easily I doubt! We were quite thankful that we didn't have to break trail. There was plenty of the fluffy stuff--everywhere.

Conversation on the trail happened in small doses, in between the uphill climbs requiring a larger lung capacity. I always have the convenient excuse of stopping to take a photograph whenever I want a break. As such, I generally 'bring up the rear', and this hike was no different.

Up the hill, through the meadow, and down the trail a bit more to reach Chester Lake. ....We didn't actually see the lake, but we're presuming that it's there, under all the snow! We stopped and ate there, regardless. The lunch break was shorter than it would be in the summer. Snow pants are no substitute for the warmth of the sun on bare legs. We all started cooling off fairly quickly, and pretty much started heading back down the mountain after the last bite of sandwich had been swallowed.

Often throughout the year, but especially when I travel to the mountains, I remember how blessed I am to live in this province. Alberta is so rich in scenery, and the mountains sure hold the upper hand in that respect. I have to admit, the only thing more perfect would have been to see it against the backdrop of a blue sky, but the contrast of green conifers covered in lumps of snow against the white sky was eye-catching, too. Especially the vastness of it all. And the way the mountains seemed to almost hide in the snowy background--not prominent, and yet definitely present. There was a soft, muted quality to the wintry surroundings, and yet, a fresh fragrance akin to the one I breathe deeply each summer. 

By the time we reached the bottom, my thighs hurt with every step, and the snow was falling thicker and faster. It was definitely time to head back to the hotel's hot tub. We threw the car into reverse, and it satisfyingly cut through the snow drifts of the parking lot like butter. Considering we had just covered an advertised 4-hour snowshoe hike in roughly 3-hours, I was feeling a similar satisfaction myself.

"Unusual travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God."

-- Kurt Vonnegut