https://meanderings-with-trudy.simplecast.com/episodes/meander-with-sylvie-fitzgerald
Tag: life
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In Conversation with Kate Elman Wilcott

I first met Kate in the home of a mutual friend a few days before our first-born sons, both redheads, set off on a grand adventure, the public school system. I remember we talked about phonics and kindergarten teachers, A Mrs. Fox, and a Ms. Roach, aptly named for the wild animal tamers they turned out to be. ‘Let the Wild Rumpus’ take a seat…at least until recess. While the boys toiled at school, we packed up our preschoolers and headed out to each other’s homes, together with a few other like-minded women, and while the littles mingled, we formed a small wolf pack of our own. We called ourselves the Coffee Mommies, but don’t let the name fool you…there was enough intellectual energy and collective sweat equity sat around those suburban kitchen tables to take over the world, and still be home in time to help with homework.
I learned a lot about Kate Elman Wilcott during those years. I can tell you that she is a builder. After earning a degree in Theatre from Dalhousie University, Kate spent the 90’s in Halifax, returning to Saint John in 2001, where she continued to build and expand on an eclectic teaching career in theatre, notably through her very successful not-for-profit venture, Interaction, a children’s theatre.
Kate has built innumerable theatre sets, and produced countless theatrical productions, while simultaneously engineering a thriving playground for the arts in our city, principally for the youngest members of our community, and in doing so, has helped to build confidence, self-esteem, empathy, and a lifelong appreciation of the arts in a cohort of young minds.
“Training in the arts is so good for kids. If you just focus on the people you’re working with and build a strong group dynamic, creating a safe space where people can take risks and figure out what works and what doesn’t… if you just focus on that process, then the product is guaranteed to be great. At the same time, you’re always working to deadline…the curtain must go up. I was very much conditioned to work to that deadline because at 7 o’clock on a Friday night at the Imperial Theatre with 600 people in the audience, the show must go on. That’s great training for any career.”
As the former Arts and Culture Coordinator for the City of Saint John, and a recognized leader in community development within the region, Kate has worked as a teaching artist, producer, facilitator, collaborator, and director. Her professional and volunteer experience includes policy development, university lecturer, developing public safety protocols, organizing community events, fundraising, and even touring with Symphony New Brunswick. She has performed in an award-winning film, played the bass, trumpet, piano, drums, and guitar in a series of bands, and was named a YWCA Woman of Distinction. She sits on the Harbour Lights Board and is currently at work writing a series of stories based on anecdotes from her studios.
Presently serving as our Member of Legislature for Saint John West Lancaster, Kate is at the helm of a very busy constituency and is out working hard most days to build a better province for all of us to enjoy. At an age when her peers are winding down and looking to divest responsibility, Kate, with her deep-rooted work ethic and sturdy moral compass, is taking on a greater community role, exemplifying the credo of a favourite literary detective, “Everybody counts, or nobody counts.” Kate is an honourable human being, a neighbour you can count on…the kind you want to run for office and represent you, to sift through the politics of competing interests, to search for solutions, and build a better world where we can all belong. She has my respect, she has my friendship, and she will always have my vote.
Tell me your life story in seven sentences or less?
Ok… so, let’s go backwards for the origin story. I’m the MLA for Saint John West-Lancaster and have served in this role for just over a year, and prior to that I was the Arts and Culture Coordinator for the City of Saint John. For 18 years I ran a non-profit arts organization that focused on community development through the arts, which I founded in 2001 when I moved back to Saint John from Nova Scotia. During those years I also raised my two children and a couple thousand more that I worked with in my studios and in schools throughout southern New Brunswick. I spent the 90s in Halifax, studying and working at Dalhousie University, and professional theatres and schools across the province; that’s also when I met my favourite person in the world who’s been by my side since 1992…that’s my husband, Mike. And before that I was a west side kid who loved to climb trees, and swim at Dominion Park, and play music, and act in plays, and play sports. For the first two weeks of my life, I lived at 53 Elliott Row, before the Elmans moved to the west side, where I’ve lived ever since.
What is the best thing about getting older?
Ok so when I was young, you’re often focused on getting to move on to the next phase of life…so middle school to high school, or graduation from university to the career world. But when I hit 50, I realized that the best part of life is who I am right now. It changes… I change each day with new experiences, but I enjoy being the age I am now, and while I know that I have opportunities ahead of me, I also know each day is to be savoured. And by savoured, I mean we have work to do, and we have to get it done. I fully feel with every ounce of my being that we’re here to serve and make the world better for each other, whether it’s through charity, or making people feel they belong, or nurturing, or entertaining, or problem solving. It’s our legacy and our purpose. I also embarrass far less than I did as a younger woman, and I like that.
What is the worst thing about getting older?
The little physical things I guess, that remind you that you’ve lived a good life. The aches and pains remind us that we’re still here…some of them I wish I didn’t have. My dad is 94, his sister and brother-in-law are 92 and 93, and they have such amazing humour and chutzpah…a certain mindset. I can only hope to be as blessed.
One of the absolute worst things about getting older are the targeted ads on social media. The algorithms that think I really want to do chair yoga, or buy progressive lenses, and I really want to lose 30 pounds this month, or help my daughter raise her 13 kids on the farm. It’s insulting.
What would you title this chapter of your life?
GSD (Get Shit Done)
If you could retain or retrieve one quality from your youth, what would it be?
The boundless energy and time. I like to think I have managed to hang on to the inner workings of youth. Maybe it’s because I spent so many years playing with young people as my career, or maybe it’s because age…ahem maturity, never seemed like a good enough reason to stop playing, and that’s probably because my coworkers were teenagers for many years and that was very nourishing. I’ve never given aging a lot of thought … it was never something I placed above being genuine and kind…or just being myself. My grandmother lived to 94 and she lived with us in her 90’s, and I remember in my 20’s shooting baskets in the driveway and she would come out and shoot baskets with me and to me that was normal. My mom who died at aged 84 was doing yoga until the very end and had a chin up bar in her closet. I think I’ve managed to hang on to the playfulness of youth, because that’s how I was raised and that’s the perspective I have, but it’s the time and energy that is imbalanced. I think of my father, a mischievous charismatic prankster at 94. I guess we never appreciate what we have now, comparing ourselves to our 20-year-old selves, but why? Sure thirty-five-year-olds have it good, but they don’t realize they have it good.
What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned so far?
Oh, this was a hard one. Living a public life brings with it so much, but at the end of the day just knowing that you were honest and true and worked damn hard, is the greatest way to fall asleep. That’s not a lesson I needed to learn myself but one I need to remind myself of when the work gets hard to turn off. I wore the weight of a lot of little people’s lives and their turmoils for decades, and later as a municipal worker with a portfolio working with various demographics and files, and now the lives of constituents and people all the over the province. There will always be buzz and easy trolling comments flying around, but I know I’m solid with people close to me who are good, kind, and honest. And people can disappoint you, but that’s on them more than it’s on you. At the end of the day, we have our own truth and I sleep well at night.
Do you have a favourite quote?
It’s a quote by Viola Spolin, who was the premiere leader in the modern improv world, Spolin was a large influence on my approach to creating with others, and I still use her ideas today.
“Through spontaneity we are re-formed into ourselves. It creates an explosion that for the moment frees us from handed-down frames of reference, memory choked with old facts and information and undigested theories and techniques of other people’s findings. Spontaneity is the moment of personal freedom when we are faced with reality, and see it, explore it and act accordingly. In this reality the bits and pieces of ourselves function as an organic whole. It is the time of discovery, of experiencing, of creative expression.”
I spent almost 30 years teaching and directing in studios and rehearsal halls, and the majority of that time was focused on play and intuition. I also used this theory to work in non-theatre environments such as corporate groups that needed a refresher on group dynamics, or classrooms, and community groups. Sometimes a person can get so bogged down on “the way it’s always been done” or “the end goal has to be…” or “they just don’t behave the way I want them to…” and this mindset of comfort can prevent progress or reaching the goal.
