A Wind of Change

"Windy Intuition" by Courtney Lynn

Make no mistake. I’m white. My mother’s parents came to Canada from Denmark and my father’s came from England. I grew up with a mom, a dad, two sisters, several pets, middle class home. Danish flags hung on our Christmas tree each year. A.A. Milne poetry was read to me every night.

An awareness of my privilege was non-existent.

My family.

Never questioned why I shouldn’t walk north of Manitoba Avenue in my hometown of Selkirk. Just knew it was rough up that way. Small houses. Big families. No running water. Same for Winnipeg’s north end. Always made sure to lock our car doors as we drove through.

Didn’t everybody?

Yep. I’m a WASP. Grew up admiring my grandpa. Wasn’t it heroic of him to move to Northern Quebec and build an Anglican church for those Cree people? How lucky were they? What a great adventure for him! He explained to me that they needed him to correct their animistic thinking.

I listened in awe.

Couldn’t understand why the kids that came to my home in the middle of the night hated me so much. We were good enough to provide emergency foster care for them, weren’t we? I just didn’t want them to touch my stuff. They didn’t have to glare and swear at me like that. And then threaten me at school the next day.

Geez, I didn’t do anything.

Except.

I’m a racist. A polite Canadian racist.

But I’m changing.

Over time, I’ve learned about colonization. Stolen land. Broken promises. Residential schools. Families torn apart. Tiny boys and girls, removed, stripped, scrubbed, whitened. Pins through their tongues if they spoke their own language. Parents in tipis waiting outside the fence, desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of the children they loved. And the historical shame that became embedded in their hearts.

I’ve learned from my Indigenous students. I never thought the college I worked at was scary, till they pointed out that it was an imposing, intimidating institution. Looked like a modern day residential school. I didn’t know they had to pay their cab fare before the driver would take them anywhere. I was unaware their grandmothers had been raped by priests. That their brothers had been driven out to the middle of nowhere and dumped by the police. In the wintertime. And if these college students went for drinks after school on a Friday night, they would be propositioned by men, assuming they were for sale.

At school, one wore a t-shirt that read, “Got privilege?” and I realized I did.

I had more to learn.

Sage.

So I shut up during sharing circles. I spoke only when I held the grandfather. (Oh yeah, I learned that rocks are grandfathers.) And I attended ceremonies. Listened to elders. Sweated. Feasted. And beyond the tragedy, I discovered the beauty of traditional First Nations culture. The respect for nature. Love of children. Playful teasing. Courage. Strength. Honesty.

Medicine picking.

And finally, I felt ready to learn my spirit name. Nervous, I could hear the voices of some family and friends in my head, jeering “you’re not Aboriginal you know” and I wondered aloud if a whitey like me should even ask for my name. But the elder assured me that the teachings were for everybody.

She said, “You are Wind Spirit Woman. Like the wind, you can travel where you want, do what you need to do, say what you need to say. The judgements of others cannot stop you. Will not stop you. You are Wind Spirit Woman.”

Wind Spirit Woman

I cried.

Now I know that my words and actions should create change. Can make a difference. Howling in grief, I will blow you over with my frustration. Or cool you down with a light breezy story. I will surround you with gale force laughter. I might be gentle. Sometimes biting. Soothing. Fierce.

I am Wind Spirit Woman.

I have been changed.

Make no mistake. I will bring change.

Star blanket with my spirit colours by Viola at Neechi Niche.

© Conni Cartlidge, November 2015

The Christian, the Conservative and Me

One of us goes to church on Sunday mornings. She believes in God and Jesus. She is comforted and uplifted by the words the minister shares. She sings the hymns with a happy heart.

Two of us stay home on weekends and sleep in.

One of us leans to the right. She works hard and expects others to as well. She is disappointed with the last election as she watches the Liberals take control.

Two of us cheer Trudeau’s victory and feel optimistic about the future.

One of us questions society and supports activism. She will live in solitude rather than follow the flock. She gets frustrated with herself and others.

Two of us laugh and keep it light.

We three are friends.

We live our lives.

Side by side by side.

Loving our families. Raising our kids. Building our homes. Mourning our losses.

In different ways.

Together.

Peace is possible. 

Now.

©Conni Cartlidge, 2015

Dwane 1979-2015

Sometimes a student shuffles quietly into the classroom

Eyes downcast

Voice barely a whisper

Self-deprecating

Unsure

Shyly makes a suggestion

Then says, “No, just kidding.”

But not kidding

Dismissing his unique idea

Before someone else does

Explaining his own weaknesses and mistakes

As the instructor looks on in awe

At his creativity

His success

And his humility

Sometimes a student

Is a gentle

Loving

Unforgettable

Teacher.

Dwane and me. 2012

©Conni Cartlidge, 2015

Selkirk Citizens

My parents live in a small Manitoba city. The community foundation asked for nominations for “Citizen of the Year” and I thought my folks could easily win. According to the foundation, they didn’t. But to me, the community wins with these two as citizens.

Here is my nomination letter.

Wedding Day!

