Healthy Communities in Waterloo Region

Chaos, Change and Opportunity in a Caring Community

Guest Speaker - Julie White

I never thought I would identify with Queen Elizabeth, but this year I had my own 'horrible year'. Fortunately, my palace did not burn down, but just about everything else did. It wasn't just that I lost my job, or even the public way I lost it. And it wasn't just the break-ins in my house and car. It was that all that was made worse, much worse, because they happened not long after my marriage broke up; after my sister-in-law and friend since we were teens lost her fight with cancer; after losing a close friend whose hand I held the night she died. Then I lost one after another, the remaining family members in the generation preceding me.

It has been a very painful and disorienting time. I described it to a friend as a feeling like I've lost my mirrors - the things that reflect me - the work I did, the people who knew and love me since childhood, my journal, appointment book, family jewelry. And then to add insult to the isolation, there was a period where I lost the technical means of communication. My e-mail and fax were tied to work, my Rolodex was still there, my cell phone was stolen. And of course, this was happening during the worst weather Southern Ontario has had in decades.

I once read an article by someone who had gone trough a difficult period, and she said that at some point she began to realize that things hadn't happened to her, so much as for her - referring to the resulting growth and learning. I can understand that. There is something very essential about a bad time, in that it gets to the essence. For example, I might never have known that, in fact, I don't define myself by the work I do. I've become even more grateful for what I do have in my life. I've become closer to my family and friends. And I've been inspired by the courage and passion of people who supported me and stood up for there own beliefs.

As the winter ebbed, and the world started changing as the world does in spring, the perfect symbol of life going on, I also realized how much of my healing was the result of my various communities - my friends and family, my professional community and my geographical community.

The response of my professional community was swift, and both public and private. Letters were written, media was responded to, positions were taken to support me. It was awesome, which is to say I was awed, moved and humbled. A few foundations gave me a party, inviting grantees, friends, Trillium staff, former board members and other supporters. One foundation executive took my to lunch and in the middle of a snowstorm walked me to a stationary store to buy me a new appointment book. I got offers of work, of workspace. I got offers of help with legal fees, names of lawyers and employment counselors. People came forward who had gone through similar experiences. I felt and continue to feel, incredibly blessed. I know that most people who lose their jobs do not get this support.

But surprisingly (and I admit I'm surprised that I'm surprised), my local community had a lot to do with getting through this period. I realized what an important role it has played by providing a place where I feel connected, where I could get some perspective, experience joy. This is what I will share with you. tonight.

The first important thing I got from my community was a good laugh almost every day.

In fact, the first laugh I got after I was fired happened at the local convenience story the morning the story broke in the Star with my picture on the front page. I was happy with the story, but as you can imagine, felt uncomfortably public, exposed and vulnerable. I went into the store to buy a copy of the paper and as I put is on the counter, the clerk looked at the picture, looked at me, looked at the picture, looked at me, and just as I was mentally preparing a response, she pointed to the picture and said "Look at that! She has the same hair as you!" It was my first laugh, but also an important lesson in perspective. Today's news, tomorrow's birdcage liner.

I thought it was interesting that this woman believed it was more likely that the person in the paper looked just like me than actually was me. I don't live in an areas where people show up much on the front page. Mine is a community that thinks of itself as important or takes itself too seriously. I've come to treasure this quality. A community that doesn't take itself too seriously doesn't feel the need to protect those competitive but fleeting things that give us status - wealth, power, and profile. I wouldn't say I was anonymous, a lot of people know who I am in my community, but it is my immeasurable good fortune, that they are more concerned about how I am than whether I am in the paper again.

I also get a good laugh at the "community improvement" sponsored by the local business improvement association. To truly appreciate this, I have to give you a verbal picture of the main intersection of my neighborhood in downtown Toronto, Queen and Broadview. On the northwest corner, is Jilly's Strip joint, where I am told at least one dancer does something unmentionable with a snake? Next to it, a building under renovation; and then there's a restaurant specializing in bacon and eggs for $2.99. On the southwest corner, the ubiquitous 7-11, next to it a used furniture store where you can rent households of furniture by the month. Next to it, Coyote Willy's, home of the most flatulence-inspiring baked beans in the universe. On the northeast corner, a new burger place, Dangerous Dan's (which we are all hoping doesn't refer to E-coli); the aforementioned convenience story; the Better Way Dry Cleaner; and the Riverside Café, where you can sit outside with a good coffee and paper for hours if you want to. An on the final corner, across the street, is the Real Jerk, a well-known Jamaican restaurant; next to it a funeral parlor; then a mane's clotting storey that has been going out of business for eight years (but this time they really mean it). Also in the neighborhood among other things, is a wine store, a jewelry store, three antique-y stores, the Opera House concert hall, a new business development center, a library, a self-help organization for survivors of breast cancer, an art gallery for local art, a hardware store, a drug store, a Laundromat, a charity store, and a fruit market. Interesting, but not what you would call 'upmarket' or sophisticated.

