Diaries of The Breadman’s Daughter: When They Go Low, We Go High.

November 6, 2016 / boo king / Leave a comment

The Set-up.

On Tuesday evening I participated in #MichaelMoore‘s Facebook Live Event. It was a very interesting experience to say the least. After I introduced myself to Michael, numerous Canadians chimed in to say they “agreed” with me. That was nice and of them and not surprising. After all, we are known as a country of “nice and polite” people. But there was one comment, from a Trump Supporter, who wasn’t pleased with what I had to say and made his thoughts abundantly clear. He called me a communist idiot and #HillaryClinton a criminal whore. I went to bed that night completely unaware of the comment directed specifically at me. I had been tagged. Meanwhile, I was in Dreamland, and happily oblivious to the fiery discourse that was taking place in response to The Trump Supporter’s comment to me. It was the last thing I had expected and disconcerting to say the least. Just the number of email notifications alone was overwhelming. Enough said.

Below are the unedited comments between the Trump Supporter and I. He never replied to my “response”. Perhaps I rendered him speechless.

The Comment.

Bonney (Boo) King: Hi from Victoria, BC. I’m Canadian and if I could vote for Hillary I would. No question. Love Bernie too. And you. Just watched your movie over the weekend. It was brilliant.

The Response to My Comment.

The Trump Supporter: Hey Bonney stay in canada we don’t need another communist idiot like you to vote for that criminal whore HILLARY

The Response to His Comment.

Bonney (Boo) King: Firstly, I wouldn’t be a good Canadian if I didn’t start by saying I am very sorry that I offended you. I also want you to know that I hear you. Although we may not agree politically I do hear what you’re saying. But more importantly, I hear the anger, rage, fury, frustration, fear, anxiety, and maybe even a bit of sadness, within your words. For these are difficult and challenging times for your country, a county that is not only worthy of your dear and patriotic heart, but worthy of the admiration and respect of the world, in particular your neighbors and friends north of the border. So worthy.

And believe it or not, I love your country too. I grew up in a small border town in Northwestern Ontario and have many fond memories of my wonder years spent in Minnesota.

So during these final days before your election, an election that will not only decide the fate of your country – but in many critical and important ways – the fate of ours and others all around the world, you are in our collective thoughts. Sounds a bit preposterous perhaps but it’s true. Because of your hard-won status as a world leader, what happens in the United States affects us all. We’re all watching and waiting and wondering what will be the outcome next week. And what will become of us, as evolved human beings, in the days and weeks and years that follow. I don’t know a lot for sure, but I do know that whatever happens it will change the course of history – good, bad or otherwise. As an outsider, I have found it exhausting, and at many times heart-breaking, to witness the turbulent maelstrom of these past few months, so I can only imagine how tired, weary, whipped and battle-worn you must feel.

I wish you well and all good things. I wish for you peace, and that somewhere in all of this stressful patience testing, that you find understanding and a place of common ground with your fellow Americans, who like you, love their country dearly. I pray that you will continue to love it mightily regardless of who becomes President next week, and that you will stop calling each other names and move forward in loving kindness.

The Follow-up.

On Wednesday evening I shared the above post with my Facebook Friends. Their overall response was twofold: A) very supportive and sorry that I was on the receiving end of such unpleasant name-calling, and B) somewhat astonished and perhaps even confounded and perplexed by my response to The Trump Supporter.

After reading all their intelligent, thoughtful, kind and loving comments, I shared the following explanation of why I replied the way I did to The Trump Supporter.

The Final Comment.

Thank you all for your thoughtful words of kindness. I am grateful.

Believe it or not, my initial reaction to the comment from The Trump Supporter on Tuesday night’s #MichaelMoore’s #FacebookLive event was to chuckle. Seriously. In my defense, it was very early in the morning and I was in a pre-caffeinated state, but it seemed hilarious that he called me an idiot. Me? An idiot? Silly perhaps, often foolish, and at times downright asinine. But an idiot. No. Never. Plus, I wasn’t your typical garden variety either. I was a “communist” idiot. I’m not that either. Socialist – perhaps. I do have a distinctive left-leaning gait. And I do care deeply about my fellow inhabitants of this awe-inspiring planet that we all share and call home. If that makes me a Socialist, then I confess.

I am also acutely aware that we are all tenants, stewards and custodians here – not owners or landlords. So we’re all in this together – like it or not. We’re here, to not only love and care for the planet, but to love and care for one another. And yes, even the unlovable ones. Or the difficult, the different, the distasteful ones. Yes, even those impossible to understand, accept or breathe the same air.

But this is our challenge as evolved human beings. And it is not easy – at least not for me. I wrestle this devil every day.

When I read heated contentious comments like those of The Trump Supporter on Facebook, I typically move on and refuse to participate. I don’t like public shit shows. One of the great things about this country is that we all have the right, to not only have opinions, but to express them. And with that comes agreement and disagreement. I don’t want that to ever change.

