Today I watched Full Metal Jacket ... not exactly uplifting for a November afternoon when it was dark so early and then raining. But a fine movie. Vietnam ... the reality show ... one that revealed just who the Americans were who were doing the fighting ... a whole range of young men from the almost feeble minded to incredibly brutal to intelligent.
The star, if there was one, was a sensitive thoughtful young man who should have been studying in some ivory tower instead of spewing bullets thousands of miles from home in someone else's senseless war. On his helmet, crudely lettered, was "Born to Kill" ... and on his lapel, a peace symbol. Said it all.
Yesterday I watched Hannah and Her Sisters. I expected to hate it. I have not liked many of the movies Woody Allen has produced and acted in. I think my dislike goes back a long way to a sex scene that was supposed to be funny, but which inhibited me for a very long time.
However; I enjoyed Hannah and Her Sisters..
Woody Allen is more likeable in this one ... just as neurotic but redeemed by love here. And the other characters are more human as well.
I have also started reading Alain de Botton's A Week at the Airport. He writes well (likely the reason he was chosen by British Airways to spend a week at Heathrow writing about it). But I found myself wondering just what purpose the book serves.
The organization reflects the realities of the airport ... Approach ... Departures ... Airside ... Arrivals. Approach is his introduction to the project. In Departures he takes us from the hotel to landings to luggage retrieval and architectural notes and then gives us vignettes of people: the disappointed traveler, the farewells of two lovers, business travelers, a family on vacation. This one is the most complex as he explores the family relationships. This section ends with a description and some musings about the prayer room. I have just entered the Airside section, and gone through security, and am now in the duty free shopping area of Terminal 5.
I don't want to dismiss the book before finishing it ... and it is certainly not painful to read. But apart from being a vehicle for the writing of a good travel writer who brings all his international experience to bear on his description of this airport, I am still wondering why he was hired to write the book in the first place. It reminds me of the kind of exercise all writers indulge in when they are biding their time. As we put in hours waiting for planes in airports or meals in restaurants or friends who are late, we all observe and reflect and write copious notes in our travel journals. It is that kind of book.
Sunday, 14 November 2010
Friday, 12 November 2010
Thursday, 11 November 2010
A Day for Remembering
Remember us too! A grey squirrel just came to my den window (yes ... on the second floor) to remind me that I haven't been out to the feeders yet this morning. He is very bold ... and Kenya could hardly believe her eyes! Just be patient until I bring out cereal, dried apricots and almonds along with the sunflower seeds.
Remembering New York: I met with my newest students yesterday ... a pleasant lesson ... nice people ... They are travelers so we are spending the first few lessons planning a trip to New York City. It works out well because Azra, one of the women, is going there in December. It brought back memories of my only trip to that city. Memories both good and not so good. But isn't that the way with most things?
And of course it is Remembrance Day. The last few years I taught, my senior classes studied war literature every fall and then, on November 11, shared with the rest of the school their feelings and ideas. I don't think a single student emerged from that experience without feeling a profound respect and sadness for the soldiers who gave their lives and limbs in the wars, young men not much older than they were. But merged with that sympathy was a repugnance for war. I experience those same feelings every November 11.
I don't think that pacifism and respect for those who fonght are contradictory at all.
And I don't think that feeling sadness for the loss of all those young lives on both sides of a conflict is a sign of disrespect or lack of patriotism. I am sure that the lives of young Germans and young Japanese were and are as valuable as those of young Canadians; that each of the soldiers who fell left behind people who loved them and unfulfilled possibilities.
A friend recommended Pierre Berton's Vimy, so I have ordered it. May we never experience that kind of wholesale slaughter again. I doubt if we will ever see an end to war, but let us hope that we have learned that human lives have more worth than we accorded them during the world wars.
Remembering New York: I met with my newest students yesterday ... a pleasant lesson ... nice people ... They are travelers so we are spending the first few lessons planning a trip to New York City. It works out well because Azra, one of the women, is going there in December. It brought back memories of my only trip to that city. Memories both good and not so good. But isn't that the way with most things?
And of course it is Remembrance Day. The last few years I taught, my senior classes studied war literature every fall and then, on November 11, shared with the rest of the school their feelings and ideas. I don't think a single student emerged from that experience without feeling a profound respect and sadness for the soldiers who gave their lives and limbs in the wars, young men not much older than they were. But merged with that sympathy was a repugnance for war. I experience those same feelings every November 11.
I don't think that pacifism and respect for those who fonght are contradictory at all.
And I don't think that feeling sadness for the loss of all those young lives on both sides of a conflict is a sign of disrespect or lack of patriotism. I am sure that the lives of young Germans and young Japanese were and are as valuable as those of young Canadians; that each of the soldiers who fell left behind people who loved them and unfulfilled possibilities.
A friend recommended Pierre Berton's Vimy, so I have ordered it. May we never experience that kind of wholesale slaughter again. I doubt if we will ever see an end to war, but let us hope that we have learned that human lives have more worth than we accorded them during the world wars.
Wednesday, 10 November 2010
Monday, 8 November 2010
On Writing or The Freedom to Emit Brain Farts
Someone borrowed a number of writing books from me last year and has yet to return them, but has been kind enough to quote advice from one of them: On Writing by Stephen King.
The advice goes something like this:
You take two totally unconnected headlines or news stories and create the plot for a story or novel.
Today's CBC on-line headlines:
Marriages of convenience problems persist
Obama: 'India has emerged'
The melding of these two could lead to a story about massive immigration problems for the Indian sub-continent. Just imagine all those Indian men being tempted by economic refugee women desperate for a better life. Imagine the birth rate that could result. Remember that India has a caste system and no one-child policy to prevent a population explosion. And what about the social problems caused by the skyrocketing divorce rate.