Do you have a favourite word?
‘Yes. Well, I have far too many favourite words but a word I use a lot is a Yiddish word, chutzpah. Chutzpah doesn’t just mean character, charisma or moxy…it’s very nuanced, like a lot of Yiddish words. You know it when you see it. Sometimes it can mean a little mischievous, sometimes it can be a bit darker, but it’s always said in a positive way. My dad and his friends at The Villa… they have a lot of chutzpah.’ I ask Kate if she has chutzpah. She smiles in a reflective, playful way and says, ‘yes, I have chutzpah, and I can up the chutzpah ante when needed.’
Describe your perfect day.
Well, I thought it was last Thanksgiving Sunday and then I stepped on a nest of yellow jacket hornets… but really it was a beautiful day. We brought our Thanksgiving dinner up to the cottage. I think everybody was at peace that day…until the peace was dispatched by the yellow jackets. A perfect day for me is a day surrounded by the people I love; walking along city streets and popping into good coffee shops or a pub; being in a studio and creating with people; playing in the woods; learning; great conversations; time spent with my children; and a great meal made by Mike, which is every day.
If you could have tea with anyone, real or fictional, dead, or alive, who would it be and what would you talk about?
Well, first of all, I wouldn’t have tea, I think I’d like to host a dinner party…Mike would cook. There’s a great play called Top Girls by Carol Churchill, and the second half of the play is a dinner party with all sorts of more obscure famous chicks: Pope Joan, Dull Gret, Isabella Bird, Lady Niko…I saw the play when I was 22, it was staged when I was at Dal, and I have often pondered who I’d invite over the years. I prefer a feisty dinner party to a quaint tea.
I would absolutely love to spend time with my mom, and my mother-in-law who passed away in August, both of whom still had so many stories to tell, and my grandmothers as well… I would love to be able to talk to them at this point in my life. My mother had me when she was 43 and she passed when I was 40 so I didn’t get to experience that relationship as a more tenured woman. I would love to share some of my more recent life events with her. Both of my grandmothers were kick-ass women who quietly but boldly broke the glass ceilings of the early 20th century in their own ways. My paternal grandmother was one of the first women to drive in Saint John, and my mom’s mom ran a business.
You know there is a great photo wall in Fredericton in Chancery Place of all the female MLAs who served in New Brunswick, some living, and some passed… I’d like to invite a few of the pioneer female MLA’s as well, and at the head of the table I would seat our current premier, Susan Holt.
Tell me three things that bring you joy.
Hearing people laugh. I like following the lives of the kids that I’ve worked with over the last 35 years, seeing them grow, and following their adventures as adults. I’m also extremely happy organizing something in the community and then standing back and seeing people connect and find their joy…that brings me joy.
I absolutely love the camaraderie my little family has. We don’t have much time together lately but those stolen 48 hours when there’s a weekend visit or a stopover are the absolute best.
Name a guilty pleasure.
I don’t think I feel guilty about anything, but I do enjoy taking naps during movies and a cozy night in…they are few and far between these days.
Do you believe in life after death? What does it look like?
I believe that we stick around through the energy and work that we do while we’re here. It’s like we are little ripples in time. I know that there are people who came before us, either blood relatives or mentors who are living on in the work I do, in lessons I’ve passed along to children who are now teachers and parents, so if that is living on after we die then yes, there is a life after death. It’s a very agnostic way of looking at things, and I also think it’s important to focus on the here and now.
What would you like your eulogy to say?
Oh, I couldn’t possibly start with a eulogy…it’ll be a long party. But the epitaph would probably read “….and curtain” which can signify the end or the beginning. The curtain opens and closes the play.
Authors note:
I have included an additional question to the LOLIW interview this session: What would you title this chapter of your life? I was curious how previous interviewees might answer as well…so I asked them.
Sr. Rhona Gulliver
“Wisdom, Wit, and Woolies”
Dr. Margaret Anne Smith
“The Intentional Years”
(Iwona) Maria Kubacki
“Ch-Ch-Changes”
Margo Beckwith Byrne
“Coming Full Circle”
Shova Rani Dhar
“Renaissance”
Jan Lucy
“Revival”
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Solvitur Ambulando…It Is Solved by Walking

“Walking, I am listening to a deeper way. Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me. Be still, they say. Watch and listen. You are the result of the love of thousands.” – Linda Hogan (Native American writer )
“‘But it isn’t easy ‘ said Pooh. ‘Poetry and hums arent things which you get, they’re things that get you. And all you can do is go where they can find you.’”- A.A. Milne
If I’ve ever invited you on a walk then there is a fair chance you’re someone I love very much…family, and a handful of friends I keep close, like “a cloak, to mind (my) life.”(O’Donahue) I don’t walk, as our ancestors once did, to arrive at a particular destination, nor can I honestly say that I walk to safeguard my health, although, as a nurse, I know it to be powerful medicine, and an essential practice in the Little old lady in waiting’s handbook on how best to live a long and healthy life. For me, walking is a sacred sojourn, like writing in a journal, or sitting down for a cup of tea on a busy day to savour a last bit of cake; it is a solitary ritual, a reflective exercise, a rich, sensual, fortifying experience, that grounds me in the present moment, and reveals a deeper way of looking, illuminating a world just beyond what our sedentary eyes can capture. Walking is a portal to the natural world where time may stand still, where we may even disappear for a while, as our unconscious unfurls, and insights and creative leaps lay waiting on well-trod paths like so many flowers to be gathered, an endless bouquet of ideas and dreams waiting to be revealed and rehomed.
I have always believed a regular walking regime to be a salve for most of life’s ailments. All those feel-good neurotransmitters dormant and eager for activation. I won’t bore you with the overly marketed health benefits…well, maybe just a quick review. Just as the doctors have always preached, walking, even a little, can significantly increase your lifespan, and reduce your biological age (marginally more appealing to the chronologically disadvantaged). Walking also lowers your risk of cardiovascular disease, diabetes, and depression. If that’s not enough to persuade you, there is also statistically significant evidence that walking lowers your stress level and reduces rumination and negative thinking. Wait… I mean I’m down with the stress management, but I’m kind of trauma bonded with the rumination and negative thinking, that’s half my material. Whatever…you get the idea…the health zealots are spot on, walking is good for you, body, and mind…but when has that ever been sufficient incentive to lace up, or drop the fork, if you see what I mean…again with the negative thinking and rumination. Let’s try again. Little old lady in waiting to little old lady in waiting, post-menopausal women who walk 4 hours a week have a 41% lower risk of hip fracture. I like that. That’s positive…right? I’m not sure where they get these exact numbers but I found it on my socials so it must be true.
Health considerations aside, here is what I know about walking from my own clinical trials, population of one. No matter the setting for my walk: be it the sleepy, maturely tree’d, largely childless suburb that I call home, or any of the woodland parks scattered liberally in our beautiful picture province, or possibly the sea paths that wind along the miles of coastland in our stunning port city, nestled on the Bay of Fundy, or even a streetscape in the heritage block of Canada’s oldest incorporated city; a walk out of doors is a way through the wardrobe to a bountiful sensual world, where a steady stream of eye candy and auditory enchantments remind us to embrace the wild animal within, an invitation to howl for all the little old ladies in waiting, sat at home disguised in grandma’s clothes, both figuratively, and literally some days. We are meant to move our bodies, we our built to explore on foot, our ancestors walking ten times the distances we typically cover today.
Outside, in the natural world I am routinely transported by the startling beauty of the Disneyesque birds that sing in choirs on my quiet street, their sweet sad tunes in perfect pitch; or the spiral dance of autumnal leaves twirling upward as though commanded by the invisible hand of some ancient sorceress, reciting a spell to safeguard the woodland wildlife from winter on its way. I hope she remembers to include me and mine in her magic. The animals nearby have a narrative all their own as they go about their daily errands and I nod to them when we meet: the black-sheep squirrel who lives in the tree at the front of my house, alone and happy to be so, or the family of deer who eat from my neighbours unpicked apple tree, heavy with fruit. I met, by chance, a beautiful fox not long ago, but neither of us had time to stop.
