Trudy J. Morgan-Cole's Blog, page 58

Writing Wednesday 62: Comfort Zone

Writing Wednesday 61: Something Old, Something New

Watch the video above for some exciting (to me anyway) news about an old book. Or, if you’re in a hurry, just click here (Canada) or here (US). It will be available as an e-book on other sites besides Amazon soon — i.e. as soon as I get around to it. I believe the ability of authors to re-release their backlist, out of print books as e-books is one of the great gifts of the self-publishing age, and I’m glad to be able to take advantage of it with a book that I’ve always loved, but not many people have read.

Best Books of 2013

Time for me to finally update you on the best books I read in 2013! All the reviews for these books and many, many more can be found on my book review blog, Compulsive Overreader.

Scarcity

All of us here on the island of Newfoundland have had plenty of time to think about scarcity over the past week. Last Thursday our power companies, NL Hydro and NL Power, announced that they were beginning a series of “rolling blackouts” — temporary power outages in various areas — because the demand for electrical power during a very cold spell had exceeded their ability to generate that power. When a blizzard hit Friday night coupled with a fire at a substation in the early hours of Saturday morning, the rolling blackouts became widespread power outages. For most people, electrical power was an off-and-on prospect over the weekend, with most, like us, returned to full power by midday Sunday. All schools in the province, which were supposed to start up again on Monday after the Christmas break, delayed opening till today, Thursday, in the name of conserving power and making sure the buildings were warm and safe for students to return to. I’m posting this just before going to work so I guess we’ll see how the system holds up once the lights are on at all the schools.

Even as the power came back on there were fervent calls from the government and the power companies for us to conserve, conserve, conserve — turn down thermostats, avoid running washing machines and dishwashers at all if possible, or if not, at least refrain from running them during peak usage hours, etc., etc. And, of course, there were just as fervent complaints from people being asked to save power in their homes and wear dirty socks for three days in a row while the stores in the Avalon Mall stayed open and hockey games went ahead under the lights at Mile One Stadium.

Over the last few days we’ve heard people complaining about the hardship, and people telling others to shut up and stop complaining; people furious at the premier for not showing more leadership and for describing the situation as “not a crisis”; people questioning the stability and preparedness of our entire power system. My friend Tina Chaulk wrote a great blog post summarizing some of the very just reasons we should be upset at the decision-makers in this situation. It’s important to remember that even though our suffering was no greater than that of people in Ontario or the Maritimes during their recent ice storms and power outages, no greater than what we experienced a few years ago with Hurricane Igor, there was something different about this blackout. The power outages started considerably before the storm hit. This wasn’t a case of an ice storm or a hurricane knocking out power lines: this was a case of our hydroelectric utility company going to the public and saying, “We cannot supply enough power to meet your needs.”

I’m willing to bet that, like me, most people in Newfoundland before last Thursday had never thought of electrical power as a finite, limited resource that we might run out of. We talk about it being good to conserve energy (some of us do, anyway), but conservation is always optional. Suddenly, it became a necessity. In fact, it was forced upon us. We realized that something most of us had taken for granted, something we had assumed would always be there, was in fact limited and could be cut off at any moment.

In other words, we noticed the way things really are.

People my age and younger grew up in a world of seemingly limitless abundance. Barring a storm that knocks out the power, the lights will always come on when you flick the switch. When you pull up to the pumps there will always be gas. Clean water will always appear when you turn on the tap. The food you want will be on the supermarket shelves in vast quantity and variety. Those of us who’ve lived out our lives in late twentieth-century North America rarely have to think about scarcity. 

But it’s real. Much of the world knows it all the time. Even leaving aside for the moment drought-stricken regions where people are starving, many people live or have lived in places where shortages and periodic power cuts are the norm rather than the exception.

Our parents grew up in an age of scarcity. Those hardy old folks in their 70s and 80s now were born and came of age in the Depression and in wartime, in the era of shortages and ration cards. Most of them grew up thrifty, turning off lights when they left a room, reusing things and making them last longer. It was their children who learned to take abundance for granted, who thought of stories of scarcity as tales from the Bad Old Days, never to come again.