My father married a woman from Czechoslovakia ... a Hungarian by birth ... who thought he was a rich Canadian. (He was on an expense account and lonely on his annual three month business trip.) The marriage lasted a year or so and then they began to split the assets. She got half the record collection of Shakepearean plays; he got half the wine glasses they had received for Christmas; she didn't like Shakespeare and he drank only whiskey. It was not an amicable break-up.
Now try setting that in India in an age of computers. An American hard hit by the recession meets an Indian man on-line. They marry as soon as she arrives. He has cleaned himself up for the occasion, but in real life he is of low caste and living in poverty. Their honeymoon results in a pregnancy and by the time she learns that he doesn't even own the computer he used to propose, she is trapped on the sub-continent. No credit card. No return ticket. Nothing but a worthless American passport. And no help to be had from her embassy because India has "emerged".
What does she do?
Imagine their conjugal life.
She hates him, the country and her life ... and she especially hates Obama for giving her the news that India had emerged ... until he told her, she had no idea where India was, let alone that it was submerged or encapsulated ...
So how will the story end?
Madness? Murder? Infanticide? Political assassination? Suicide?
Almost like the last scene of Hamlet which my father's ex-wife probably never managed to discover.
Or maybe you believe in happy endings. Try to find one here. She's probably wandering the crowded streets of Delhi among the revered Brahmin cattle, hand outstretched, mumbling, "Where's the beef?"
The other two headlines contain gems of stories when examined singly. Whatever might happen if they were combined?
Pope met by gay protesters in Spain
Oops! They were wrong about him.
Queen Elizabeth joins Facebook
However will she learn to write in disjointed splurts at her age? Or maybe dementia has already set in and this is her answer to the problem?
And together?
A Facebook correspondence between the two conducted on their walls for all the world to see. And by god, they have high speed, so the correspondence could be voluminous. At least it's not likely to spawn a marriage of convenience or unwanted babies.
... and then there was the article that arrived in my in-box this morning ... all about how laptops are frying testicles ...
Just imagine how that piece of information might make its way into either of these stories.
You can see why I have abandoned my Nanowrimo attempts.
I do wish I had my Stephen King book back though. I miss it. Maybe I could get some more ideas to play with. God knows I need something.
The advice goes something like this:
You take two totally unconnected headlines or news stories and create the plot for a story or novel.
Today's CBC on-line headlines:
Marriages of convenience problems persist
Obama: 'India has emerged'
The melding of these two could lead to a story about massive immigration problems for the Indian sub-continent. Just imagine all those Indian men being tempted by economic refugee women desperate for a better life. Imagine the birth rate that could result. Remember that India has a caste system and no one-child policy to prevent a population explosion. And what about the social problems caused by the skyrocketing divorce rate.
My father married a woman from Czechoslovakia ... a Hungarian by birth ... who thought he was a rich Canadian. (He was on an expense account and lonely on his annual three month business trip.) The marriage lasted a year or so and then they began to split the assets. She got half the record collection of Shakepearean plays; he got half the wine glasses they had received for Christmas; she didn't like Shakespeare and he drank only whiskey. It was not an amicable break-up.
Now try setting that in India in an age of computers. An American hard hit by the recession meets an Indian man on-line. They marry as soon as she arrives. He has cleaned himself up for the occasion, but in real life he is of low caste and living in poverty. Their honeymoon results in a pregnancy and by the time she learns that he doesn't even own the computer he used to propose, she is trapped on the sub-continent. No credit card. No return ticket. Nothing but a worthless American passport. And no help to be had from her embassy because India has "emerged".
What does she do?
Imagine their conjugal life.
She hates him, the country and her life ... and she especially hates Obama for giving her the news that India had emerged ... until he told her, she had no idea where India was, let alone that it was submerged or encapsulated ...
So how will the story end?
Madness? Murder? Infanticide? Political assassination? Suicide?
Almost like the last scene of Hamlet which my father's ex-wife probably never managed to discover.
Or maybe you believe in happy endings. Try to find one here. She's probably wandering the crowded streets of Delhi among the revered Brahmin cattle, hand outstretched, mumbling, "Where's the beef?"
The other two headlines contain gems of stories when examined singly. Whatever might happen if they were combined?
Pope met by gay protesters in Spain
Oops! They were wrong about him.
Queen Elizabeth joins Facebook
However will she learn to write in disjointed splurts at her age? Or maybe dementia has already set in and this is her answer to the problem?
And together?
A Facebook correspondence between the two conducted on their walls for all the world to see. And by god, they have high speed, so the correspondence could be voluminous. At least it's not likely to spawn a marriage of convenience or unwanted babies.
... and then there was the article that arrived in my in-box this morning ... all about how laptops are frying testicles ...
Just imagine how that piece of information might make its way into either of these stories.
You can see why I have abandoned my Nanowrimo attempts.
I do wish I had my Stephen King book back though. I miss it. Maybe I could get some more ideas to play with. God knows I need something.
Lazy Weekend
I have done everything possible to avoid writing this weekend. I hate my Nanowrimo novel attempt this year. I have decided to stop and simply write short travel pieces instead.
So, how did I manage to procrastinate this weekend?
I read a good bit of Great Maria by Cecilia Holland. It is an historical romance (all history should be written this way) about a woman who lived in France during the era of Christian knights fighting the Saracens. Maria is the focal point of the novel and is a fully realized character. We see the woman, the wife and the mother, but we also understand the time and place through her story. I found the juxtaposition of cruelty and kindness; of harshness and gentleness, of strength and weakness most striking. All the important characters are very believable partly because Holland shows how these extremes of human nature co-exist in them. The setting brings out the extremes more clearly than a modern day environment would, but of course people today are equally complex and contradictory, just more sophisticated, and therefore better able to mask their true natures.
On Saturday I had the underside of my car oiled. I was delighted to learn that despite the filthiness of the vehicle, the old girl is still pretty rust-free. Next summer Denis will do a thorough cleaning ... steam and shampoo ... before oiling.