Near the sea, I always envision I am walking with my dead relatives and even imagine I can hear their whispers in the wind and on the waves. Walking in the woods, the air is perfumed with spruce and pine and something more elusive that smells like childhood and brings me back to a more innocent age, when the scariest monster I could imagine lived under my bed, not some beast who throws Gatsby themed balls, an evil, self-proclaimed king whose every soundbite is some variation of “let them eat cake.” In the woods, while I’m walking at least, the king is dead…long live all the wild beings who walk this beautiful planet in peace.
Saunter, stroll, scuttle, scale or stride, I walk faithfully, alone, into the halcyon summer breeze of fresh cut grass and full strength sunny days, or the warm spring rain that bursts gardens into bloom, or my favourite, the crisp autumnal harvest days scented with chimney smoke and alight with golden interior tapestries of life, the window frames of our neighbours homes in the gloaming, or out into the first snowfall of winter, a crampon crawl up and down frozen streets, footfalls in virgin snow where I spy the tracks of smaller species, freshly awoken from a winter’s sleep. Garlanded in cap and scarf, mittened, earmuffed, and balaclava’d, I’m adrift, a snowman flying through the air…la la la la la laaaaa.
Outside, enveloped by ancient all-knowing trees, or surrounded by heritage architecture older than three little old ladies in waiting counted together, or stood at the thin space adjacent to the sea, there is a clarity of mind to be discovered that cannot be found in a book, or sat safely by the fireside, nor even under the tutelage of a wise seer. There is a reverie known to the solitary walker (Rousseau), an enlightenment, an illumination, a flow of insights around every corner we turn. One foot in front of the other, there is space to think and puzzle and solve all the vexations visited upon us. Walking costs us nothing but time, no special gear required, only the capacity to listen to the resounding truth of our own intuition, a voice inside that speaks louder in silence, in the quiet found out of doors.
A walkers’ trail is alive with imagery that invokes tangential lines of poetry and philosophical enquiry. There is a hum when we walk…a higher frequency, a quiver of ideas and creative sparks. “What will you do with your one wild and precious life?” (Oliver) “I have measured out my life in coffee spoons.” (Elliot) And if while walking we by chance fall awake for a moment, to know this life is only a dream, how do we stay awake long enough to remember we are dreaming? (Wittgenstein). Walking is a whirlwind dance of ideas, a flow, an unconscious current in a deep primordial sea. And the story we rehearse inside ourselves, making up the parts we can’t quite recall, is a conversation I am happy to host most every day.
I like to walk at a slower pace now, not quite the crawl my geriatric dog prefers, stopping to sniff every few feet, but I’m more interested in exercise for my mind and the quieting or distilling of my thoughts, than I am in exercising my body or protecting my cardiovascular health or even promoting longevity…still, perhaps aging backwards is something to aspire to.
For me walking is a meditation, “with every step, I arrive.” (Thich Nhat Hahn) I practice slowing down, I come awake and allow time to stretch out before me, like clotheslines where birds gossip with their friends and freshly laundered linens flap their wings. I see winter bared branches with captured notes and receipts, escaped from recycled bins, adrift in the wind like so many clues. I listen to the sound of my own footsteps and then deeper still to my breath, and my own heartbeat, and the hum that hangs over everything, the sound of the universe, I suspect, like an hourglass set close to a microphone recording the ever-escaping sands of time.
I have found many treasures on my walks: old coins and worry stones, sea glass and driftwood art, lost letters and grocery lists, emblems of lives lived next to our own, and reminders that we are, none of us, alone. I have heard the voices of lost loved ones and remembered the thoughts and images of versions of myself long since lost with them. Walking I have found the answers to problems, big and small, I’ve found perspective, and gratitude, an abiding peace, and a strong feeling of connection with something greater than myself, something capable of conjuring the unspeakable beauty that is all around us, best viewed by foot, moving at your own pace, walking alone, in the natural world.
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In Conversation with Shova Rani Dhar

Shova Dhar is my oldest friend. We met in third grade. She was the smartest kid in my class, and in most rooms she enters I suspect. Becoming her friend changed the trajectory of my life, motivating me to push myself academically in a way I might never have done had we never met. I can still remember our Grade 3 Health project, a beautifully drawn portrait of a boy skeleton, with breakout close-up drawings for the more intricate bones. Shova was the artist, I, the lucky bone labeller. We wrote a play together some years later, titled, ‘How do you like your murder, steamed or boiled?’ earning a solid A for our efforts in advanced English.
Shova describes herself as a ‘gregarious introvert.’ She is, in fact, a peerless, exceptionally gifted human, a scientist and a seer, an artist and a stargazer…there is no one else in all the world like her. She is an ageless, exotic beauty, and ‘my brilliant friend.’ A biologist by trade, an accomplished artist by nature, and an animal lover (all species), Shova exhibits the kind of charisma that only storybook heroines possess. Fiercely loyal, generous in spirit, she is a boundless treasure to anyone lucky enough to call her friend.
Shova earned a BSc in Biology and a Bachelor of Education from UNB. She has published research in marine biology, worked as a lab instructor at UNB, and as a Laboratory manager at the NB Department of Fisheries and Aquaculture. She has studied salmon anemia, virus tested potatoes, and worked in animal health and rabies. She has been responsible for fish, meat and dairy inspection, food recalls and risk assessment. For the last twenty-five years she has worked for the Canadian Food Inspection Agency, and for the last 17 years as a food safety specialist, currently residing in Halifax, N.S.
Of course, I asked her what she eats, and while she wasn’t comfortable discussing her food choices on the record, she did share that listeria is real, and that as we get older, we can’t fight it off as well, or if we’re too young, or don’t have enough stomach acid, or are pregnant. ‘I’ll be eating a lot of mush that’s hot or frozen as I get older,’ she laughs, ‘and I don’t eat out much as I am too leery of food handling practices that I can’t control.’
Tell me your life story in seven sentences or less?
I was born with mixed heritage in the heat of the summer, the younger sister to one older brother but grew up with my Canadian extended family on my maternal side, as my father was killed in a car accident when I was only 8 months old. I grew up outside of Saint John and was formally educated at the University of New Brunswick. I am a biologist, an educator, a Food Safety Specialist, a Reiki Master, and a Theta Healer™, with a love of artistic expression, especially the performing arts. As a strong unionist, I have always focused on championing the rights of others who cannot fight for themselves. I have married my best friend, travelled to many countries, enjoyed the company of many beings (human and other species), and have learned to work in light and energy. That’s my other side…the ‘woo-woo side’ as people would say.
What is the best thing about getting older?
Ahh…perspective. You can see the bigger picture and therefore there’s less drama about every little hiccup that happens. Even though there are times I don’t do that, as we age our edges get rounded off a little and you have a better perspective of what life is … you see the span of your own life, and things you used to think were the end of the world are no longer the end of the world for you. That’s the best thing.
What is the worst thing about getting older?
Coping with loss. That’s the thing that gives me anxiety. Can I do it? Losing the ones you love, the pets you love, your cohorts, your generation. The feeling of gradual obsolescence.
If you could retain or retrieve one quality from your youth, what would it be?
I found this a very difficult question because there are so many things I would want to retrieve and some I wouldn’t want to, however, the sense of endless possibility, and the feeling of immortality, or ignorance of the finality of this temporary corporeal existence that we’re in right now, is something I would love to experience again. As younger women we were more present in our lives, we lived more in the moment, we weren’t worried so much about what’s gonna happen when our time was limitless, we weren’t concerned if we could squeeze it all in… we never even thought about all that, we were just living, and I miss that, that spontaneity, being in the moment, a time when we were less reflective and less conscious.
