Behind Brown Eyes

Behind Blue Eyes has been launched!

2012-01-23T21:05:00.001-05:00

Behind Blue Eyes: Love Reign O'er Me is now available at lulu.com in paperback! Check out the book at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/annemarieklein if you're interested. I will let you all know when e-books will be ready for purchase as well. Again, thank you all for your support and I hope you enjoy this novel.

Behind Blue Eyes, Part One: Love Reign O'er Me!

2012-01-22T21:22:00.001-05:00

The paperback version of my first novel, Behind Blue Eyes, Part One: Love Reign O'er Me, should be available sometime this week. Watch this space for further details!

Ugh.

2012-01-17T17:13:00.002-05:00

We had a wonderful little break in the Dominican republic last week, courtesy of our local classic rock station, Q107, who were giving away daily trips last November if you could somehow manage the time-space continuum and be the 107th caller for the song of the day, which changed daily. Thank you, again, Pete Townshend and the Who, for "Baba O'Reilly" and to my fingers for some kind of karmic connection.

Arriving back, however, I found out that my dog Whiskey had been brought back to our house the day before our flight by my sister, following an ugly incident with one of her dogs. Luckily, we have amazing and kind neighbours who agreed to walk him for two days before we arrived. Even more luckily, her dog was not harmed physically beyond what are likely some bruises under the neck where Whiskey decided to inflict his damage. Psychologically,the other pooch, who is an older rescue beagle, has been a bit of a basket case because of what happened, and I am gutted for him that he had to endure such misery at the hands of my animal. I make no excuses for Whiskey, and am quite saddened that the incident means the dogs can no longer play together. This is especially sad for Whiskey and their other dog, Scarlett, who were adopted within days of each other, both rescues, and both lifelong friends until this happened. She was apparently a bit of an encouraging bystander when the aggression began, and I suspect the theory of "three is a crowd" is part of the story here. The beagle was adopted after the pair, and Whiskey has been all too comfortable in their home(s) to the point where there have been signs of jealousy and dominance issues between the two males since his arrival. Whiskey has also shown some food aggression in the past, towards our cats, although strangely enough he allows our 16+ male cat to eat from his bowl without complaint; perhaps he senses the hyperthyroid emergency element to our senior boy, who is the true alpha of the house, and defers to him as a result.

Sadly, not so with poor Jethro, who has been upset since Saturday and who rightly should never be placed in such a position again, least of all in his own house. His home should be a refuge, and not somewhere he should ever face fear. I am in full agreement with that, and yet feel such a sadness that the trio will never really interact again. Whiskey has had a few run-ins with dogs at the park in the last few months, and I am now wondering if something in his nature has changed that I need to look at more closely, or whether his behaviour is the result of being spoiled by having me all to himself during the day in a way he never did when I was working full-time. He was also acting quite strangely just two days before we left, and I had initially thought he had had a seizure of some sort because he could not move to the right and had a strange appearance. The vet visit was inconclusive, but he did suspect that he had had the canine version of a mild concussion, likely from hitting his face somewhere during play at the dog park, and told us to keep watch over him for signs of deterioration. I did relay all that to my sister, as we left the next morning, but it seemed to her (and to us, during the last day here) that he improved and appeared to act fairly normally. All I know for now is that the dog park is off-limits until I can observe him more, and discuss my case with the dog behaviourist at the shelter where I volunteer. Whiskey doesn't seem to pleased not to have returned to the off-leash area, but I can't trust him right now around other dogs and so this is where we stand. My sense is that he knew he had screwed something up when we came home late Sunday night, because he wouldn't make eye contact and had that "I peed on the furniture" expression on his face. Beyond that, I am quite confused as to what has happened to the fairly calm, even tempered pet I used to have.

So just a bit ugh all around right now, and a real sense of loss for what can't be anymore.

Satisfied Exhaustion

2012-01-06T18:25:00.000-05:00

Last night, I finished the final edit of the first novel I ever wrote. technically, it is half of the first novel, but since I am now choosing to make the entire family drama into four separate novels for a series, it is now officially the first.

I have learned many things on this journey, and one is that writing is not really a solitary experience. I've had many friends and colleagues on this road, and each have provided insights, assistance, and solutions I did not expect, and the result has been a better narrative. I've also learned that writing fiction in a historical time frame is daunting, even if you were there at the same age as your characters, which is largely the case with this book I wrote. It is remarkable how difficult it is to properly conjure up the phrases that were in style back then, the subtle nuances of what was permissible in the culture of the day, and indeed, whether or not certain laws had already been enacted. In placing my story in 1978, in Toronto, I hit the crossroads of a few important timelines- Canada's move into the metric system from Imperial, Ontario's change of the legal drinking age from 18 to 19, and the addition of mandatory seat belts in cars, just to name three of them. It was a time of great movement in music as well, just before the video revolution, and just beyond the punk rock invasions, and all of these things I mention had an impact on the story I was telling.

In looking at my notes and edits, I am astounded at the amount of changes that had to be made because I was off by mere months in some of my recollections, or because a location I fondly remembered either had not been created yet or had already been closed or demolished at the time of the scene I was painting. One of the keener observation a reader friend mentioned when he read a draft version was how much smoking there was in every scene. Yes, there was a time in Toronto when you could smoke everywhere, and you often did, one after the other. I know this because I lived it, on airplanes, in restaurants, at school.