I took Kenya for a long walk while the job was being done. Hadn't been to that area for a long time. Lots of memories of walking dogs and kids there.
Kenya and I walked here daily, but the walks have not been as energetic as they usually are, because I have been forced to keep her leashed. When hunting season ends next weekend, it will be a relief for all of us ... the dogs which must be restricted, the humans who don't dare walk in the woods, and the deer which are constantly being harried.
I unpacked the pieces of a Muskoka chair kit and then wondered whether I really wanted to attempt putting it together or whether I should paint it first. After checking with a friend who will likely do the actual construction for me, I decided to paint the pieces.. That is how I will avoid writing next week! It will be good to get back to painting furniture again.
And I watched three movies ...
On Friday it was Coming Home (the sexiest movie I have ever seen ... one steamy scene in the 2 hours and 19 minutes ... and that between Jon Voight, a man who returned from Vietnam dead from the waist down and the woman he loved played by Jane Fonda..) The other two hours were filled with compassion, empathy, love and laughter.
On Saturday, I watched The Young Victoria, a very different love story.
Tonight I watched The Queen, a portrayal of Queen Elizabeth II at the time of Diana's death. The contrast between Elizabeth and Victoria was remarkable. Elizabeth was about my age and had been reigning since she was not much older than the young Victoria.. Both women were vulnerable, but Victoria had yet to learn to hide her vulnerability beneath an iron exterior. Both were bound by the restrictions of rank. Both had prince consorts, but, oh how much more human and humane Albert was than Philip. Many of the differences between the two women were the result of the times and circumstances, I suppose, but also of the disparity in their ages. Elizabeth had carried her burden most of her life and her character had been fashioned by her responsibilities and disappointments, whereas Victoria had still to experience life and loss.
I also tidied up my catalogue of films and the actual shelves where they are kept.
And I played a bit with the format of this blog.
I moved the feeders around and established a little centre for the squirrels where I placed pecans. When I looked out later, the nuthatches, chickadees, and sparrows were darting from the woods to the line and the feeders. Two grey squirrels and a red squirrel were scrounging around on the ground cleaning up the mess left earlier. And the table was alive with blue jays. The nuts had disappeared.
A weekend filled to the brim with the mundane but at least I have extricated myself from a thirty day time waster which was giving me no pleasure or satisfaction at all.
So, how did I manage to procrastinate this weekend?
I read a good bit of Great Maria by Cecilia Holland. It is an historical romance (all history should be written this way) about a woman who lived in France during the era of Christian knights fighting the Saracens. Maria is the focal point of the novel and is a fully realized character. We see the woman, the wife and the mother, but we also understand the time and place through her story. I found the juxtaposition of cruelty and kindness; of harshness and gentleness, of strength and weakness most striking. All the important characters are very believable partly because Holland shows how these extremes of human nature co-exist in them. The setting brings out the extremes more clearly than a modern day environment would, but of course people today are equally complex and contradictory, just more sophisticated, and therefore better able to mask their true natures.
On Saturday I had the underside of my car oiled. I was delighted to learn that despite the filthiness of the vehicle, the old girl is still pretty rust-free. Next summer Denis will do a thorough cleaning ... steam and shampoo ... before oiling.
I took Kenya for a long walk while the job was being done. Hadn't been to that area for a long time. Lots of memories of walking dogs and kids there.
Kenya and I walked here daily, but the walks have not been as energetic as they usually are, because I have been forced to keep her leashed. When hunting season ends next weekend, it will be a relief for all of us ... the dogs which must be restricted, the humans who don't dare walk in the woods, and the deer which are constantly being harried.
I unpacked the pieces of a Muskoka chair kit and then wondered whether I really wanted to attempt putting it together or whether I should paint it first. After checking with a friend who will likely do the actual construction for me, I decided to paint the pieces.. That is how I will avoid writing next week! It will be good to get back to painting furniture again.
And I watched three movies ...
On Friday it was Coming Home (the sexiest movie I have ever seen ... one steamy scene in the 2 hours and 19 minutes ... and that between Jon Voight, a man who returned from Vietnam dead from the waist down and the woman he loved played by Jane Fonda..) The other two hours were filled with compassion, empathy, love and laughter.
On Saturday, I watched The Young Victoria, a very different love story.
Tonight I watched The Queen, a portrayal of Queen Elizabeth II at the time of Diana's death. The contrast between Elizabeth and Victoria was remarkable. Elizabeth was about my age and had been reigning since she was not much older than the young Victoria.. Both women were vulnerable, but Victoria had yet to learn to hide her vulnerability beneath an iron exterior. Both were bound by the restrictions of rank. Both had prince consorts, but, oh how much more human and humane Albert was than Philip. Many of the differences between the two women were the result of the times and circumstances, I suppose, but also of the disparity in their ages. Elizabeth had carried her burden most of her life and her character had been fashioned by her responsibilities and disappointments, whereas Victoria had still to experience life and loss.
I also tidied up my catalogue of films and the actual shelves where they are kept.
And I played a bit with the format of this blog.
I moved the feeders around and established a little centre for the squirrels where I placed pecans. When I looked out later, the nuthatches, chickadees, and sparrows were darting from the woods to the line and the feeders. Two grey squirrels and a red squirrel were scrounging around on the ground cleaning up the mess left earlier. And the table was alive with blue jays. The nuts had disappeared.
A weekend filled to the brim with the mundane but at least I have extricated myself from a thirty day time waster which was giving me no pleasure or satisfaction at all.
Saturday, 6 November 2010
Waking up over tea and email on a Saturday morning ...
Coutresy of CBC News
Edmonton police guilty in 'sweatbox' case Two Edmonton police officers were found guilty Friday of insubordination and discreditable conduct in the so-called 'sweatbox' incident, where police rounded up homeless people in a police van to dump them on the other side of the city.
Flesh-eating disease alert for Calgary's homeless Calgary homeless shelters are being told to be on the lookout for anyone with symptoms of flesh-eating disease after two cases surfaced.