Now with perspective we’re always weighing one thing against another, whereas younger people are more present in their lives…even if you were full of angst as a young person, you were still anchored in the moment…not worrying about the quality of the experience. People say youth is wasted on the young. It’s not. They’re not wasting it…they’re really in it. They don’t even realize how precious it is. That is the sad part. They don’t yet own their magic…they’re magical but they don’t know it yet. The magic of being fully immersed in living. If we were able to go back in time, we would be super powerful, and we could use that power for good or ill. I would hope we would use all that energy and power of youth for good, but it depends on the trappings of the soul. People are still flawed even armed with perspective. Maybe that’s why we can’t go back. God is pretty smart.
What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned so far?
I don’t know, I haven’t learned too many easy ones. I have so many lessons to learn. For me, so far, forgiveness is the big one …forgiveness and gratitude. Forgiveness of yourself and others. It’s hard to do that. But gratitude is huge as well…to learn how to maintain gratitude…because you cannot be unhappy and feel gratitude at the same time. Those two emotions cannot exist at the same time. That has changed my life knowing that. So, whenever I’m terribly unhappy, I imagine a scenario, even if I have to invent one, a scenario where I feel grateful. I’ll share my go to scenario with you. I imagine I’m carrying a big armful of priceless china in boxes, not very well packaged, and I have to get through a door, and I can’t manage it without maybe dropping a parcel. There is a guy on the other side of a busy street, he sees me struggling…he crosses the busy street, arrives at my side, and opens the door for me and I can enter in and I think ‘Thank you,’ and I feel gratitude washing over me…gratitude for him being so kind, and then I go through the door. And at that moment if I’m unhappy I allow the gratitude from the scenario to wash over me and it helps…small acts of kindness, real or imagined, help a lot. I use it all the time. The shift is immediate when you feel that gratitude wash over you and the sadness may come back but its less when you can feel gratitude. It brings instant perspective.
Other lessons I’m still trying to learn are trust, to trust in God, and to accept the things that I cannot change. Those are hard lessons that I’m still trying to learn. Forgiveness…I’ve worked hard on forgiveness… and I’m getting better at it. I used to be full of resentful thoughts. I’m a very protective person of the people I love. I’m a grudge holder from way back.
Do you have a favourite quote?
I have four quotes on two themes. I couldn’t pick. First, ‘Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it; boldness has genius, power and magic in it.’ And I put in brackets…this is not part of the quote, Begin it now,’ because I’m a procrastinator. I had it in my university dorm room, its Goethe, and it has served me for many, many years. A second quote on the same theme is from the Ghost of Christmas Present (Dickens), ‘There is never enough time to do or say all the things that we would wish. The thing is to try to do as much as you can in the time that you have. Remember Scrooge, time is short and suddenly, you’re not here anymore.’ I always think, let’s not procrastinate with the important things.
The second theme is again from Scrooge, the 1970’s soundtrack from Leslie Bricusse on happiness. ‘Happiness is whatever you want it to be.’ I had that at my wedding as one of my songs. And finally, a quote by Kurt Vonnegut, ‘If this isn’t nice, then I don’t know what is.” It’s a quote I learned from my husband, and when I hear his voice in my mind saying it, it calms me down and gives me perspective and makes me feel gratitude.
Do you have a favourite word?
‘Justice’ and ‘perseverance’. I have two, but I love justice, just the sound of it, it’s a sweet sound to my ear. It’s a real part of who I am, and it always has been. I’ve always been a bully fighter in school, a fierce advocate for others…and courage is there because of it. It takes courage to fight for justice. In tarot, the symbol for strength is a lion and, being a Leo, I’ve always felt it was just part of who I am. It takes strength to fight for justice. And ‘perseverance’, it’s a very important word for me as well. You have to persevere…things aren’t instant, and you have to keep fighting for the things that really count. You have to persevere against your own weakest nature. If you want to obtain things you have to work hard and again that comes back to my quote, ‘begin it now.’ When things aren’t easy you have to persevere and if you don’t, you’re giving up on yourself.
Describe your perfect day.
This was harder than I thought it would be, but I experienced the perfect day not that long ago with my family…this summer actually, and I reflected on that day when I formulated my answer. The day starts with me waking up from a restful sleep and with good energy. There are some planned activities but nothing stressful. A nice morning stretch…I move my joints…I have a good breakfast. I spend time with the ones I love, and unexpected events lead to unanticipated fun. There is the sense of surprise, camaraderie and sharing laughter. The unexpected events put you in the present. I don’t always want to be planning and then judging whether or not things went well…it harkens back to the youthful joy of just being alive. And after camaraderie and laughter, then you come back to your place of peace and revisit the day’s events together with your family. You retell the story of the day, sharing your impressions, enjoying it all a second time in the telling…and then you go to bed feeling grateful knowing you’re loved and that you’ve loved others. That’s a perfect day.
If you could have tea with anyone, real or fictional, dead, or alive, who would it be and what would you talk about?
I would want to see my father. I would want to talk to him about his decision to agree to leave this life when he was only 38. He died in a car accident. But I believe that people talk to their creator before beginning a new life, we choose our soul family and choose the lessons that we want to learn. Maybe my lesson this time around was learning to be a woman who grows up without a father. His absence in my life has been so huge and yet I never really got to know him. At some point he decided he would come here and be my father and leave, allowing me the space to learn the lesson I had chosen. I’d like to speak with him about his decision and ask why he left me…because I know he loved me.
Just recently I looked at my father’s passport picture and I feel like I saw him for the first time, and I’ve looked at that picture a thousand times, and I realized that he is in many ways still here with me.
The other person I’d like to have tea with would be Carl Sagan. I’d like to talk to him about intelligent design. I’d like to explore his thoughts on that. I had the hugest crush on him, I was in love with him for so long.
Tell me three things that bring you joy.
Creating things… creating things for others to enjoy, and myself. Anything from food, a good meal, making baklava, or creating a more fair, stable, and safe workplace. I do a lot of Occupational Health and Safety (OSH)…that’s near and dear to me. I also like making music…learning a new piano piece or improving my vocal range while I’m singing in the car. Nobody needs to hear it, but I get great joy when I manage to expand my range and enjoy little successes. Artwork of course, I like creating art, that gives me a lot of joy. I don’t do it a lot anymore, but I will again… soon. I’ve been doing some needle felting and making some 3d figures and those are fun little projects and after making art I always think that was so much fun, why don’t I do this more often. And maybe writing too because this project and thinking about my mother’s story…I think I’d like to delve a little deeper into that. I’d like to work more in watercolour, I have to persevere there, watercolour is unpredictable, and trust is not there, so learning to trust the process and persevering… and then revel in the outcome, whether it’s what you planned or not.
A second source of joy for me is being the presence of or caring for animals, especially baby critters of any sort. To have a kitten in your hand, and care for it is the most joyful thing. Looking after the young of any species I find very joyful. We have an unofficial office cat named Spooky and I enjoy looking after her right now. She is my therapy cat. We do a daily session before I enter the office.
My third joy is stargazing. I look forward every year to watching the Perseids meteor showers that peak on my birthday in August. I usually go out to the cottage and lie on the beach or in a field near Freeman Patterson’s place at Shamper’s Bluff to watch them. I watch as well for lunar and solar eclipses, and, of course, the aurora borealis.
Name a guilty pleasure.
Again, I found this question difficult because I don’t feel guilty about too many things except for maybe online shopping and surfing the internet… scrolling, that’s a guilty pleasure that I’d like to get rid of… it’s a bad habit. It’s wasting your life. It’s instant pleasure, but it’s a distraction from the real work that we’re here to do. I could be in a studio, where I can make messes. That’s real pleasure. ‘Boldness is genius.’ We need to stop procrastinating.
Do you believe in life after death? What does it look like?