I don’t want to be a gloom-and-doomsayer but I honestly believe that if human life on this planet lasts, historians will look back on our generation — those of us who lived in North America through the last half of the twentieth century — as the people who lived through the short-lived and anomalous Age of Abundance. Supplies of everything, including energy, are limited, and the developing world is home to a vast, growing, and ever-more-wealthy population of people who want the share of the pie they’ve too long been denied.

Yes, we need to be working constantly on developing new, renewable and hopefully less destructive sources of energy. But does anyone truly believe that that energy can be extended to everyone who wants it — everyone in China, everyone in India — without the added balance of less consumption? We must not only find ways to provide more, but to use less. And most of us are only willing to use less — less electricity, less gasoline, less of everything — if 1) we’re fairly enlightened, thoughtful people who care about these issues, 2) we really believe our reduced consumption will make a difference, and 3) it doesn’t inconvenience us too much. That’s a recipe for disaster.

Gandhi is alleged to have said that the world has enough for everyone’s need but not for everyone’s greed. He was probably thinking about food and other tangible commodities, but it’s true of sources of energy too. I think with tremendous goodwill and ingenuity it might be possible to develop enough safe energy sources to supply adequate power to everyone in the world without too much further damage to the environment. But can we ever produce enough power to allow nearly seven billion people to live the way upper-middle-class North Americans live? Could we ever safely and sustainably produce enough energy to allow billions of people to live in 3000+ square-foot open-plan homes that are comfortably warm in summer and cool in winter, with several big-screen TVs and stereo systems and major appliances running most of the day, driving two or more cars at least one of which is a minivan, pickup or SUV, getting their exercise on powered treadmills while taking the car to go get milk and bread at the corner store? 

Of course we can’t.

(I do think, by the way, that this mentality of endless abundance is mainly a North American issue; people in Europe are just as wealthy as we are, in general, but don’t seem to have the same attitude towards consumption. I know that in the UK, at least, the Depression and war-time scarcities continued, to some degree, well into the 1950s and 60s and even the 70s, and Europeans in general seem content to live in smaller homes, drive smaller cars and use more public transit than we do in North America).

So if we can never produce enough energy to allow everyone on earth to live that way without destroying the environment, then there are only two options I can see: 1) Accept that the world will always be unjust and the vast majority will always have fewer resources than a tiny minority. This is fundamentally wrong and unfair, but more to the point, are people on other continents going to stand for that kind of thinking as they grow in wealth and power? I bet they’re not. Or, 2) Those of us who’ve grown up in a world of abundance — and our children — are going to have to reacquaint ourselves with scarcity.

Could we get by with less? Of course we could. The rolling blackouts are a huge pain in the butt at the moment, but if I knew that central St. John’s was going to be without electrical power from 2-5 p.m. every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, I’d adapt. If I got a gas card saying, “This will get you the 100 litres of gas you can use this month; if you exceed that, you’ll have to find another way to get around,” I’d find other ways. We’re an adaptable species. And for most of our history, up until the last 50 – 75 years, we’ve adapted to resources that are not limitless. We’ve understood that we have to accept a certain amount of scarcity to survive.

The problem is that people won’t move from abundance to scarcity voluntarily. Oh, some will, but out of all the people who post pictures on Facebook of adorable tiny houses that are energy efficient, how many would actually be willing to move into a tiny house as opposed to moving up to that open-plan 3000-square-footer in the suburbs as soon as their income allows it? How many of us set goals for how we’d like to voluntarily limit our consumption, but then justify going over those limits if our needs, or even our wants, exceed our self-imposed limits?

Realistically, limited consumption — of electricity, gasoline, or any other resource — is only going to come about one of two ways. Either it’s government-mandated, like ration cards during wartime — and given how badly people react to even a conservation measure as simple as banning those inefficient incandescent light bulbs, that’s not going to happen without a fight. Or it’s market-driven, as with the rolling power blackouts, when a business says, “Sorry, there’s simply not enough of what you need to go around.”