So now picture yourself driving across the bridge over the Don Valley and under the neighborhood's pride and joy, its clock with the legend "The river I stand in is not the river I stepped in." Now if you live in doggie-loving Riverdale you know that you are much more likely to step in something even more pungent than the river. Buy clearly this is not meant to be taken literally. This is set to the theme of Time, setting the stage for the reinforcing messages to come. For, in each of the corners of Queen and Broadview in 15 inch high steel letters embedded in the sidewalk spanning 10 feet per corner are the following sayings. In front of Jilly's (remember the snake?): TIME IS MONEY, MONEY IS TIME. In front of the 7-11: DISTANCE= VELOCITY X TIME. In front of the Real Jerk: BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. And, finally in front of Dangerous Dan's Homeburgers (I hasten to say it was installed well before Dan's arrival): TOO SOON FREE FROM TIME.

A little artistic whimsy goes a long way to cheering a place up.

Actually, there is a surprising amount of art that goes on in Riverdale (to say nothing of whimsy). This past weekend there was a tour and art show of local artists studies. They were everywhere, and it was great, because you got, not only to see the artists in their own space, but also to talk informally about their work. I found myself drawn to one painting - a wild cacophony of colour. I said to the artist, 'what were your thinking'. "Well, actually, " she said ruefully, "it was a fruit bowl that got out of control." It is now hanging in my living room, illustrating the state of my life.

The second thing that helped me is that in my community you can always meet someone who is nuttier, more interesting, or worse off than you are.

This isn't about misery loving company, or the opportunity to feel superior to someone, it is just a simple reminder that things could be worse, that no one's assured of mental or physical health, and that you are not as smart, interesting, or unique (full in the blank) as you think you are. Moreover, you can learn things. Again, perspective.

I have many stories under this heading, but I will just share a couple. Earlier in the spring I was in my front yard putting flowers in my window box when a young man stopped at my fence, and in a friendly, conversational tone told me that he had lived in the house as a child. I expressed interest, and stopped what I was doing to chat. He asked me how I like living in the house. I told him very much, I've been here 12 years. He asked me if it was quiet. I said usually, but in the summer, Saturdays could get noisy. He got more earnest, leaned over the fence; "No I mean 'spiritually' quiet." "Oh", I said, thinking it over, "Pretty quiet." But I acknowledged that "the spirit of my ex-husband gets a bit pesky at times". He proceeded to tell me how to get rid of him. I listened carefully. Evidently, it is a rule in the spirit world that if your host (so to speak) provides you with food and then instructs you to go, you must. Sage speeds the process, too. So later that night I gave it a try. I highly recommend this approach.

Certainly, one of the most interesting people I have met recently is a woman named Pat who lives a few streets over. She dropped by after she read about the break-in to see how I was doing. We had a chat and it turns out she is the informal community archivist/archeologist. Her most recent find was found rummaging through the building next to Jilly's that is being renovated, after, evidently many, many years. For what she found is an old sign, which indicated that this, building was a local theater earlier in the century. She brought it to the new business development center storefront, and they created a display in the front window. She added some of her old pictures. Soon, other residents added their old pictures, and some new ones. The result a little historical museum. I admire it every time I go by, not just for the feeling of historical connectedness it evokes, but for the connectedness it makes me feel with the people whom spontaneously and without fuss, created this meaningful community space.

I feel that serendipitous history. When I was digging out the front yard for my rose bed, I uncovered an old, corked whiskey bottle, undoubtedly tossed there, empty, by the workers who built my house in 1911. It explained a lot.

Communities that honour their history, their innovators, their eccentrics, are strong indeed.

The third life-bringing characteristic of my community is the opportunity to mix with other species.

Now this is clearly a mixed blessing, but a community can't, I don't think, respect the environment, if it doesn't have at least a tolerance for, if not an affection for, other species. Now this story might seem to be stretching the point a bit, but one day I was visiting a friend in a very 'tony' part of town. As I was walking along the carefully tended sidewalk, I observed an affluent looking homeowner raking leaves in his Saturday-leaf-raking-outfit. Clearly, he wasn't a happy camper, as was having a very tense discussion with his son of five or six, who had fallen in love with a local cat and was rolling on the sidewalk with it. The father was trying to disengage said son with said cat to no avail until finally he said with teeth clenched, veins bulging in his forehead, "If I wanted a cat, I would have bought a cat!"

I took that story home to my Kitty who was amused at his reverse notion of ownership. I decided to try it out myself, anyway, though. The very next time I discovered a raccoon rummaging through my cupboards after squeezing through my infinitesimal cat door, I said very sternly, "If I wanted a raccoon, I would have leased a raccoon!" It didn't work with him either. He gave me a disdainful look as he lumbered back through the door leaving a trail of Cheerios in his wake. Maybe this works better in a neighborhood where the primary strategy toward social cohesion is a tax cut.