Sure wouldn't want to be poor in Alberta!
Kenya chases the squirrels as requested ... but now that I have foiled their attempts to get all the food, and, in the process, destroy the feeders as they leap onto them from chairs and tables, I am feeling sorry for them ... especially for the soft grey one that reminds me of Bambi, the only grey squirrel we fostered. He comes up and knocks on the window pane ... driving Kenya mad and touching my heart.
Do you get these spam emails with just a few words in the heading? I like finding them there, especially when my strange brain makes connections among the words. Today I wrote a silly poem using three that arrived in the night.
WORDS THAT COME IN THE NIGHT
a bunch of e's and an f
exuberant erected estranged
all arrived last night
I thought
what about ...
excited evaluated elusive
and later
empathetic enchanted engaged
but surely not ...
enigmatic evasive enslaved
or ...
edgy expendable ejected
maybe ...
enticing electric emotional
definitely don't want to be left ...
empty embittered exploited
or for you to be ...
extraneous extinguished ephermeral
just want us to find something ...
enduring eternal
and most of all ...
fun
And now I really have to get on with the serious business of living my life. There is tidying to be done, a Nanowrimo novel writing session to get through (god it is awful this year), and bird seed to be allocated ... and yes ... peanuts to be strewn.This afternoon I will get my car oiled for winter and then protest the possible loss of the Wakefield spring. In the middle of the night (I have insomnia) I brought in a Muskoka chair kit I bought three years ago ... it needs some loving paint strokes and then I will assemble it ... or maybe enlist the help of a friend.
Have a wonderful weekend, everyone.
Edmonton police guilty in 'sweatbox' case Two Edmonton police officers were found guilty Friday of insubordination and discreditable conduct in the so-called 'sweatbox' incident, where police rounded up homeless people in a police van to dump them on the other side of the city.
Flesh-eating disease alert for Calgary's homeless Calgary homeless shelters are being told to be on the lookout for anyone with symptoms of flesh-eating disease after two cases surfaced.
Sure wouldn't want to be poor in Alberta!
Kenya chases the squirrels as requested ... but now that I have foiled their attempts to get all the food, and, in the process, destroy the feeders as they leap onto them from chairs and tables, I am feeling sorry for them ... especially for the soft grey one that reminds me of Bambi, the only grey squirrel we fostered. He comes up and knocks on the window pane ... driving Kenya mad and touching my heart.
Do you get these spam emails with just a few words in the heading? I like finding them there, especially when my strange brain makes connections among the words. Today I wrote a silly poem using three that arrived in the night.
WORDS THAT COME IN THE NIGHT
a bunch of e's and an f
exuberant erected estranged
all arrived last night
I thought
what about ...
excited evaluated elusive
and later
empathetic enchanted engaged
but surely not ...
enigmatic evasive enslaved
or ...
edgy expendable ejected
maybe ...
enticing electric emotional
definitely don't want to be left ...
empty embittered exploited
or for you to be ...
extraneous extinguished ephermeral
just want us to find something ...
enduring eternal
and most of all ...
fun
And now I really have to get on with the serious business of living my life. There is tidying to be done, a Nanowrimo novel writing session to get through (god it is awful this year), and bird seed to be allocated ... and yes ... peanuts to be strewn.This afternoon I will get my car oiled for winter and then protest the possible loss of the Wakefield spring. In the middle of the night (I have insomnia) I brought in a Muskoka chair kit I bought three years ago ... it needs some loving paint strokes and then I will assemble it ... or maybe enlist the help of a friend.
Have a wonderful weekend, everyone.
Wednesday, 3 November 2010
Procrastination by Strawberries
I am having trouble attending to my Nanowrimo duties today. It has a lot to do with having nothing to write ... or too many possible ideas ... and being unable to commit to any of them. In the course of doing some research anmong old novel starts and other writing, I came across this poem written about 5 years ago.
I still like strawberries at 70 by the way.
barbara's strawberries
today i ate
strawberries
savoring their fresh
red.
heather reminded me
i should be thinking about Wednesday,
poetry and
strawberries.
my unblocking book tells me to face
my inadequacies, my fears,
my fears of inadequacy.
so i am.
the memory
on my tongue of those
strawberries.
thoughts intrude
quite unsuitable to
strawberries
especially
at my age.
in two months, an old
age pensioner, and
strawberries
just another high
fibre food.
better than prunes, i suppose:
strawberries.
strawberries,
the birthmarks, are aberrant, but
wrinkled prune faces are
simply ubiquitous.
cast my mind back to the sixties
to other, wilder
strawberries.
bergman's. and
those given to me
by children with stained hands.
so many hours spent picking
enough wild
strawberries
to make a single jar of jam
a gift of love.
later domesticated
strawberry
patch in kinburn
baskets and baskets
filled counters, freezers, jam jars,
became my spending money
like hagar's eggs.
ripe then, fecund,
milk leaking from breasts whose
strawberry
nipples brought joy.
now other things are supposed to
like poems about
strawberries.
clear now, the origin of
the raspberry.
that snort of derision
should have been called
the strawberry.
I still like strawberries at 70 by the way.
barbara's strawberries
today i ate
strawberries
savoring their fresh
red.
heather reminded me
i should be thinking about Wednesday,
poetry and
strawberries.
my unblocking book tells me to face
my inadequacies, my fears,
my fears of inadequacy.
so i am.
the memory
on my tongue of those
strawberries.
thoughts intrude
quite unsuitable to
strawberries
especially
at my age.
in two months, an old
age pensioner, and
strawberries
just another high
fibre food.
better than prunes, i suppose:
strawberries.
strawberries,
the birthmarks, are aberrant, but
wrinkled prune faces are
simply ubiquitous.
cast my mind back to the sixties
to other, wilder
strawberries.
bergman's. and
those given to me
by children with stained hands.
so many hours spent picking
enough wild
strawberries
to make a single jar of jam
a gift of love.
later domesticated
strawberry
patch in kinburn
baskets and baskets
filled counters, freezers, jam jars,
became my spending money
like hagar's eggs.
ripe then, fecund,
milk leaking from breasts whose
strawberry
nipples brought joy.
now other things are supposed to
like poems about
strawberries.
clear now, the origin of
the raspberry.
that snort of derision
should have been called
the strawberry.