I don’t know how it’s going to happen, but I think it’s inevitable that my children’s world will be more like the one their grandparents grew up in, a world where they’ll have to think about what resources are available and plan how to use them in a way that I’ve never had to do. And while the idea of power cuts and ration cards might sound like prophesying gloom and doom, maybe it’s not. Obviously extreme hardship and scarcity is bad for people. But does limitless abundance produce happier, more well-adjusted people and societies? I’m not sure it has proven to be so.

While I think the process of getting there will be painful for those of us who’ve grown up with the dream of endless abundance, I think that a return to scarcity, in some ways at least, is not just inevitable but might be a good thing — for the planet, and for all of us.

Contest deadline extended …

So, we’ve had a crazy few days here with the power going out, and our furnace pipes freezing so that even when the power came back on we were in the cold, and, well, with one thing and another I didn’t get around to making a video reviewing last year’s best books. Making videos was, in fact, the last thing on my mind. So my win-a-book contest is going to be extended for a few more days, till sometime next week, and I’ll announce the winner’s next Wednesday (always assuming we continue to have light, heat, and computer access till then. But more on that in tomorrow’s blog post). So, if you haven’t already entered, scroll back to yesterday’s blog post, watch my two-minute video, and enter to win a book!

The Year-End Book Quiz

Watch the video to find out how to win one of the ten best books I read this year. You can check out all the reviews at http://compulsiveoverreader.wordpress.com and email me your guess at the final list at trudyj65@hotmail.com. Be sure to put “Book Contest” in the subject line. Contest closes next Tuesday, January 7, and I’ll post the final list and the winners here next Wednesday.

Goodbye, 2013

Dear 2013,

To me you will always be the year my mom passed away, so your unlucky “13″ designation is well earned. I won’t be able to think of you without a little pain, whenever I look back.

You were also the year my friend Linda died, and my dear Aunt Gertie got weaker and frailer and more confused, and lots of sad things happened to people I care about. But then, every year is somebody’s worst year, isn’t it?

I will try to remember the good things you brought as well. I will remember you as the year I wrote a novel about two characters I grew to love, and got that novel accepted for publication. I’ll remember you as the year I finally got away for a week-long writing retreat in another province with a dear friend and met a bunch of new friends, and had a wonderful, relaxing time full of personal and professional growth. I’ll remember you as the year I completed and earned my Master Guide requirements. You’re the year in which I got two full-grown teenagers in the family and that’s turned out to be a lot of fun so far, much more than I expected.

I want to remember you, 2013, as the year we went white-water rafting on the Exploits River and had a magical day of screams and laughter. The year I taught some wonderful students and saw many of them move forward to accomplish big goals in their lives. A year of coffee dates and weekend getaways with good friends. A year of hanging out with my family, getting to know my kids better as they grow toward their adult selves, laughing and having fun with my husband who is also my best friend, spending more time with my dad. A year of enjoying morning coffees with the best co-workers I’ve ever had in my working life. A year of reading wonderful books (more on that in tomorrow’s post), of trying to grow in grace and trust God more, of unfolding just a little bit more of who I am and what my life is about.

In other words, a year of change — some of it good, some of it bad — a year of growth, and a year of ordinariness.

Thanks for all you’ve given, 2013. And I forgive you for what you’ve taken, because nothing gold can stay. Goodbye. Your friend 2014 is waiting just outside the door. I hope s/he’ll be a little easier on me and the ones I love. I don’t know if I’d exactly say I’m ready for 2014, but I’m trying to trust.

Love,

Trudy

Writing “Wednesday” 60: The Christmas Special

It’s not Wednesday, of course — like garbage day, my Writing Wednesday has been moved ahead to accommodate the holidays. Please enjoy A Visit From Saint … Somebody.

 

Merry-ish

Last Christmas my mom and I had an argument over the phone about what she was going to bring to our house for dinner on Christmas Eve. Years ago, when I was a teenager, she and my dad established the tradition of inviting the extended family — which then consisted of my Uncle George and Aunt Bernice and their kids — over to our place for dinner on Christmas Eve, a dinner of which my dad’s lasagna was always the main dish. Then the next day my parents would cook a turkey dinner for the three of us and Aunt Gertie.