 I cannot nominate just one. My parents have been a pair for more than sixty-five years. They are interdependent individuals, helping each other and their community in so many ways.

They are Mary and Al Cartlidge.

They moved my sisters and me to Selkirk on July 1, 1960. Sutherland Avenue was a new development, filled with young families and exciting expectations.

Dad worked at the Selkirk Mental Health Centre, first as a bursar and then as the administrator. While Mom stayed home, she did occasionally work at Skills Unlimited, a workshop for patients from the Centre. I observed my parents’ open-mindedness and acceptance, Dad knowing all the patients by name and Mom letting me play with the workers at Skills. I was probably quite a distraction, but I recall having two friends, Charlie and Ross, who let me help them assemble boxes; an honour to a five year old girl!

Young family.

During the 60s and 70s, Mom and Dad were members of Christ Church where they taught Sunday School and created the popular teen group “Anglican Acorns.” Though I was too young to be a member, I have great memories of the group’s dances, walk-a-thons, and even a musical production!

During that time, Dad was a football coach for many teams in Selkirk. Now-grown men still come up to Dad with stories and memories of his time with them on cold fall days, practicing out on the field.

Mom did her part at that time by being the female chaperone for small groups of teenagers that were traveling with their teachers out west; kids that would probably not otherwise ever leave Selkirk. Mom and Dad also opened our home to children needing emergency foster care. I observed respect and compassion for others.

In the 70s and early 80s, Mom became the first teacher assistant in the Lord Selkirk School Division, working at Devonshire and Robert Smith schools. Her favourite assignment was outdoor duty where she always stuck up for the underdog. From her time outdoors, she wrote her monthly column for the school newsletter, “Playground Potpourri”, filled with funny kids’ quotes she overheard while on duty. Dad changed careers at this time and became a teacher, working at Robert Smith and St. Andrews schools, along with a year of teaching in Australia. People again still approach my parents, saying “I remember you! You were my teacher! Do you remember me?” And then a funny or sometimes touching story will be shared about my parents’ actions or reactions to any number of school mishaps or triumphs. And I observed appreciation and support for others.

When my parents retired, they maintained their connection with the community. Dad organized, and participated in Terry Fox runs for schools in Selkirk, and helped with swimming programs when female teachers needed a male helper. Mom and Dad shared their love of tennis with Selkirk kids, offering lessons to anyone who wanted to play. Up until two years ago, Dad still rode his bicycle in the Selkirk Terry Fox Run, too! And of course, Mom would cheer him on. Dad stayed involved in the school system as a volunteer reader with children at Ruth Hooker School and, for many years, Mom worked at the breakfast programs at Robert Smith and Ruth Hooker schools. I learned about sharing energy and enthusiasm. Dad also volunteered with the Selkirk Food Bank, driving the truck to pick up food. In later years, he took my son along to help, passing on the lesson of generosity. Meals on Wheels also benefitted from Mom and Dad’s helpfulness for many years.

Saying good-bye to their home.

Two years ago, my parents had to leave their beloved Sutherland Avenue home, now lined with mature trees and new sets of families, to move into a seniors apartment. They finally admitted they were senior citizens, so they got involved with the Gordon Howard Centre.  Mom volunteers two - three times a month at the front desk, and Dad attends activities twice a week. He will still teach any and all willing players the game of crokinole! Health issues are beginning to slow them down but I have watched them throughout my lifetime and have seen how each small act can make a difference.

My parents, Mary and Al Cartlidge, now in their eighties, deserve to be recognized for the positive impact they have had on so many people in the Selkirk area. This twosome has taught me, and many others what it is to be an open-minded, caring, and respectful citizen. Bravo!

Mary & Al

©Conni Cartlidge, 2015

The Dementor

Dementia

The dementor

Feeds on his happiness

Tangles up his brain

Sucks his soul.

Can the memory of my loving childhood

Be the patronus charm

That fights this despair?

©Conni Cartlidge, 2015

Grown-Ups Read Things They Wrote as Kids: Camp Wapatek 1968

 Inspired by the CBC project “Grown-Ups Read Things They Wrote as Kids”, these are my letters and photos from Anglican Island’s Camp Wapatek. I attended for one week when I was eleven years old.

Before the confusion of adolescence and addictions.

Before the understanding of feminism and atheism.

An awkward innocent time.

Some scenery on an island near Camp Wapatek. July/68

July 6/68

(Mon.)  (Sat.)

Dear Mom & Dad,

I’m having a pretty good time here. The girls are pretty nice here, although there are a few sickening ones. The name of our cabin is Harding. Our cabin counsellor is called “Old Yeller”.  She’s nice but can’t handle some of the kids. I’ll write to you tomorrow.

(Sun.)