Nimble
Nimble: such an old fashioned word, but exactly right in certain contexts ...
In an interview with CBC this morning, a political scientist used the word nimble. It was in the context of the US constitution having been designed to create gridlock, a situation that forces hot headed political opponents to slow down, discuss, and reach compromises. He was saying that this might not be such a good thing in today's world of instant communication, a world in which swift decisions are being made by impatient up-and-coming nations like India, China and Brazil. Our world, the one that always waited for the US behemoth before acting, is changing. The US president and his Democrats, now that conservative forces have so successfully changed the political scene, may not be nimble enough to make decisions quickly.
In the seventies when I was in university I needed to see something from a personal point of view in order to understand the bigger picture. I needed to imagine how a law would affect me. I needed to empathize. It is hard to do that when you are talking about whole nations, about numbers. It is the reason that I made the decision to do my degree in English instead of political science, even though I loved both.
Now I find myself moving in the opposite direction: starting from the concept of a country and going from that to my own small reality. I too am often immobilized by gridlock. Sometimes I feel as if I no longer govern my life. Like the US constitution, my mind is no longer nimble enough to make snap decisions. And I too live in a world where things move far too quickly.
I don't like being battered by several demands for my attention.
When I write I do so in silence.
I find too many simultaneous images distracting. My limit is movie sub-titles and it is hard to knit even then. If I owned a television I would likely mask the bottom part of the screen so that I would not be distracted by those coloured headlines that scroll beneath the news reportage and film coverage.
I find many websites truly annoying because it is impossible to concentrate my attention.
I am saved from Facebook and Twitter by being forced geographically to endure a dial-up connection.
Our whole world seems to have speeded up and left me behind.
And you know what ... I don't think it is an improvement over the slower pace that used to prevail.
Is it really that important to hear something immediately?
Do we need instantaneous reactions or could we wait for thoughtful coverage of world events?
Do teenagers really need to be so connected that they cannot ignore a cell phone or a text message while driving?
I once saw a young Toronto woman answer her calls during a VSO interview day. Not only was it inconsiderate because VSO works with whole groups of candidates on these days, but it definitely worked against her. How could someone so dependent on instant communication manage two years of living and working in the low tech world inhabited by VSO volunteers?
And maybe that's part of my discomfort. Not only do I feel that we need time to reflect in order to make sound decisions and to be healthy human beings, but I think that many people who have no technical know-how at all, just plain, common sense, practical knowledge, are living fuller lives than those of us who are more connected. They don't spend a third of their lives in front of a small screen. They are the people who will survive in a disaster because they know how to live with very little. They are the people who can manage without electricity and computers. They can make fires, build shelters, grow and find food ... and write with pens to record the experiences.
They are the people who will create communities because they already know how to interact with real people in real time in real places.
And maybe all this is simply the foolish rambling of a seventy year old woman who has chosen a much slower life style and who complains but really prefers the speed of dial-up, the challenges of power outages and the enforced isolation of snow blocked roads. Maybe it is simply the squeaking of an old.country mouse who who lives more reflectively now that she is less nimble.
Jack, be nimble ... Jack, be quick. Jack, jump over the candle stick!
What is the effect on you when you recite this?
It makes me jumpy, unable to concentrate.
It makes me jumpy, unable to concentrate.
In an interview with CBC this morning, a political scientist used the word nimble. It was in the context of the US constitution having been designed to create gridlock, a situation that forces hot headed political opponents to slow down, discuss, and reach compromises. He was saying that this might not be such a good thing in today's world of instant communication, a world in which swift decisions are being made by impatient up-and-coming nations like India, China and Brazil. Our world, the one that always waited for the US behemoth before acting, is changing. The US president and his Democrats, now that conservative forces have so successfully changed the political scene, may not be nimble enough to make decisions quickly.
In the seventies when I was in university I needed to see something from a personal point of view in order to understand the bigger picture. I needed to imagine how a law would affect me. I needed to empathize. It is hard to do that when you are talking about whole nations, about numbers. It is the reason that I made the decision to do my degree in English instead of political science, even though I loved both.
Now I find myself moving in the opposite direction: starting from the concept of a country and going from that to my own small reality. I too am often immobilized by gridlock. Sometimes I feel as if I no longer govern my life. Like the US constitution, my mind is no longer nimble enough to make snap decisions. And I too live in a world where things move far too quickly.
I don't like being battered by several demands for my attention.
When I write I do so in silence.
I find too many simultaneous images distracting. My limit is movie sub-titles and it is hard to knit even then. If I owned a television I would likely mask the bottom part of the screen so that I would not be distracted by those coloured headlines that scroll beneath the news reportage and film coverage.
I find many websites truly annoying because it is impossible to concentrate my attention.
I am saved from Facebook and Twitter by being forced geographically to endure a dial-up connection.
Our whole world seems to have speeded up and left me behind.
And you know what ... I don't think it is an improvement over the slower pace that used to prevail.
Is it really that important to hear something immediately?
Do we need instantaneous reactions or could we wait for thoughtful coverage of world events?
Do teenagers really need to be so connected that they cannot ignore a cell phone or a text message while driving?
I once saw a young Toronto woman answer her calls during a VSO interview day. Not only was it inconsiderate because VSO works with whole groups of candidates on these days, but it definitely worked against her. How could someone so dependent on instant communication manage two years of living and working in the low tech world inhabited by VSO volunteers?
