sassykg • April 23, 2020

There is not much doubt that the corona virus pandemic has far reaching implications for today and for the days to come. The whole world has been forced to adjust to new norms and different ways of interacting. When making connections with my adult friends, the topic of conversation inevitably begins and ends with how we are coping with self isolation. But what are our young children thinking and feeling during this changed time?

On a day last spring, I recall the sound of my grandchildren’s laughter echoing through the spring afternoon . School was finished for the day and our crescent was alive with the sounds of some of my grand kids and several of their young buddies enjoying the sunshine and its accompanying warmth. The screeching of bicycles tires, the swooshing of skateboard wheels and the slapping noise of hockey pucks into nets set up on newly dried driveways, created a clamour that signalled spring’s arrival. Kids rode side by side and gave each other high fives to recognize physical accomplishments. The giggles rang out, mingled with a smattering of loud shouts of encouragement and challenges to match each others’ adept performances.

That is a tender remembrance of what many of us have taken for granted – everyday carefree activities that hopefully we can recreate in times to come. It represents a time that we eagerly hope to return to as soon as we are safely able. And it exemplifies an easygoing childhood, free from the pressures of an adult world.

In some ways, my grandchildren seem not to have adjusted their childhood play. Yesterday, my husband and and I were finishing one of our walking routines. As we entered our street we could hear familiar laughter coming from our son and daughter-in-law’s front yard. On their porch, my three grandsons could barely look up as we called to them from a safe distance. So engrossed were they in their family project- tie dying tee shirts – that our attempts to chat fell on deaf ears. I couldn’t help but smile as I remembered when tie dying in 1970s was the fashion. I never expected the practice to resurface as a result of the virus.

What is glaringly different for these young people is the sharing of good times with their friends and family. The older boys, ages 10 and 8, seem to understand the need to social distance and are careful to maintain a safe six feet from others. Our 6 year old little guy tries his best but is exuberant and needs to be reminded that he cannot come close to share his exciting stories. He must be missing this once taken for granted connection.

In the Palm Desert area, my youngest grandchildren are creating their own special response to self isolation. My four year old grandson’s project involves he and dad setting up an aquarium with exotic fish, including to my grandson’s delight, a shark! He and my son visited the pet store that allowed one set of patrons in at a time. How odd it must seem to him to adhere to these restrictive guidelines. As much as he will enjoy his fish friends, I am sure he would love to run and jump with his usual playmates.

And his sister, my only granddaughter, had one of her little girl dreams come true. Her mother, owner of a local jewelry store, fearlessly managed to pierce her daughter’s ears. I viewed a video that recorded the event. What a brave little girl, barely flinching when the piercing instrument made its mark on her tiny earlobes. Yes, she could share her experience remotely but I can only imagine what more delight could have been hers if she could show off her new earrings in person!

These stories involve young children. The kids have found ways to have fun despite the imposed limitations. But missing is the opportunity to share their delightful time in person with others. What must they be thinking deep down?