I decided to respond to The Trump Supporter. His comment required it of me. But I didn’t want to reply in kind and spit back the same vitriol that he vomited on me. So I looked into my soul, my Girl Warrior spirit, right to the very essence of my being and thought this:

What would Michelle Obama do? Go high when they go low. What would my mother (Ma) and Jesus do? Turn the other cheek. What would my daughter Aimee do? Stand up for herself.

Inspired by that, I wrote from the purest place in my heart. I did my very best to take the high road, turn the other cheek and stand up for what I believe to be true. I did this knowing full well that it most likely wouldn’t change The Trump Supporter’s mind or heart. Not one bit.

But here’s the really great thing. It transformed my heart, my mind. And if in the process, even one person was moved by my humble thoughts then I think that maybe, just maybe, we’re moving the level of discourse in the right direction. It is my prayer that together, hand-in-fragile-hand, we head towards greater awareness, compassion, kindness, empathy, tolerance, respect, generosity, love, acceptance, peace and ultimately healing. Yes healing. Because after next week, we’re all going to need healing in massive doses. And we have to carry on. But we get to choose how we do that – good, bad or otherwise. United or apart.

I hope you will all join me on this journey of raising our level of collective spiritual consciousness. We can do this. Together.

Diaries of The Breadman’s Daughter: Believe in Something Bigger than Yourself.

January 1, 2015April 3, 2016 / boo king / Leave a comment

Girl Warrior. Know that you are connected to every living thing in this marvelous Universe. That’s a huge and daunting thought. So take it in. Fully. Breathe life into it. Wrap your loving arms around this notion until it seeps into your DNA and fills every cell. Clog your pores with this concept.

Figure out your place in the grander scheme of things. The beautiful, elegant, ingenious, creative, intelligent and precisely perfect design that dwells deep inside your soul. And that of every single being and creature that ever was. And ever will be. Imagine that.

Honor this exquisite essence.

Whether you call it God or Gitchi Manitou, Divine Intelligence or Great Spirit, Energy or Electricity, Jesus or Jane, it matters not. What really matters is the knowledge that you are a part of it. You are an essential drop of water in the great big sea. A twinkle in the starry night. A slice of light in the infinite sky. Your presence is requested. Here and now. For eternity.

And you are never alone.

Diaries of The Breadman’s Daughter: The Search for Meaning.

February 24, 2013August 17, 2013 / boo king / 4 Comments

E on his throne enjoying the Christmas festivities.

I’m a seeker. Especially at Christmas time. I search for perfect gifts for everyone on my list. Ones filled with wow and wonder. I comb second hand stores for delicate vintage glass ornaments like the ones we hung on our tree at 204. I inherited all of Ma’s and have been growing her precious collection every year for the past decade. It’s my magnificent holiday decorating obsession.

I scour cookbooks, online cooking blogs and recipe websites looking for something new and delicious to bake or cook over the holidays. In the end, nothing compares with the treasure trove found in Ma’s sacred and magical Gurney Recipe Box.

I flip through fashion magazines for inspiration on what to wear for all those festive occasions. This is a silly pastime because E and I don’t attend those kinds of affairs. Yet I do it anyway. It pleases me.

I’m also bedazzled by sparkly festive shop windows. I hunt for the perfect holiday outfit. I daydream about a beautiful more glamorous version of myself that will somehow magically appear like Cinderella at the ball. I wonder what it would be like to knock ‘em dead at our office party. I fantasize about a transformation from drab nondescript woman in the corner cube to glamor girl in the shimmery dress with legs that never quit. That never happens. Even the younger me couldn’t have pulled that look off. Truth is, that’s not me. Never was. Never will be. But it is fun to play that movie in my head once a year.

Pursuit of the perfect gift, recipe, or dress aside, what I really seek at Christmas time is meaning. What’s it all about? This search trumps everything.

With E’s cancer diagnosis hanging over our heads like the Sword of Damocles, the desire to find something deeper, more profound, more significant was intensified. It served to remind us of the fragile nature of this life we live. Teach us to grab onto every precious moment like it was your last. Embrace the ones we love.

We were given a reprieve from the fear and anxiety that brought us to our knees the week E was in the hospital. The Friday that he was released from the RJH was glorious. A heaven-sent day.

The first thing E did when we got home was take the dogs for a walk in the crisp clean December air. It was as though he was breathing for the first time. He could walk unencumbered by the inescapable steel dance partner he had been hooked up to all week. Free from all the medical machinery that monitored his every heartbeat and breath. Free from the antiseptic smell that clung to every cell and fibre of his being. Free to walk upright. Stride. Strut. Swagger. Flounce his new found freedom up the rocky hills that surround our home.

Simply be alive.

For as long as I have known E, he’s been a real crank about Christmas. He would happily take a page from Rip Van Winkle’s book and sleep right through the entire month of December. It was the same old thing every year. Come the day before Christmas, the spirit would finally move him and off he’d go in search of my Christmas present. Some years this was found at the local Shoppers Drug Mart down the road. When M got old enough he solicited her help. This put a stop to the drugstore gifts.