And maybe that's part of my discomfort. Not only do I feel that we need time to reflect in order to make sound decisions and to be healthy human beings, but I think that many people who have no technical know-how at all, just plain, common sense, practical knowledge, are living fuller lives than those of us who are more connected. They don't spend a third of their lives in front of a small screen. They are the people who will survive in a disaster because they know how to live with very little. They are the people who can manage without electricity and computers. They can make fires, build shelters, grow and find food ... and write with pens to record the experiences.
They are the people who will create communities because they already know how to interact with real people in real time in real places.
And maybe all this is simply the foolish rambling of a seventy year old woman who has chosen a much slower life style and who complains but really prefers the speed of dial-up, the challenges of power outages and the enforced isolation of snow blocked roads. Maybe it is simply the squeaking of an old.country mouse who who lives more reflectively now that she is less nimble.
Saturday, 30 October 2010
7 Jays
This morning I was up with the jays ... seven of them ... two or three at a time rocking the feeder at the front and scattering sunflower seeds to the others on the snow covered ground below. On the lake side, sparrows ate more sedately, one fluffed up little soul huddling in the seed tray itself. Kenya bounded out the front door and chased the jays who then took over the back feeder.
First snow up here ... a dusting only that rests on branches, ground and porch roof.
I just received word that a very old friend has died. John was a good family man, husband, teacher,and friend. We were all young and poor and in our twenties when I knew him and his wife best. We sustained each other through some pretty hard times back then. Heather taught with me at Briarwood Elementary School while John was off work.
I was a single mom with two kids and very little education; they were a little better off because they were a couple with one baby and the good sense to have got their education before embarking on a family, but those were pre-medicare days, and John was very ill for a time. We all lived in an apartment building on the wrong side of the tracks ... and practically on top of them. We provided each other with practical help, like rides to work, the occasional loan of a car or babysitting. Cups of sugar, recipes and samples of baked goods passed freely between our households. But it is the shared laughter I remember best. We giggled while tumbling down hills with our children at the Arboretum or dressing up for a Hallowe'en party. We went on picnics with our kids. Those were the years when we were money poor but rich in youthful energy and dreams. I haven't seen them for several years now, but they were a large part of my life ... and I am saddened that John is gone; that he will live on only in such memories.
First snow up here ... a dusting only that rests on branches, ground and porch roof.
I just received word that a very old friend has died. John was a good family man, husband, teacher,and friend. We were all young and poor and in our twenties when I knew him and his wife best. We sustained each other through some pretty hard times back then. Heather taught with me at Briarwood Elementary School while John was off work.
I was a single mom with two kids and very little education; they were a little better off because they were a couple with one baby and the good sense to have got their education before embarking on a family, but those were pre-medicare days, and John was very ill for a time. We all lived in an apartment building on the wrong side of the tracks ... and practically on top of them. We provided each other with practical help, like rides to work, the occasional loan of a car or babysitting. Cups of sugar, recipes and samples of baked goods passed freely between our households. But it is the shared laughter I remember best. We giggled while tumbling down hills with our children at the Arboretum or dressing up for a Hallowe'en party. We went on picnics with our kids. Those were the years when we were money poor but rich in youthful energy and dreams. I haven't seen them for several years now, but they were a large part of my life ... and I am saddened that John is gone; that he will live on only in such memories.
Friday, 29 October 2010
Procrastination
October 29, 2010
Organizational Friday or Procrastination Depot
I have just finished tidying my chest freezer and inventorying its contents in order to discover what I need to buy to stock up for winter. (I have been told I am the only person in Christendom who has a catalogue of her DVDs ... and now this!)
What I discovered: I do not need to buy ground beef or sausages until 2020.
Likewise chicken thighs and pork tenderloins.
I am not terribly keen on chicken thighs and that is likely why I have a surplus, but I suspect that the reason for everything else is that I can never find what I am looking for in the cavernous depths so I always eat from the top down.
Does anyone out there have a simple solution for keeping a chest freezer's contents under control and available?
I am thinking of boxes or bins of some kind.
The birds are busy emptying the feeders ... jays, chickadees, red breasted nuthatches, snowbirds, downy woodpeckers, and sparrows so far. The red squirrels continue to be foiled by the cds that hang along the line between the trees and the feeders ... or maybe they are simply content with the seed that the jays deposit on the ground.
My next task is to organize the bins and satchels containing teaching paraphanalia.
And then I will get down to writing based on last weekend's writing workshop.
Maybe.
I just read an article about procrastination. Apparently we procrastinate because our various selves are thrashing things out. The first step we need to take is to identify those different warring selves. Blogger Oma is often at odds with Lazy Oma who cannot abide my tidy self. My persona that detests such things as bills and taxes is always at loggerheads with most of the others. Then there are Funky Furniture, Reader, Movie Buff, Gardener, Dog Walker, and... and... and ....
And that is why we clean out a freezer rather than go through a sloppy in-box (the real tangible wooden kind that contains bills) or sit down to write a travel piece. Of the three, the most enjoyable is undoubtedly the writing assignment ... but it requires time and effort .... concentration ... whereas the freezer just is ...
I am trying to clear the decks of distractions ... so that I can write. Maybe the travel pieces. Or maybe start something for NaNoWriMo. Monday is November 1, the beginning of the next challenge. I might decide that it won't be a novel this time ... and ... if I do it ... I won't subject you all to the throes (and vile prose) of daily first draft NaNoWriMo writing.
Instead my blog posts might become 5 minute warm-ups for the contest. Or maybe they will be become a means of putting off writing the book. NaNoWriMo Oma foiled once again by Blogger Oma.
Procrastinator Oma who has played a game, hung out a load of laundry, spent an hour on the phone, cleaned out the compost pails, and packaged the outdoor solar lights and their batteries after sorting according to viability ... instead of getting on with the business at hand ...