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By K Grieve May 12, 2025
My mother Marjorie ensured I grew up Catholic - deeply, thoroughly, unmistakably Catholic. The kind of Catholic that meant school uniforms, fish on Fridays, and Mass every Sunday whether you wanted to be there or not. But more than rituals and doctrine, what stayed with me - even now, when I’m no longer a practicing Catholic - is the former Pope Francis’s heartfelt call to justice, unity and looking out for the persecuted and forgotten. Those are still part of me, even if my church attendance record would suggest otherwise. I went to an all girls Catholic school, and as I recall, it was in grade 11 that I first ran afoul of my faith. Sister Agatha (pseudonym) taught us religious studies that year and she gave us an assignment to present an aspect of faith to the class. Now I can’t claim that I was a regular reader of Time magazine. But somehow I came across that publication that posed the question “Is God Dead?” on its cover. Perhaps I saw the cover of Time on a newspaper stand in the grocery store. Whatever! I somehow managed to notice the publication’s headline asking “Is God Dead?”. That sounded unabashedly provocative and at that stage of my life , I was steadfastly taking any opportunity to provoke. In light of that, I asked myself: “Why not give a talk that caused a bit of a stir? My topic was solidified: “Is God Dead?” I was naive not expect it to spark recrimination, not to mention bigger questions about change, meaning and permanence. I spoke to the class confidently and with determination, as if I really understood the topic. Waxing poetic, I somehow managed to mention some well known Jesuit priests, the Berrigan brothers, Daniel and Phillip who were antiwar activists and who came to to be part of a Catholic movement know as liberation theologians. (There is much more the the Berrigan brothers’ story. If interested read “Disarmed and Dangerous:The Radical Life and Times of Daniel and Phillip Berrigan, Brothers in Religious Faith and Disobedience”) To say the least, Sister Agatha did not think I was being clever. She was outraged. The next day she approached me in the hallway. Menacingly wagging her finger in my face, she declared I was in deep danger of losing my faith. She followed up with a phone call to my mother reiterating her concern. I was straying from the path. I might be forever lost. My mother - actually to my surprise - rose to my defense and stood up for me. She told Sister Agatha that I was thinking, questioning and engaging. “Isn’t that what faith should be?” she pronounced. “If belief can’t survive a teenager asking questions, maybe the problem isn’t the teenager. WOW!!Thanks Mom. That moment has stuck with me my whole life — not because of the challenging repercussions but because I learned what it is like to hold both tradition and curiosity in the same hand. To cherish where you came from, even as you dispute some parts of it. And despite all my doubt, despite my distance from the Church, there is one Catholic habit I have never shaken: Praying to St. Anthony. You may have heard of him? St. Anthony. He is the patron saint of lost things. You lose your keys, your wallet, a ring, an earring - you pray to St. Anthony. “Tony, Tony, look around, something’s lost and must be found.” I have endless stories of how praying to St Anthony for lost objects has mysteriously recovered the misplaced. The most recent incident involves my husband who for three days could not find his passport. Searching everywhere, retracing his steps, Ross was stymied. He carries what I call a “murse” aka a man purse. Consumed with retrieving his passport, Ross called everywhere he could remember where he had been with his passport. Interspersed with that, he kept rechecking his murse - like about 4 times. At this point I intervened. Pray to St. Anthony I told him. And I insisted he promise to donate money to a charity of his choice. Failure to pay up results in St. Anthony striking you from his “list”. “ So I was thinking $25.00” Ross said. “No way,” I replied. “A passport is worth at least $200.” It was not long after this conversation that Ross took one last dive into his murse. He came to me with an Cheshire Cat on his face. The passport was found! I have no logical explanation for this phenomena. But I have story after story where I swore I had looked everywhere, given up hope - and then, sometimes minutes or even months after that whispered prayer, the lost object was found. A necklace under a rug. A set of keys in a pocket I’d checked five times. A photo wedged between pages. Coincidence? Maybe. But I keep praying. And things keep showing up. That’s faith, in a way I think. Or maybe it’s just hope expressed differently. Either way, I find it comforting. So no, I don’t go to Mass every week. I don’t memorize encyclicals or make religious retreats. (Although I can, to this day, recite almost all of the Baltimore catechism-including listing the seven gifts of the Holy Ghost). But I do believe in social justice. I believe in community. I believe in standing up when someone tries to shut you down. I believe in mystery, and ritual, and that strange feeling when something lost is found again. And I still reach out to St. Anthony when I’ve misplaced my car keys. Some things, it seems, you never really lose.
By K Grieve April 22, 2025
Winnipeg: A Burger Joint With A Story You can’t ever underestimate the influence of where and when you grew up. Childhood memories and experiences help shape our world view and create a blueprint for life. My childhood time in my hometown of Winnipeg Manitoba is certainly no exception! It is filled with positive nostalgia and yes, more than a few regrets. But this story is about fond moments and lasting impressions. Nested in the heart of Canada’s prairies, Winnipeg has recently been called one of our country’s best kept secrets (Winnipeg: A Hidden Gem in the Heart of Canada). At its center lies The Forks, an historic meeting place at the confluence of the Red and Assiniboine rivers. This vibrant area is alive with multiple family-friendly features from a children’s museum to funky boutiques and the Winnipeg Goldeyes baseball stadium. A focal feature of the Forks is the Canadian Museum for Human Rights.
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