It is 12:05 in the (morning) afternoon and I am ready to go to breakfast and then on to church. I just got back from peeling potatoes. Ugh!!!! These are the names of the people in my cabin:

1.    Marybeth (Mouse)

2.    Karen (Old Yeller)

3.    Kally (Kally)

4.    Jane (Giggles)

5.    Judi (Chips)

6.    Valerie (Fuzzy)

7.    Kathleen (Snoopy)

8.    Karen (Ka Cey)

I just got back from church. It is called the Outdoor Chapel. I had my first wine in church today. I’m really having a great time now. Jane and I are best of friends. We are going to write to each other when we get home. I will write to you this afternoon. (By the way I’m not very homesick.)

This is the camp’s cheer:

Chihee, Chiha, Chiha, Chihee

We are the gang from the A.S.C.,

For our camp we all are fans,

We’ll tell the world we’re the Anglicans!

A-N-G-L-I-C-A-N-S

Haroo! Harah! Huray!

Write back soon. Sorry about the sloppy writing & mixed-up letter.

Love from,

Conni

P.S. I got my camp crest.

The Anglicana with some campers in it. 1968

Mon.

Dear Mom & Dad,

I’m having a great time at camp. I hope Shirley & Neil’s baby is doing fine. Lucky Nancy gets to stay at Auntie Alice’s. Boy! My bus trip was fine. (I got my camp crest.) We got to camp by noon just in time for a scrumptious lunch. The weather is pretty good but today it is pretty cool. When I had swimming lessons today they told me to jump off the dock into 8 ft. deep water. I did so and got all choked up. I could hardly breathe. The teachers pulled me out and told me to go and get some warm clothes on. I did. Mrs. Warren came over and asked me if I was all right, and talked to me. I really like her. Tonight there is going to be a dance. On the first night we stayed up till 3:30 in the morning. We had a ball. The next day Old Yeller got sick and everybody was sure she would have to leave. Were we scared! Fortunately she didn’t have to leave. I hear it’s sort of lonely without kids around. Boy!, wait till I get home. One of the activities I’m in is Charm School! Boy, do I need it. I’ll write to Thora on my last letter so I won’t miss anything! Well I better go now.

Love from,

Conni

P.S. Thanks for the nice letter.

P.S.S. Sorry about the sloppy writing.

My good old cabin "Harding".  July/68

Thurs.

Dear Mom & Dad,

I am a little homesick and am looking forward to coming home. There is only one kind of postcard here but I will buy that one today at tuck. Today we are going to another island and going hiking and swimming. I have a surprise for you which I made in crafts. I am enclosing my letter to Thora, that is why my letter is short. I had better go now. See you on Saturday!

Love from,

Conni

Me on the island we had our picnic on. A double exposure. July/68

Disappeared

Two friends disappeared this year.

One retired and died in the winter. The other retired and died in the summer.

Anne was kind, gentle, soft-spoken. Always a smile to share.

Dawne was fierce, powerful, tough. With wisdom to pass on to others.

They are gone now.

In my retirement, opportunities are waiting for me.

I can become a foster parent, providing a welcoming home for vulnerable children.

This would make Anne happy.

I have been accepted into the University of Surrey in England where I can earn my law degree. I can fight for human rights.

Dawne would approve.

I can do anything I want.

Perhaps nothing for a while.

I will celebrate my stupid luck. I am alive.

In my retirement I will try to honour these women.

Disappeared from sight.

But always in my heart.        

                           

School's out.

©Conni Cartlidge, 2015

Two Sides

Trans.

Double mastectomy in July! So excited!

A changed life.

Straight.

Mastectomy and reconstructive surgery. So painful.

A life.

I learn from both.

©Conni Cartlidge, 2015

Advice

“Think before you write!” she called out to me from the backdoor as I skipped off to my grade two math test.

“Think before you write!” she reminded me from the kitchen landing as I stormed off to my grade nine science quiz.

“Think before you write!” she encouraged me through the long distance phone call as I trudged off to my third year cognitive psychology exam.

“Think before you write!”

Her voice in my head as I prepare classes, mark assignments, document behaviours, complete application forms.

“Think before you write!”

Her voice in my heart as I compose newspaper notices of celebration and sadness, create letters of love, pen life stories, sign my name.

As I write.

I think.

Thanks Mom.

 

Mom & me.

©Conni Cartlidge, 2015

#DearMe

My letter to my younger self for International Women’s Day 2015:

Dear Conni,

It is nice to have manners. Saying please and thank you at the dinner table, opening doors for others, apologizing if you mess up…. courtesy for those around you can go a long way in promoting kind respect.

But know this…sometimes you should not be polite! You should be downright rude.

Do not say, “yes please” to the old man offering you a glass of vodka. And a kiss. When you are fourteen. March out the door and slam it in his face. And then tell somebody you trust what he has done.

Do not say, “I’m sorry” to the person that slaps you across the face. When you have been hurt, scream and rant. Whenever you need to. And you will need to sometimes.

Do not allow harmful people into your life because you feel socially obligated. Some folks are just plain nasty. You do not have to try and fix them. It’s okay to say, “no, you are not welcome here.”

Walk on the grass.

Disagree with teachers.

Stand up.

Speak your mind.

Say no. Without explanation or apology.

Manners. Use only as needed.

Love always,

Young Conni

Conni




















©Conni Cartlidge, 2015