Organizational Friday or Procrastination Depot
I have just finished tidying my chest freezer and inventorying its contents in order to discover what I need to buy to stock up for winter. (I have been told I am the only person in Christendom who has a catalogue of her DVDs ... and now this!)
What I discovered: I do not need to buy ground beef or sausages until 2020.
Likewise chicken thighs and pork tenderloins.
I am not terribly keen on chicken thighs and that is likely why I have a surplus, but I suspect that the reason for everything else is that I can never find what I am looking for in the cavernous depths so I always eat from the top down.
Does anyone out there have a simple solution for keeping a chest freezer's contents under control and available?
I am thinking of boxes or bins of some kind.
The birds are busy emptying the feeders ... jays, chickadees, red breasted nuthatches, snowbirds, downy woodpeckers, and sparrows so far. The red squirrels continue to be foiled by the cds that hang along the line between the trees and the feeders ... or maybe they are simply content with the seed that the jays deposit on the ground.
My next task is to organize the bins and satchels containing teaching paraphanalia.
And then I will get down to writing based on last weekend's writing workshop.
Maybe.
I just read an article about procrastination. Apparently we procrastinate because our various selves are thrashing things out. The first step we need to take is to identify those different warring selves. Blogger Oma is often at odds with Lazy Oma who cannot abide my tidy self. My persona that detests such things as bills and taxes is always at loggerheads with most of the others. Then there are Funky Furniture, Reader, Movie Buff, Gardener, Dog Walker, and... and... and ....
And that is why we clean out a freezer rather than go through a sloppy in-box (the real tangible wooden kind that contains bills) or sit down to write a travel piece. Of the three, the most enjoyable is undoubtedly the writing assignment ... but it requires time and effort .... concentration ... whereas the freezer just is ...
I am trying to clear the decks of distractions ... so that I can write. Maybe the travel pieces. Or maybe start something for NaNoWriMo. Monday is November 1, the beginning of the next challenge. I might decide that it won't be a novel this time ... and ... if I do it ... I won't subject you all to the throes (and vile prose) of daily first draft NaNoWriMo writing.
Instead my blog posts might become 5 minute warm-ups for the contest. Or maybe they will be become a means of putting off writing the book. NaNoWriMo Oma foiled once again by Blogger Oma.
Procrastinator Oma who has played a game, hung out a load of laundry, spent an hour on the phone, cleaned out the compost pails, and packaged the outdoor solar lights and their batteries after sorting according to viability ... instead of getting on with the business at hand ...
Thursday, 28 October 2010
Monday, 25 October 2010
Grey Day Wake-up Call
I spent most of yesterday at a travel writing workshop given by Laurie Gough. There were about a dozen of us there ... all but one were women. Laurie did not start with one of those artificial circle introductory sessions ... she let things unfold naturally by creating situations in which we chose different partners with whom to interact, so we all met a variety of people and shared our passion for travel and writing.
Laurie relies on the same books I use when I teach writing skills ... Nathalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones; Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird ... and on the work of some travel writers who have published books about travel writing. But mainly she reaches into her own experience as a travel writer and as a freelancer.
It was a very good workshop, not only because of the solid content base but also because of the people involved. Writers all. Travelers all. Interesting people with stories to tell, experiences to share.
Often these local workshops are peopled only by Wakefielders, but this one attracted a range of people from as far away as Montreal. And they brought with them stories of backpacking in the Himalayas, years spent in India or Indonesia or the Fijian islands. Most of them had traveled solo, and all their stories revealed a sense of adventure. I heard stories of trips gone bad, youthful naivete resulting in terrible mistakes, miraculous rescues, and discovery of one's roots far from home..
We spoke of honest writing and balanced observation; of ways to structure our chronological memories so that they would hold together as stories and maintain interest. Laurie views travel writing as stories with plot lines, set in interesting places ... and most important, peopled by fascinating characters. She touched on things like effective dialogue, concision and vibrant prose, and the workshop contained elements of teaching, group interaction and individual writing. The course could have been much longer than the 6 hours she had allotted.
At the end, people wanted more ... more opportunities to work together ... more chances to share with one another. We hope to create a writing group, perhaps on-line, maybe getting together once a month or so.
I spent a good part of today walking Kenya and later taking a friend to the Ottawa terminal ... so more tomorrow when I am up for writing again.
The house felt emptier than it has for the past while ... and greyer. I will have to fill it with colourful words and paint, I guess. It's time ... and maybe I will start with one of the ideas birthed by the workshop.
Laurie relies on the same books I use when I teach writing skills ... Nathalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones; Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird ... and on the work of some travel writers who have published books about travel writing. But mainly she reaches into her own experience as a travel writer and as a freelancer.
It was a very good workshop, not only because of the solid content base but also because of the people involved. Writers all. Travelers all. Interesting people with stories to tell, experiences to share.
Often these local workshops are peopled only by Wakefielders, but this one attracted a range of people from as far away as Montreal. And they brought with them stories of backpacking in the Himalayas, years spent in India or Indonesia or the Fijian islands. Most of them had traveled solo, and all their stories revealed a sense of adventure. I heard stories of trips gone bad, youthful naivete resulting in terrible mistakes, miraculous rescues, and discovery of one's roots far from home..
We spoke of honest writing and balanced observation; of ways to structure our chronological memories so that they would hold together as stories and maintain interest. Laurie views travel writing as stories with plot lines, set in interesting places ... and most important, peopled by fascinating characters. She touched on things like effective dialogue, concision and vibrant prose, and the workshop contained elements of teaching, group interaction and individual writing. The course could have been much longer than the 6 hours she had allotted.
At the end, people wanted more ... more opportunities to work together ... more chances to share with one another. We hope to create a writing group, perhaps on-line, maybe getting together once a month or so.
I spent a good part of today walking Kenya and later taking a friend to the Ottawa terminal ... so more tomorrow when I am up for writing again.