Sometime about the year Jason and I got married, my mom started to find this cooking-two-big-dinners-with-guests-two-days-in-a-row overwhelming, so Jason I took over hosting the Christmas Eve dinner at our house. My dad still made and brought the lasagna, and every year my mom and I would have this same argument, in which she offered to bring two or three side dishes, and I said no, the whole point of us hosting the dinner was to make less work for her and dad, so they could bring the lasagna and we’d provide everything else.

Last Christmas — probably about December 21 or 22 — she was on the phone with me enumerating the other things, in addition to lasagna, that she was planning to bring. I think she intended to bring potato salad (she made great potato salad) and a lime jello salad. I stood my ground, insisting that we could do all the side dishes. I vividly remember saying, “You know, someday you’re going to have to accept the fact that you and Dad are getting older, and you can take it easy and let us do more of the work!” (As I recall, we compromised on her bringing potato salad and us doing everything else).

And that day never came — my mom never got the years of being the elderly relative who was waited on by others. She was 78 when she died and, despite poor health, still determined to bring a pot of beans to every potluck (though she didn’t actually like potlucks and would rather have left the beans and gone on home out of it). Here’s one of my favourite pictures from that Christmas Eve dinner last year, where my mom is either telling a story or explaining something to Aunt Bernice.

At this point, obviously, there’s nothing I would like more in the world than to pick up the phone and have that same frustrating “you don’t have to do it all you know, I’m quite capable” argument with her again. Or any of our arguments, really. Or share a good laugh about the quirks and eccentricities of other people, which was something we always liked to bond over, and there are plenty of those to comment on this time of year. Or hear her tell a story in her usual animated style.

It’s such a trite truism to say that the first Christmas after a loved one dies is particularly hard, but I’m learning this year how true it is, even as we do our best to enjoy what we can enjoy in this season. One unexpected upside I’ve discovered is that in the first Christmas season after a major loss, expectations are beautifully low. Much of the stress of Christmas comes from people believing things have to be “just perfect” and fit some wonderful ideal in their heads. But the Christmas after you’ve said goodbye to someone you love, there are no expectations. Making it through is plenty good enough, so every happy moment, every laugh and smile, is an unexpected blessing. 

Have a merry-ish Christmas, especially if that’s the best you can manage this year.

 

I Cannot Believe I’m Writing About This Guy

Anyone who knows me can tell you that I’m highly unlikely to watch any reality TV show unless I have a gun pointed at my head. I try to remain as unaware as possible of this entire bizarre cultural phenomenon; ever since I accidentally saw part of the first-season finale of Survivor I’ve been trying to convince myself that if I lie low and ignore it, it will all go away.

I reluctantly became aware earlier this year that a TV “show” called Duck Dynasty existed, which appeared, from what I could gather, to be some kind of celebration/send-up of duck hunting and … I don’t know, redneck culture? My only response upon finding out this show existed was the horror of realizing it was aired on a network called A&E, which once used to stand for “Arts and Entertainment.” But then, the History Channel used to air shows about history instead of about storage lockers and aliens, so basically, I’m just glad I never got cable TV.

But then I noticed that a lot of my conservative Christian friends seemed to admire these hairy beardy guys for their unabashed faith. And then this whole thing happened, and the internet exploded. And my Facebook newsfeed was evenly divided between between my gay and gay-affirming friends who thought Robertson should be run out of town on a rail, and my conservative friends who wanted to rally around and make him the poster child for religious liberty and freedom of speech. To be fair, there was a small minority who steered the middle ground and pointed out, correctly I believe that this was not actually a case of a brave Christian’s free speech being stifled: it was a reality TV “star” acting in character — the character he’s been well-paid to promote and which America has apparently, for some reason, enjoyed watching — and other people responding, predictably, by disagreeing and disapproving.

But most people rushed immediately to the extremes, giving North America something it’s never seen before — a full-on culture war between fundamentalists and secularists in the month of December that has nothing to do with saying “Merry Christmas.”