Absolutely. The basis of my belief in God and in an afterlife is from my grandmother. She…as a child had blood poisoning and died and went to another place, a beautiful garden with a man who she described as very much like Jesus, lovely white robes, a gentle man…holding her hand, walking along a path and she was so happy, she had never felt such joy and contentment in her whole life. They walked for a long time and then he said, ‘Fern, we’ll soon be near the end of this path and when we get there I’ll have a question for you, and I want you to answer honestly. He said, ‘You can stay in the garden with me or if you want you can go and see your mother.’ At that point she looked down from a height and she could see her lifeless body and her mother bending over her, weeping. And then she said, ‘I think I want to go see my mother,’ and she was returned to her body, and she lived a very long life. Every day, twice a day, she was on her knees on the hard floor kneeling beside her bed, in the morning and the evening, and she would pray to God and say how grateful she was for being allowed to live. She lived a life that showed me that what she experienced as a young girl was the truth. The rest of her life was a testament to her decision to return here. She would feed homeless people. She never knew if that was the man in the garden coming to test her or see if she was still happy to be here. That’s how she lived her life.
My father grew up in the Hindu tradition and although he never shared that with me, I think it worked its way into my understanding that God is there all the time. We drove across the site where he was killed every day, twice a day my whole childhood life, and we could feel him there. My brother, a year older, as a child saw his “Daddy” standing at the accident site there once.
Finally, through Theta Healing …Theta uses the theta brainwave state, a very relaxed state, where you can access your subconscious beliefs. Part of my training to become a Theta healer involved accessing spirit and listening to what they have to say. We worked in teams to access spirits we did not know, rooted in our training partner’s life, not our own. And in your mind’s eye, images reveal themselves with qualities recognizable to the person you’re working with, and you could ask the spirits questions. Spirit is there. Our souls continue and come back in other forms…I think all those things are possible. Obviously, there is continuance of our souls. Theta experiences have helped me know that. Sometimes you might worry, ‘am I making this up,’ but sometimes being open, things come to you that you don’t understand but when you share it with the person asking questions, they understand it. They know what I’m talking about…I don’t…I’m just a vessel, I’m just a process. The other person is the authenticator. So yes, I know there is something more, and I don’t fear death. And when we do die, I don’t think we’ll be very far away.
What does it look like…the afterlife? A hyper reality where we are totally supported all the time…where we know we are taken care of always. We are complete there.
What would you like your eulogy to say?
How I would like to be remembered…I’d hope someone would say that I was kind, and also that I was fierce, a protector, a good friend, and that I knew how to have fun, that I was fun loving… I’m self-described as a perpetual adolescent…that I was confidant, and had lots of personality.
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In Conversation with Margo Beckwith-Byrne

At the grand dame age of 65, Margo Beckwith-Byrne self-identifies as a ‘little old lady’ proper, although her trim, athletic figure and sporty lifestyle are characteristic of a much younger woman. An avid tennis and pickleball player, Margo is a spitfire that punches well above her fighting weight in any given scenario. She is confidant and decisive, and a natural born manager of men. On the personality tests that assign an animal archetype I’d guess Margo is more at home in the shark tank than the petting zoo. She is spirited, and salty, and strong…she’s had to be strong. Widowed at 42 when her husband went out for a swim on a family vacation and never came back in, she became a single working mom overnight, her kids were then 2,5 and 7.
Equipped with a B.Ed. in Home Economics, Margo taught for two years in Labrador City before transferring her skills to work more in keeping with her natural aptitudes and temperament. She became a boss. With the mind of an engineer, and an innate understanding of process and efficiency, Margo started her career in business, first at the Saint John General Hospital, where she very quickly assumed a supervisor role, and later in HR, first at Fundy Cable and later at Labatt Breweries, as an HR Manager. Her last job was as Senior Vice President at Wyndham. She was downsized at 54, which today she describes as a gift, one she did not recognize at the time. An astute businesswoman and investor, Margo never worked another day, and is a poster girl for how to retire well.
About a year ago, Margo visited the ER with what she describes as stomach discomfort and was eventually diagnosed with stage 4 colorectal cancer. Since then, she has undergone surgery, and chemotherapy which she says is “the most miserable thing you could ever do.’ Margo tells me she is lucky because the cancer she has, MSI-H, is rare and responsive to her current immunotherapy. Her cancer-versary is July 31st. She shares that the hashtag for colorectal cancer is ‘KFG…Keep fucking going.’
Margo speaks with the clear-cut, resolute voice of a woman who has found her truth, and in the process of documenting her wisdom, I caught myself re-evaluating a little of my own inner engineering. I am grateful for what she shared with me on a sunny afternoon, at her beautiful home that overlooks the sea.
Tell me your life story in seven sentences or less?
I was born a Saint Johner and I grew up wanting to leave. I had children, and then I wanted to come back. I went to school first at St. FX and then finished at UNB Fredericton … I really liked sewing, I liked making clothes, I didn’t like cooking so much, but I ended up with a B.Ed. in Home Economics and after that I knew very quickly that I didn’t want to teach. What was important to me at a young age was financial stability and so I spent the rest of my life trying to achieve that. There were lots of twists and turns but ultimately, I spent my whole life believing that happiness and contentment lay in things outside of me, and now I realize I was wrong. Not everybody is afforded the knowledge that it’s not the external circumstances but rather the internal…because maybe they don’t achieve as many of their material goals, and I was very lucky to acquire mine, only to find out it doesn’t work. Some people still think it’s that car they’re saving for that will bring you happiness… I know it’s not that.
What is the best thing about getting older?
I know it’s cliché, but it’s not giving a fuck about the good opinion of others. Hands down… the best. Fuck you all!
What is the worst thing about getting older?
Your body breaking down. Not being able to physically do the things that you used to be able to do.
If you could retain or retrieve one quality from your youth, what would it be?
Let me flesh it out this way. I wish when I was young, I had had a better sense for how good I really looked. I spent a lot of time in my youth wrecking vacations, get-togethers, events, thinking about my weight. I resent that time now. The focus growing up in my house and with friends was often about, ‘Are you fat or are you skinny.’ And the thing is, when I look back at my life, I was never fat, but it’s all relative. Your appearance was more important than any kind of achievement. I still have high school friends who’ll ask, ‘is she fat or skinny’. I was like 125 poinds and I would be obsessed with my weight. Recently when I had to weigh in for chemo, the nurse said, ‘that’s great you haven’t lost any weight,’ and my natural thought is well fuck, and I’ve been exercising my ass off. I guess I’m answering the question in reverse, but I’d like to go back and tell my younger self that no matter what you weigh or how you look, you’re still beautiful. They say youth is wasted on the young.
But what do I wish I could retain, to answer your original question, my memory… I wish I didn’t have to write everything down to remember it. But I guess the flip side of that is I can be humbled now because fuck…I can’t remember anything. Some days even with the ball in my hand, I can’t remember who’s serving.
What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned so far?
Oh my god… again it’s going to sound so cliché but, happiness is an inside job. It has nothing to do with your external circumstances. I’ll give you an example, someone came to my house and looked out at my view and said, ‘oh my god you must be the happiest person in the world to be able to look at this every day,’ and I looked at them and went, ‘are you out of your fucking mind?’ because ‘wherever you go, there you are.’ I don’t strive for happiness…happiness is relative and the word is overused. I strive for peace and contentment, and I recognize that it’s a moment-to-moment thing, and the minute I move past where I’m at, to the future or to the past, I lose the present, and that does me no service, nor is it of service to the people around me.
The other interesting thing that I’ve learned, and I’m going to try and not come off all Christian when I say this, but so many things in my life I have orchestrated, worked hard towards, and wanted so badly, that achieving the result was all I cared about, with the belief that if I achieved that result I would be happy. Things would be good…I’ll finally have what I wanted. But the things that have brought me the most joy in my life, were unexpected things that I did not orchestrate. So, I’m gonna say it two different ways… now, I don’t try to determine how the day will unfold… I let the Holy Spirit do it, or to be more universal, I let the universe decide because to quote the Desiderata, “No doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.”
Do you have a favourite quote?