The house felt emptier than it has for the past while ... and greyer. I will have to fill it with colourful words and paint, I guess. It's time ... and maybe I will start with one of the ideas birthed by the workshop.
Friday, 22 October 2010
Life in the Slow Lane ... again ...
So ... yesterday I got lost in a parking garage ... well actually it was my car which was misplaced ... finally I asked a young man what one did if one lost one's car ... and he said, "Report it stolen." After my first stunned reaction I laughed and he said it had also happened to him. Then he explained the strange layout of this garage and wished me luck. I began again and this time I saw my car on a level below me. How to get to it though was not quite as clear but I managed. My left brained reasoning worked where my right brained sense of direction had let me down and the old girl and I were finally reunited.
The other parts of the day were a lot less stressful and the highlight was holding Lily who stretched, yawned, snuggled into my neck, and pooped contentedly, all the while making soft little whistling and snorting noises.
My garden is almost tucked away for the winter, the steps I've fallen down twice now have a hand rail, another hand rail has been fixed, and two new bird feeders are feeding the gluttonous jays.
I am thoroughly enjoying my vacation from teaching and stress ... and sleeping through the night ...
Life is good but it does not make for very exciting blog posts.
I am beginning to feel the faint stirring of artistic urges again ... pumpkin carving and small postcard sized paintings of ideas for furniture are beckoning, tempting me to get out my paints.
Have a great weekend. I will be at a workshop on Sunday but the rest of the weekend is blissfully empty so far.
The other parts of the day were a lot less stressful and the highlight was holding Lily who stretched, yawned, snuggled into my neck, and pooped contentedly, all the while making soft little whistling and snorting noises.
My garden is almost tucked away for the winter, the steps I've fallen down twice now have a hand rail, another hand rail has been fixed, and two new bird feeders are feeding the gluttonous jays.
I am thoroughly enjoying my vacation from teaching and stress ... and sleeping through the night ...
Life is good but it does not make for very exciting blog posts.
I am beginning to feel the faint stirring of artistic urges again ... pumpkin carving and small postcard sized paintings of ideas for furniture are beckoning, tempting me to get out my paints.
Have a great weekend. I will be at a workshop on Sunday but the rest of the weekend is blissfully empty so far.
Saturday, 16 October 2010
New Beginnings
I could also have called this post "Life After Teaching:".
In 1997 I discovered that there was a wonderful life awaiting me ... one that centred on enjoyment without deadlines, reports or marking loads ... I retired. Oh ... I kept on being active. In fact I kept on teaching ... but in places like Jordan, Mongolia and Kenya. It was also the era of discovering just how much enjoyment could be derived from things that cost little or nothing ... writing ... rollerblading ... kayaking.
Then came the big change ... an end to a life filled with travel and volunteering opportunities ... a beginning to a life with a puppy ... a life that occasioned the building of this house with all its related problems ... a life that demanded money, often more than I had.
This past June I re-entered the work force almost full time and discovered during those five months that I still loved teaching ... and this time really enjoyed the students ... all older international travelers who were interesting people. But I also realized again ... or was reminded of the fact ... that life in the work force robs you of time and energy ... and at 70 both of those are in short supply. Anything that is in short supply is far too valuable to be traded for money. And besides, my house is comfortable now and so I can live on what I have without having to make more.
I have decided to limit my teaching from now on ... Enough to give me the pleasure. Not enough to deprive me of my daily walks with Kenya, my leisurely mornings at the computer, my relatively clean house, my attempts at art and writing ... but most of all, I am reclaiming the freedom to get up in the morning with a blank calendar page to fill in all kinds of pleasurable ways.
I am rearranging my life starting today.
And the first things on my calendar are a dinner party at Erin's this evening, two weeks with a new friend to just have fun and get things done around here to prepare for winter , (we are planning to carve pumpkins) ....and a travel writing workshop with two friends and six other people.
And you never know what will emerge from an artist's date, time to develop a little boredom, days spent with new folks, or stirring up your intellectual curiosity, do you? Perhaps the next phase of my life will be very different from the last one. Or maybe it will simply be the last happy one spiced up a little ...
In 1997 I discovered that there was a wonderful life awaiting me ... one that centred on enjoyment without deadlines, reports or marking loads ... I retired. Oh ... I kept on being active. In fact I kept on teaching ... but in places like Jordan, Mongolia and Kenya. It was also the era of discovering just how much enjoyment could be derived from things that cost little or nothing ... writing ... rollerblading ... kayaking.
Then came the big change ... an end to a life filled with travel and volunteering opportunities ... a beginning to a life with a puppy ... a life that occasioned the building of this house with all its related problems ... a life that demanded money, often more than I had.
This past June I re-entered the work force almost full time and discovered during those five months that I still loved teaching ... and this time really enjoyed the students ... all older international travelers who were interesting people. But I also realized again ... or was reminded of the fact ... that life in the work force robs you of time and energy ... and at 70 both of those are in short supply. Anything that is in short supply is far too valuable to be traded for money. And besides, my house is comfortable now and so I can live on what I have without having to make more.
I have decided to limit my teaching from now on ... Enough to give me the pleasure. Not enough to deprive me of my daily walks with Kenya, my leisurely mornings at the computer, my relatively clean house, my attempts at art and writing ... but most of all, I am reclaiming the freedom to get up in the morning with a blank calendar page to fill in all kinds of pleasurable ways.
I am rearranging my life starting today.
And the first things on my calendar are a dinner party at Erin's this evening, two weeks with a new friend to just have fun and get things done around here to prepare for winter , (we are planning to carve pumpkins) ....and a travel writing workshop with two friends and six other people.
And you never know what will emerge from an artist's date, time to develop a little boredom, days spent with new folks, or stirring up your intellectual curiosity, do you? Perhaps the next phase of my life will be very different from the last one. Or maybe it will simply be the last happy one spiced up a little ...
Thursday, 7 October 2010
Lily after a night's sleep in the real world
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