I'm always amazed at the amount of wildlife in this downtown area. I saw a fox the other day, and of course, squirrels, owls, seagulls, mice (don't get me started on mice, until recently I had one living in my dishwasher) Last year I nearly drove into an elephant on my corner. He wasn't from here, though. Currently, there is a large, demented Blue Jay, yelling rude bird epitaphs at my poor cats who have convinced themselves they would rather hover around their food bowl than go out on the deck.

Animals remind us that we are just tenants here, with a tenuous group in order, at best.

The fourth thing that helped is that I was drawn out of my house.

Isolation happens so quickly and so easily. One of the best things about my community is that there is a lot to do, unexpected things. One day I heard drums beating. It seemed to start from my pulse and go to my ears. I put on my jacket and followed the vibrations. A pow wow was in progress in the yard of the school housing the First Nations School. I was shy about approaching. I'd never been to a pow wow, and didn't want to intrude. People came to me, encouraged me to join their dancing. Clumsy and self-consciously, I danced, and danced. Soon it didn't matter that I was clumsy. I could feel the drums. I could feel the blood flowing form my own heart. I could feel my own life force again .

Other things weren't so compelling, but fun nonetheless. A fair in a little park where children from the community center sang songs they wrote, including one notable one, "I'm going to help my mother with the dishes". I wonder whose idea that was?

The art studio walk I mentioned. A sidewalk sale of the stores along Queen Street where I bought five year's supply of pot scrubbers. Street garage sales. A café, Bonjour Brioche. If I don't want to go there, I go down the street to Hello Toast. There's that Riverdale whimsy again... Or I can wander through the junk/antique stores, or up to Chinatown to find ripe mangoes, or along Gerrard for spices in the Indian district. I am an urban explorer. I am a citizen in a true global village.

The fifth characteristic is the chance to get out of myself and to give something to others .

My biggest gift to my community is my garden. It's a wild cottage garden in my front yard, and I know it brings pleasure to many people because they come by and tell me. And in the course of that, we talk 'flowers' and I share anything and everything I know. (For example, I encourage my neighbors to use beer to cope with a slug infestation. It doesn't get rid of slugs, of course, but an icy-cold glass of beer does help you cope) I share clippings of perennial, extra fertilizer and loan my tools, When I moved in 12 years ago, hardly anyone had a front garden, now almost everyone does, and some gorgeous ones, too. The children love it. My house is next to a schoolyard of three schools; so many children pass my house. I try to be around when they are going to school so I can say hello and maybe having a chat. I know several of the kids now, and they have a surprising knowledge of the garden. We have talks about how the white roses are doing this year, whether the lilies will come up again. My favorite story about he children happened on day in early spring when I was arriving home with my backseat down covered with a load of annuals. A number of children were standing around my gate and as I drove up and got out of the car, I heard a little girl exclaim, "Oh look! She has a garden in her car, too!" They all left with little plants to put on their windowsills, and I got frequent update on their progress.

People can give something unique of themselves, or they can be part of a collective effort. I really miss Frank and Bella for that. They were an old couple in their 90's who lived in the middle of my little block of 13 houses. They had the community health supports they needed, but there is no question that they would not have been able to stay in their home until they died without the support of the neighborhood. In addition, it was a group effort. Despite the fact that five languages were spoken between the 13 houses, Frank and Bella go a lot of care. From painting their front steps, to annual birthday cakes, to overseeing their frequent hoosp9ital stays, there was always someone keeping an eye on them. They kept an eye on us too, receiving our packages, chiding us when we are up too late on a work night, reminding us to take our papers in. I think the discussion about community health care misses the point. Community health care isn't about reducing hospital costs; it isn't even just about keeping people. In their own homes. It is about keeping people in their communities. Just as important, it isn't just the person who needs it, it's the community, itself. Caring for others builds community. Caring for others allows us to be cared for as well. Allows us to need each other. In addition, there is a certain comforting reciprocity to it. I know that as I cared for Frank and Bella, that others were doing the same in a distinct city for my grandmother. In the global world we live in, we have to trust and depend on others whom we don't even know.

That is my last point.

I learned to depend on my community.

I have always though of myself as being independent, self-reliant, and resilient. I was the one who took care of others, worked to change things for others. This experience has given me the opportunity to be the needy one and that is a humbling and humanizing experience. However, if we can't accept our own weakness, our own need, can we really accept someone else's? I haven't needed services, or financial support, but I have needed encouragement and acceptance. I've needed to be drawn out of my house, to be engaged. To have a good laugh, to connect with others, to contribute, I've needed a context within which to position my life and myself and give me a sense of perspective.

Moreover, in the end, maybe that is simply what we mean by healthy communities. Places where we are accepted, and where we accept others, where we are human together. Places where we live in harmony with different cultures, beliefs and species. Where we have fun. Where we learn things. Where we can take heart. Where we can be brave. Where we can take care of each other in all kinds of ways. Where strategies and programs are complemented by serendipity and whimsy. Where we share our treasures, and our journeys. As I've done with you tonight. I realized when I was writing this presentation that is gave me a sense of coming full circle, of completion. Thank you for letting me do that, for being here, for being my community tonight.