“The great way (life) is not difficult for those who have no preferences.” (Seng-ts’an, the 3rd Chinese patriarch of Zen)
Or Michael Singer, who I love, his take on it is “Life is not difficult for those who prefer everything.”
Let things come and let them pass through. It’s resistance, our free will to resist, to hold onto all that stuff, that’s what affects us and causes pain.
Do you have a favourite word?
Oh, you know I have a favourite word, ‘Fuck.’ It’s so versatile, it is the most versatile word on the planet, and I like it even more that it’s harsh and it’s disapproved of.
Describe your perfect day.
You know I thought about this, I thought about this long and hard, and I don’t have one, and I’ll tell you why. My mother said something to me years ago and I never really understood, but I do now. She said, ‘I am only as happy as my unhappiest child’ and I thought about that and thought, oh my god, she’s right, and no matter how I try to separate myself from the lives of my children in a ‘they’re on their own journey…it’s not my journey…they need to experience whatever they experience and the universe is there to teach them,’ it’s a lifelong lesson for me. But if you want to know what I love doing everyday- it’s playing a racquet sport and knitting. I think for me it’s like working a Rubix cube or something…it’s a puzzle. When I’m playing tennis, every game is fresh and different and challenging. When I’m knitting, I can’t knit the same thing over and over again because I’d be bored out of my mind. I like a challenge, and I like to keep my hands busy. Also, I guess I better say this in case my kids read this, I love spending time with my grandchildren…preferably without their parents around.
If you could have tea with anyone, real or fictional, dead, or alive, who would it be and what would you talk about?
That would be Anthony De Mello. I discovered him in 1992, after he died, in 1987. He wrote a book called Awareness. I had been reading Wayne Dyer, but De Mello took me up to a whole different level. He was a Jesuit priest who woke up one day and thought, the Catholics don’t have all the answers so he incorporated Hinduism and Buddhism and every other ‘ism’ that you could possibly imagine and was basically the first person who helped me understand that it’s all the same. All religions, at their core, they’re all the same. And I read his book a million times and gave it to as many people as I could find. When my husband, George died, De Mello was instrumental in getting me through it all. It helped me understand the cosmos on a different level.
We would talk about how he got to where he is, his whole philosophy of life, death, and everything in between. Now that he’s dead, I’d ask ‘How’s it going on the other side?’ The book, Awareness was released posthumously, it’s just snippets from talks that he had, and it gave me a whole new lease on life, a whole new way to experience joy in ways I didn’t understand before and it started me on a journey of self-awareness. I would love to know how he got there. Here is an example of a story that he told. He was a Jesuit and a professor, and he travelled extensively, and he was in a rickshaw somewhere and the guy pulling him had TB and had just pre-sold his soon to be corpse for science, for the sum of 10 dollars American. De Mello wrote that the driver was a happy man, and thought he himself, was miserable, always complaining, and so he asked the man why he was happy, and he said, ‘well, why wouldn’t I be, what’s not to be happy about?’ And for De Mello that was a beginning of understanding.
Tell me three things that bring you joy.
My grandbabies, my sports, and my kids.
Name a guilty pleasure.
Guilty…I don’t feel guilty about stuff… ever, so I can’t really think of one. Maybe lame TV, I mean I’m watching Agatha Raison right now which is really poorly done but set in the Cotswolds… so I don’t care. I like lame tv and lamer murder mysteries and I mean really lame, like Midsomer Murders lame…because I can knit and not pay attention.
Do you believe in life after death? What does it look like?
I certainly do, but not in the way we experience it. Do I think that the avatar Margo goes on? No. Do I think the consciousness that is watching Margo as she goes through life, the consciousness that neither lives nor dies, continues…yes I do. When I wake up from a dream sometimes, I really have a hard time trying to figure out whether it was a dream or reality. Sometimes it feels like real life, starring the Margo avatar, the life that we think of as reality, is actually just another kind of dream. I believe that when we die, we just wake up and go ‘God, that was a rush, what was that about?’
I remember watching some three-year old’s get into a fight and I remember them being upset and thinking…that’s just kids. Well, that’s how a higher consciousness is likely looking at us and thinking oh, that will be over soon, don’t worry about it. I mean how can you possibly believe and take seriously anything happening on this planet when you know that there are billions of other galaxies and multi verses… and you’re gonna take this seriously, I mean, come on. I always thought if Merle Haggard’s mother died when he was 21 and in prison she would have died thinking she was a failure as a Mom. Ultimately, he ended up a rich, country western singer. Why worry about kids…you don’t know what their journey is gonna be.
What does life after death look like…It’s impossible to imagine. When I look up at the stars on a really clear night, I say I’m not even gonna try to figure it out. I have no frame of reference. The Buddhists have a saying, something like ‘when the Sage points to the moon, all the idiot sees is the finger, or something like that.
What would you like your eulogy to say?
I don’t want a eulogy at all. I’m not interested in the traditional experience of death. I am not arrogant enough to think that anything I say or do will matter anymore than it did when my great great great great great grandmother said whatever she said. I mean the framework that humans have established, the goalposts for life… buy a house… go to school… all that stuff is just a concept that we all agreed on. It’s like money, money is only worth something because we’ve agreed that it does, and assigned it a value, but if money means nothing to me now, then you saying it has value is meaningless to me.
I never understood Jesus in the desert, when the devil comes to him and says you can have castles and all the money you want and Jesus goes, ‘yeah, no thanks, I’m good’. I never understood that. Now I get it. Because no matter what you get…a big house…a fancy car…then you’ve gotta work your ass off to keep it and worry that its gonna go away. So instead of it being something to aspire to, it’s a thing that loses its joy.
One of my favourite quotes from when I was in leadership is, “Of a great leader they will say, we did it ourselves.” So, if I shaped anybody, or if I influenced anybody, it wasn’t because that was my intention. If they got something out of anything I ever did, power to them, but that was not my intention. I’m just doing my dance and if other people benefit by my dance, good for them, even if all they’re saying is ‘I hate that dance.” I never ever wanted to be a leader, but I certainly was someone who wanted to control things, and those are two very different things. It’s funny, every now and then my kids will say, ‘you were a good mom,’ but ten years ago when they were teenagers, they were saying something else entirely…it’s all relative, and it’s all irrelevant.
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Death, Dying and other Unmentionables

With apologies to Edward Gorey (The Gashlycrumb Tinies: Edward Gorey’s Alphabet of Death) “Death comes equally to us all, and makes us all equal when it comes” – John Donne
“Memento Mori” (Remember Death)
I’m not saying I think about death a lot, but my best friend’s husband has nicknamed me ‘Terminal’ Sylvie. Perhaps a dozen or so years working as a palliative care nurse has left me marginally more noir than what strict social mores decree, but working adjacent to the dying, holding space for their final insights and experience, and catching glimpses through the eyes of those close to death, is a life-altering awakening. It’s difficult to capture with mere words, but as a little old lady… in waiting, let’s just say I feel a certain readiness to share what I’ve learned from the front row seats, as close as anyone can get without taking to the stage themselves.
Those near death understand a secret thing that we do not. Once you’ve been assigned an expiration date, you come to fully understand that there is nothing that we can truly own, nothing tangible or material that we can keep, there is no permanence, there is only the love we give away, the investment we make in others, and the ripple effect our actions have, for good or ill, is our only real legacy. Between you and me, I’m hoping for a bit more time to invest my ‘goodwill’ stock and watch my portfolio grow, but I know that nothing is promised. I try to stay awake to the end game and challenge myself never to overlook an opportunity for kindness. My record is sketchy at best, I’m a work in progress, of course, but I caution you now, that treating death as a taboo topic and putting our heads in the sand is ill advised, at best. A good death takes a little planning, and that starts with one irrefutable truth – that no matter how healthy or fit, rich, or connected (spiritually or otherwise), clever or credentialled you may be…no one is getting out of here alive.