“I’ll make sure he gets you something really good Ma,” she’d say.

And she does.

Of course, it’s not about the quality of the gift. Or even that there are gifts at all. But in our family, we do enjoy this tradition. We like to acknowledge each other in this manner. It’s sounds cliche but it isn’t so much the gift as the giving. As a family we like this and we’re good at. One look at our living room Christmas morning says it all.

This year, the curmudgeon grouchy bah humbug E left the building. Like Elvis on August 16, 1977. Replaced by the new and improved version. Enthusiastic and joyful. Happy to celebrate. Cheerful and charitable. Without complaint nor criticism. No protests. Gripes or grumbling. Beefs or bellyaching. And above all else, the new E, that emerged from the chrysalis on Friday, December 14, was grateful.

Deeply. Profoundly. Beyond words.

Recently, I read a quote by Cicero that really resonated with my spirit. It expressed so beautifully the meaning I sought and found over the Christmas season.

“Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others.”

E and I are consumed with gratitude these days. There is so much to cherish and give thanks for. Starting with our love for each other. For our family, our beautiful children, our granddaughter, our extended family and friends, our good neighbors, our understanding colleagues, the compassionate caregivers and spiritual teachers. Everyone who has touched our tender hearts so sweetly.

Kindness and compassion. Generosity and magnanimity. Big-heartedness and goodness. It’s everywhere. Dressed in the same attire. Cloaked in the fabric of love.

Jesus and John Lennon were right. Love is all you need.

I’m grateful for that.

Diaries of The Breadman’s Daughter: I Saw God in Church.

November 25, 2012November 25, 2012 / boo king / 2 Comments

Dressed in head-to-toe Communion white and looking so pious with bible in hand.

I’m a sporadic churchgoer these days. There were times throughout my life when I was a faithful attendee. The Old Man, Ma and I used to go every Sunday. I was baptized and took communion. I read Bible verses and some chapters. But never the entire thing. Not enough grey matter between the ears to keep track of everyone and everything. Especially all the goings-on in the Old testament. So many begats and battles. Bloodshed and betrayals. Miracles and meyhem. Famines and bad things happening to firstborns. So complicated and confusing.

But the New Testament is a whole other story. While it contains its share of death, denial and despair, there is also hope and love and kindness and compassion. Sacrifice and forgiveness. Yes indeed, the New Book is chock-a-block full of precious and useful life lessons regardless of your faith or personal beliefs. Who could deny that loving one another is the ultimate purpose of all humans no matter where on earth they call home.

My favorite stories are the ones about Jesus, in particular, the Nativity and the night he was born. I also really enjoy a good old fashioned Christmas pageant. Especially ones enacted by earnest five year-olds. I never grow tired of such performances.

When I turned eighteen, and for the twenty odd years that followed, I went in hot pursuit of God. My spiritual excavations took me far and wide on my interior journey. I looked under every rock. Behind every locked door. Inside a plethora of books and passages. I sought the holy, the evolved, the gurus, the teachers, mentors, ministers, the religious, the spiritual, the wise, the dedicated, the sacred, the masters, saints and the venerated. It was an incredible journey of wonder and awe. It both grounded me and threw me off balance. It gave me confidence and brought me to my knees. I was exalted. And humbled. But mostly grateful.

The family gathered after the Communion for Sunday dinner. The Old Man and I had already changed into more comfortable clothes for this photo. Ma in her apron over her Sunday dress.

At that journey’s end, I found myself in a little church in the countryside. It was a familiar place. It felt like coming home. It reminded me of the little Lutheran Church where The Old Man, Ma and I shared a pew. It wasn’t perfect. It didn’t satisfy all of my spiritual needs. Nor did it fill my hunger completely, nor answer my endless questions. But it was a place to dwell, to sit quietly and learn. To witness and rub shoulders with fellow seekers on this bumpy, often terrifying, road.

It was there that this happened.

I saw God in church. It wasn’t at all what I expected it would be. It was such a quiet whisper of a moment. Manifested in a simple expression of love between an elderly husband and his fragile wife. I don’t think either of them noticed that something so incredibly extraordinary was taking place. But I did. The providential witness.

The congregation was about to sing another hymn. Everyone was seated and looking to the Music Team Leader for direction. He asked us all to stand and sing our praises. Obediently, all the adults in the church stood, except for one.

Ma and The Old Man on the steps of 204. One of the last photos together.

He stood with confident ease. Thin and stoop shouldered. Yet strong. In conviction and constitution. She made a feeble attempt to rise. Her heart was willing. A formidable match for his on any given Sunday. But her tired, frail body was uncooperative.

Without skipping a beat, he reached for her arm and gently helped her to her feet. There they stood. Side by side. Singing with hearts wide open with love and devotion. As it had always been. Now and forever.

The tenderness of this ordinary, natural and unassuming gesture touched me in ways that were more profound than any sermon or hymn or prayer. I was overwhelmed by the presence of God. Just two rows up.

There it was. In a flash. An instant. Grace. Sweet, kind, patient, loving and humanly divine.