My own life would not be in any way adversely affected if the entire cast of Duck Dynasty came out of the closet as secret gays, then doused themselves with gasoline and set fire to themselves in a fit of self-righteous self-loathing. But I still felt there was something at the core of this ridiculous teapot-tempest that I wanted to respond to.

I understand that many Christians feel that what really got Phil Robertson in trouble — moreso than his crude anatomical analysis of why he finds homosexuality incredible, moreso than his frankly disturbing comments about African-Americans or any one of a number of other narrow-minded, racist things he said in that interview — is that he quoted a Bible verse that condemns homosexual behavior. In a Western society that’s increasingly open and accepting towards LGBT people, many conservative Christians harbour a deep fear that a time will come when they’re not allowed to quote potentially controversial Bible passages in public or to say “I believe a particular behavior is sinful.”

I get where this fear comes from (although I think it’s groundless) and I am a passionate believer in freedom of thought, speech and expression. Although I, like many other Christians, view the six classic anti-gay Bible texts differently than Phil Robertson does, I absolutely defend his right to read, quote and interpret the Bible as he sees fit. That is as real and valid a right as the right of a gay person to walk down the street wrapped in a rainbow flag. It’s as real as Pamela Anderson’s right to come to Newfoundland and offer sealers money to stop the seal hunt. Freedom of thought, speech and expression means absolutely nothing if you restrict it only to people who agree with you. But also, if you think your right to free speech somehow means that other people can’t disapprove of what you say, and express that disapproval, you haven’t read the manual, or something.

So I hope that my fellow Christians will always be free to quote from the Bible and express their understanding of what it teaches — just as I hope that Muslims, Jews, Hindus, Wiccans, Buddhists, atheists and everyone else will always be free to express their beliefs. When I talk to fellow Christians about how we speak to and about LGBT people, I am talking to people who read the same Bible I do, even if we don’t always read it the same way. I understand that when you say homosexuality is a sin, you’re not necessarily speaking from a place of hatred or bigotry or ignorance. You may be speaking from a place of genuine conviction and a need to share what you believe is truth. And because you’re my people — which I guess means that even Phil Robertson is my people, kind of — I understand your need to speak your truth, and I respect your right to speak it.

I don’t even think it’s my role to try to change anyone’s understanding of Scripture, on this or any other issue. I just ask one thing — and I know Phil Robertson is not listening to me (and other people, whom he might listen to, have probably said the same thing far more clearly and succinctly).  But you might be a fellow conservative Christian, maybe even a fellow Adventist, who is reading this blog, and you might hear what I have to say.

Speak the truth as you understand it, boldly and without fear. But when you speak about sin, think about who’s listening to your words. 

When you say that you believe sex between two men or two women is a sin, imagine those two men or those two women in your mind’s eye, listening to you. If you’re a parent, imagine that’s your child, who’s confided in you that he’s gay. Imagine that your lesbian daughter and her partner are listening to your words. If you don’t have children, imagine it’s your kid brother or sister, or your best friend, hearing you speak. When you choose how to frame your words, what kind of language to use, speak your truth the way you’d say it to them. Use the language you’d want your beloved child, or sister, or friend, to hear.

Go a step farther. When you speak about the Bible and homosexuality, imagine that young person you love as gay or lesbian. Then imagine him or her as a teenager. Imagine a gun in his hand, pointed at his own temple, or a bottle of pills open in her palm. Say what you’d say if you wanted to talk to that young person about God, and at the same time prevent them — because you know you’d want to prevent them — from becoming one more statistic in the numbers of gay and lesbian youth who kill themselves at a higher rate than the rest of the teen and young-adult population.

You have the right to speak freely. So do I; so does your neighbour; so does the person you disagree with most violently. So does Phil Robertson.

Use that right with care. When you, as a Christian, speak about homosexuality, imagine that everything you say is being heard by a vulnerable, hurting, questioning gay or lesbian teen who has trouble believing God loves him or her.

Because believe me, they are listening.