Let’s start with the easy stuff – a quick review of the logistics. A few years ago, I attended a national palliative conference in Ottawa. There were a lot of very interesting and learned speakers there, but the lecture that got my complete attention was a presentation entitled ‘Getting ready to go.’ The lecturer provided some significant demographic data that suggested that the death trajectory as we currently know it, complete with nursing home beds, hospice care and access to in-hospital palliative care, may not be available to us. That is to say, we don’t currently have the capacity to accommodate the glut of Boomers that will die in a very concentrated time period. There is no more room at the ‘End of Days’ inn. The lecturer advised looking for community resources as we will almost certainly be dying at home. So have a look around you…know any docs or nurses, maybe have your kids practice injecting an orange or two … just thinking out loud here.
The lecture also included a detailed inventory of ‘good death’ questions for review. Do your kids know your passwords? Have you got a will, a DNR, a POA (medical vs financial)? What are your thoughts on MAID? Does you religion dictate that you suffer before death? Do you understand that if you lose cognitive capacity, MAID is no longer an option for you? Perhaps better to consider your position sooner rather than later and more important still, to communicate your ‘last orders’ to your substitute decision maker. You have a substitute decision maker… right? Isn’t it a kinder thing to consider your options now before your children or SDMs have to bear that burden? As a palliative care nurse, I’m reasonably confident that I can keep you comfortable as you lay dying, but my ability to comfort or mediate the pain and sadness of your friends and families sat beside you, holding vigil through the long days or possibly weeks as you lay dying… I know no medicine strong enough for that.
It’s important to have a think about what constitutes a meaningful life and what factors detract too much from that ideal to be tolerable for you, individually. It’s a very personal decision. If you’re asking me, I’m thinking I could possibly tolerate a little incontinence, I’m already acclimating to the indignities of cognitive decline (the forgotten pickleball scores, the word-finding, and could any of us LOLW get home if we didn’t have our key fobs to find our cars…just today I watched a friend open the door to an SUV that wasn’t hers…pretty funny actually, and tolerable I suppose. I’m going to go on record here and say I could, in theory at least, endure a modicum of pain (reserving the option to change my mind at any time on the pain piece…huge fan of pain management…give me the drugs – all of the drugs). However, if I was confined to hospital with no chance of returning home, or if I developed a dementia that meant I no longer recognized the people I love, then maybe a nice little hospital acquired pneumonia isn’t such a poor prognosis. Maybe comfort measures only at a certain point is the most humane treatment option.
Talk to your kids or your appointed decision makers about what you want and, more importantly, what you don’t want. I promise you that if I brought you to work tomorrow, even for an hour or two, you would be on the phone with your loved ones by the end of day. Think about who it is you want standing around your deathbed. Invite them to dinner, open a bottle of wine… maybe three. If possible, wait for the dessert course before you dive in to the deep end…ask about their day, tell them how much they mean to you, and as you cut into the pie, begin the difficult but essential conversation about what a ‘good death’ would look like to you. A mildly uncomfortable dessert course now, will spare your loved ones from having to make unthinkable decisions on your behalf at a time when all they’ll want to do is hold your hand, share a laugh about pie night, and find the strength to say goodbye.
Now, to the really important bit. It’s been my experience that those who make a happy end…those who die well, are those who live well, investing themselves in the people around them, and in whom others depend. The best death scenes I’ve witnessed are alive with love and rife with family folklore, where stories are shared of times well spent, and laughter erupts, and perhaps some tears as loved ones share their memories from over the years. ‘The day I met your dad…the day you were born…remember that big snowstorm…the camping trip from hell…’ or any number of Christmas poemics. I remember a famous local watercolourist whose family met in his hospital room every day at 5…Happy hour they called it. The wine was poured liberally, a hand-picked playlist in the background, the dulcet tones of Vera Lynn, ‘I’ll be seeing you in all the old familiar places…‘, the dying man, the guest of honour, enveloped by his chosen few, every afternoon the same bespoke soundtrack, storytelling and laughter, until the music stopped.
All we accumulate in this life, the acquisitions… the accolades…. they mean nothing in the end. It’s more about kindness brewed on darkest nights, and passions discovered and developed in ourselves and encouraged in those around us. What is most important in the end, are the broken hearts we helped to mend, our fortitude, our dedication, and our prowess as a friend, and all the little beauties we cultivate in whatever sort of garden we decide to tend. What matters most I think, as you take your last breath, is the love you gave away and the joy you helped create, in the time you were here. It’s our only job really … to love and be kind, if we can, and I have found that those who die well, with peace and with grace, find the time to be kind despite the many burdens they face… some even in their last hours and days. I will never forget a gentleman who rang his call bell at change of shift, with no ask or agenda, only to serenade his night nurse with the most beautiful rendering of ‘Fly me to the moon’ that I will ever know. I can still hear his voice a decade later, and I pray I’ll find it in myself to sing a little song in my last hours, to know such grace.
For me death is only a door to an unseen place, a speed bump between this world and what comes next, ‘it is the last unprinted snow‘ (Stoker). I think of it as a final adventure, a quest, a magical mystery tour. I know for many it may seem scary… the travel restrictions are untenable, you travel alone, no company, no carry on. I think the only thing we get to take are the string of moments when we are fully awake… the Fly me to the Moon occasions of human connection, a cache of all the unspeakable beauty we are capable of conjuring … a steadfast heart, a gentle word, an earnest ear, the softest kiss. All the love we give away is the only investment we need ever make, and the only prayer we need ever pray. But if, like me, you’re looking to hedge your bets, to grow a little more in the time you have left, there are three little questions I like to ask now and again: am I honouring my gifts, have I learned to love true, and is the world a slightly better place, even a smidgeon, because there was you? If you can answer these questions with any degree of satisfaction, I can almost promise you a beautiful death, where a parting glass will be raised in your name and those who loved you best will stand together in the “coke machine glow” that was you and mourn the loss of your incandescant light. In the meantime, dig out your rolling pin…it’s time to make pie.
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In Conversation with (Iwona) Maria Kubacki

I first met Maria Kubacki when we were still teenagers. She was a friend of my brother’s… think artsy, intellectual, an outsider, by choice or design. Recently arrived home to Saint John from a Toronto private school, she was the iconic, underground campus ‘it’ girl, a ‘Lit chick’- all cat’s eye eyeliner, black tights, and arthouse lipstick. She was clever and cool, straight out of a Sally Rooney novel, this quixotic mix of edge and vulnerability that was foreign and familiar all at once. Her style acumen was just the pretty wing man for her real talent, an unpretentious academic mind, a well-spoken confidence, and a reverence for the written word.
Fast forward 40 years, Maria, a fellow little old lady in waiting (possibly in denial) forwarded her initial remarks with a disclaimer: “I’m a little embarrassed and intimidated by this. I don’t want people to think, ‘who does she think she is?’ I have no particular accomplishments. I’m just answering these questions as a fellow little old lady in waiting who is in the thick of middle age and thinking about how to make the most of the last third of life.” This same little old lady in waiting, earned a Master of Arts degree in English Literature and has worked as a book reviewer and freelance writer as well as an associate editor, and editor. Currently she lives and works in Ottawa as a communications manager for the federal government. She took up writing fiction a few years ago and has published her short stories. She is married to a lovely man named Ken and has two twenty-something children, Jane, and Mike. She sidesteps the 7-sentence limit of the first interview question so adeptly, using a series of semi-colons, dashes, and ellipses, that I had to allow it. Maria Kubacki is still very clever…and cool, maybe even more so as a little old lady…in waiting.
Tell me your life story in seven sentences or less?
I was born in Warsaw, came to Canada when I was 4 ½, lived in Quebec City briefly and grew up in Bathurst in the 70s, where we were one of the few immigrant families, but it was pretty idyllic …double-dutch in the street with my friends, summers at Youghall Beach. I went to high school at a girls’ boarding school in Toronto where I was more focused on smoking, drinking and New Wave music and fashion than on my education, and where I started going by my middle name, Maria, instead of Iwona (my actual first name, pronounced Ee-vohn-ah and mangled by nearly everyone because of the “w”), or Yvonne (what everyone called me in Bathurst because it’s the French version of Iwona) – it was fairly common back then for immigrants to change their names to something easier for Canadians to pronounce, but it was weird and embarrassing to me to have all these names, and sometimes still is, as my parents, Polish family and friends still call me Iwona (or Iwcia, the diminutive, pronounced Eef-cha)…Bathurst friends and some cousins call me Yvonne, and everyone else calls me Maria.
I never knew what I wanted to be when I grew up, but I loved reading – my parents were and still are big readers so we always had lots of books in the house, and also I learned English the summer I turned 9 from a British family from the Isle of Man who had all kinds of children’s classics all over their house, the Narnia series and that sort of thing – so I ended up getting a BA and then MA in English at UNB.
I was quite lost in my twenties and dragged my MA on for many more years than I care to admit, but during that time I started doing freelance writing as a way to earn a bit of money and avoid my thesis – art reviews for a magazine called Arts Atlantic, and book reviews for the Telegraph Journal, which eventually led to a job as associate editor and then editor of the New Brunswick Reader, the Telegraph’s weekend magazine.
I got married and had my two kids in Saint John before moving to Ottawa where we have lived for 22 years and where I wrote for the Ottawa Citizen and worked as a writer/editor at what was then Canwest News service (now Postmedia).
For the last 16 years I have been working as a communications manager for the federal government and recently I started writing and publishing fiction, which I had never even thought about doing until I turned 50.
What is the best thing about getting older?
People always say things like not caring what others think anymore, or not sweating the small stuff. Sadly, I still sweat the small, medium, and large stuff – I sweat all of it. I haven’t yet reached the part of getting older where you’re relaxed and just flowing and enjoying life. I’m still in the thick of it – middle age, work, responsibilities. I think the “best thing about getting older” hasn’t come yet, or maybe I’m just doing it all wrong.
What is the worst thing about getting older?
Becoming set in your ways and more reluctant to try new things, acting and thinking like you are even older than you are. You’re drunk and high a lot more when you’re young, maybe that’s why you’re more open to new experiences then. Children are like that naturally…they’ll be friends with anyone, they’ll try new things, and as we age, we tend to stick to what’s familiar, what we know we will like, people like us etc. Our world can get smaller and smaller.
If you could retain or retrieve one quality from your youth, what would it be?
Being open to life, people, and experiences.
What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned so far?
Children and dogs have it all figured out – be in the moment, and enjoy every little thing, every day. Our beloved golden doodle, Tippy, who we had to put down a few years ago, was still chasing rabbits, making new friends, and wagging her tail the night she died.
Do you have a favourite quote?
Does anyone actually have a favourite quote or do they just Google “famous quotes” when asked? I don’t have one off the top of my head, but whenever I see one from the Stoics, it resonates – like the Marcus Aurelius one at the top of your blog, which I love and need to meditate on every day, because I don’t think I am living my life this way now: “Think of yourself as dead. You have lived your life. Now, take what’s left and live it properly.” I have lived a pretty cautious, small life. My anxiety, a lifelong affliction, has always held me back in life, even when I was younger. I would like to become a more fearless or at least less fearful person. Do more, see more, travel more. One of the reasons that it’s fun to read and write is that we all only have one life to live, and we have to make choices, and for some of us fear holds us back, but through writing and reading we can vicariously live many lives.
Do you have a favourite word?
‘Actually‘ – with index finger held up, because I’m a bit of a know-it-all, as my family and friends will tell you. One anecdote: on a family trip to Florida we took a drive through a ritzy area in St. Petersburg where there were big mansions…so we’re driving around and all having a nice time, and we drive by this house that has these ornate pillars and my sister-in-law says ‘oh look, there are statues of dolphins on them’ and I was trying to fight the reflex and telling myself, ‘don’t do it’ and then it just came out, ‘Actually, I think they’re manatees.’ Everyone just rolled their eyes at me but they actually were manatees! It’s become part of the family narrative.
Describe your perfect day.
Any day when I’m on a beach anywhere, in almost any weather, or just somewhere near the ocean or near water. It could be Venice, or Seven Mile Beach in Grand Cayman, or Bar Harbor, Maine. Or Brackley Beach in PEI, Sandbanks Provincial Park, Saints Rest in Saint John. I think it connects back to happy memories of growing up in the Maritimes, spending a lot of time at Youghall Beach in Bathurst every summer throughout childhood and my teen years, and then living in Saint John for many years going to places like Cape Spencer, the Irving Nature Park, St. Martin’s. I guess to me water also feels very open to possibility. I think I like imagining what’s on the other side of the ocean. I also love the feeling of being on the water, I love kayaking… it’s just very freeing.
If you could have tea with anyone, real or fictional, dead or alive, who would it be and what would you talk about?
I know people often say Jane Austen, Shakespeare, or Churchill but I can read them, no need to have tea with them. I love Jane Austen, but I think she would be really catty and judgmental in real life – I would be afraid of her. Maybe hanging out with Churchill while he sat around in his pink satin undies and robe while drinking and trying to figure out how to defeat Hitler might have been cool. But I think what I would really like is to have tea with both my grandmothers, although separately. I would ask them about their lives in Poland. My mother’s mother had a farm outside Warsaw and raised 5 children during the Second World War. She was not educated but was very smart, wise, funny, kind, and resourceful. She was milking the cows at like 4 am, made all the kids’ clothes by hand…during the war, German soldiers took over their farm and the kids all had scarlet fever as well …and somehow, she managed to keep everyone alive. And found time to make beautiful hand-embroidered tablecloths.
My father’s mother was very ahead of her time. She went to medical school in the 1920s when there was a “numerus clausus” – a quota that only allowed 10 % of the students to be women, and she was smart and tough enough to be one of the 10%. She did a PhD and was a specialist in internal medicine. She also loved to travel and trying new foods and was sporty and adventurous – she would rent scooters for her, my dad and his brother and they would all go adventuring together.
Tell me three things that bring you joy.
My family and friends. Walking/hiking/kayaking. Travelling almost anywhere, whether it’s a day trip near Ottawa, a road trip to New York or New England, or Europe. I’m going to cheat and list way more things because many things bring me joy. Going to museums, big or small, almost anywhere. Cappuccinos and spritzes. Chocolate. Music. Going to movies at the Bytowne, our local rep cinema. Conversations about life with my kids, Jane, and Mike. Family dinners with the kids and my parents. Rewatching favourite movies and TV shows with my husband, Ken – Remains of the Day being the movie we rewatch most often, because it’s perfect in almost every way – from the writing and the acting to the period costumes and interiors and the incredibly sad but beautiful score. Ken and I also like making up our own words to songs and making ourselves laugh. Sometimes we also meow songs – we don’t remember why we started doing that, but I think it was when our kids were little, but anyway it makes us laugh. It’s not possible to list just 3 things.
Name a guilty pleasure.
Taking a day off just for myself to do whatever I want. Or years ago, when my kids were little, Ken and I would sometimes take an afternoon off work to go to a movie just the two of us.
Do you believe in life after death? What does it look like?
I don’t really think about it. It’s probably just oblivion – we probably just get reabsorbed into whatever the universe is made of…ashes to ashes, dust to dust. But if there was some kind of life after death, it would be nice if it were an eternal sleep where we dream forever and get to be with everyone we loved and experience everything we ever wanted to but did not get to experience in life. In this eternal dreamworld I hope I get to fly, and look down over the earth, like Google Street view, but better.
What would you like your eulogy to say?
I guess my kids would be writing my eulogy. I hope they say I was a decent human being who taught them to be decent people. I think they might say that I gave unsolicited advice very freely, but I hope they feel that sometimes it was good advice. I hope they also remember our Amazing Race-style family trips where I made them see and do everything, even if we were exhausted and our feet were sore from walking 20,000 steps a day.