Language was also a big undertaking, as slang changes with the times. It was a challenge to make sure expressions from later periods did not seep into the dialogue, and that the decade stayed relatively accurate. As one of my friends said to me today- no one will notice if you get it right, but they will if you get it wrong. It is my hope that will all those consecutive readings and rewrites, I managed to get most of it right. I'm sure I will hear otherwise if that is not the case.

My final thought is this- without the ever-modern marvel of Google, I would never have been able to look most of these issues up and resolved them so quickly. Funny ol' world, innit?

Happy Holidays!

2011-12-22T14:01:00.003-05:00

Time to hibernate in all that is warm and fuzzy for the holidays. I want to wish you all a very Merry Christmas, and for those who do not partake in that holiday, I hope the season is filled with joy, love, and peace. And for everyone, a very happy and healthy 2012!

I leave you with my favourite seasonal ornament, because everyone should have a bit of Whiskey at Christmastime.

Dreams of the Artist

2011-12-04T22:56:00.006-05:00

What a creative month this has been for the little blogger group that started out together five years ago. It seems like everyone is having an explosion of creativity at the same time.

The lovely Val Poore, whose blog link can be found on my main page, has just had her first novel, The Skipper's Child, published, which you can find here.

The equally wonderful String, who can also be found on the left sidebar, has started a record label with her partner, musician Tony Lowe, which you can find here.

I am not moving as swiftly as this pair, but I am excited that my book is in its final editing stage and that my book cover is being created. Watch this space- there is more to come!

The Legal High

2011-11-17T22:58:00.002-05:00

It's writing, as Stephen King used to say.

What a great month this has been. Aside from winning a Caribbean winter vacation, I've really moved mountains in terms of my writing goals. Behind Blue Eyes is in the hands of an editor friend who will be sending it back shortly with suggestions for the final draft, I've got a design being created for book cover, and I've also decided that the book will need to be divided into two separate parts because of its length and the need to follow the marketplace. My only struggle right now is coming up with a title for the second half, and any suggestions from those of you who have read it would be most welcome.

On top of getting BBE moving along, I'm also back on track with my second (well, now third) book of the series, and will most likely have that one done within the next two weeks. I've figured out how to bring the story to an end, and have been really excited by the mere act of writing. Today, I had to put myself in character and write a love song to another character, which was really challenging as I haven't done that in years. I patched together some lyrics, which need to sit at least overnight so that I can reassess them tomorrow, but the exercise was a good mental and creative stretch.

Onward and upward, onto the page!

Stuck in a Moment

2011-10-29T20:16:00.003-04:00

Days have come and gone since I was fortunate enough to get what undoubtedly were the last remaining concert tickets to Mumford & Sons at the Air Canada Centre, which is one of Toronto's biggest arenas and the home of our major hockey team. I think it seats roughly 20 000 people, and it was a delightful surprise to me (and perhaps to the Mums themselves) that they managed a sell-out in a really short time.

The music is soulful, Celtic, played with traditional instruments and then layered with stirring harmonies; the lyrics are often poignant, dark, and sometimes clever, and dare I say surprisingly deep and thoughtful from the hands of such relative youngsters. That I like them isn't remarkable, because I have been a fan of Celtic music for most of my adult life, whether served up with a twist (U2, Big Country) or in the more down-home styles reminiscent of the Chieftains. What does make me scratch my head a little is that the crowd was largely of the college and late high school variety, and that they have latched onto this band is not obvious to me.

That said, the entire show was magnificent, one big ceilidh in true Cape Breton style, all sing-along and body stomps. There were dangling patio lights that one would throw over the yard's laundry line for a summer party, a simple stage designed to focus on the music rather than the spectacle behind it. I loved the bareness of it all, the appeal of just seeing musicians alternately pounding and caressing their instruments as they moved from quiet, solemn moments to thundering choruses. It worked for me, and I went home just madly in love with this fabulous group of young artists.

What was secondary and yet quite interesting was the fact that I was in a great age minority at this concert, a position I have really never been in so obviously except for an unfortunate night in 1987 when I had to chaperone the two young sisters (9 and 13) of my then-husband. The older girl had the audacity to warn me that because I was "older" (at 25!), I might need earplugs to mitigate the loud sound of The New Kids on the Block. She never did recover from the wrath of this Who fan, and certainly never mentioned my age or her ill-chosen remarks ever again. On Tuesday, it was a show I was attending willingly, eagerly, and yet I couldn't help but wonder what has happened to the concert experience in the last 25 years. The proliferation of cellphones was jarring, with everyone around us texting, tweeting, and taking endless photos around us- not of the band, but of themselves with the band as a mere backdrop to the excessive, almost obsessive need to catalogue every breathing moment of their lives. My husband, who wasn't quite as passionate about the band as I was, happily joined in with the electronic set, relaying what was happening on Twitter between and during songs. That 50 tweets appeared in under 2 minutes from people in the audience is a real testament to the fact that this generation has lost the ability to just live in the moment and enjoy it. Everything has become a communal experience, but in the most obnoxious manner. No longer content to just participate and listen, people now feel the need to let everyone know immediately what they are feeling, seeing, or hearing. They don't take the time to filter, digest, or even reflect on what they are in the middle of, but more critically, they miss precisely what they are relaying by the action of passing it on. The level of distraction is rather elevated, but I suspect they don't even realize this is happening because it's the new normal. iWeep.

As someone who majored in Mass Communications in 1989, the scene was quite fascinating. We're moved forward so much in so little time that I truly think the current crop of tech users haven't really thought about what all the changes mean to them, and how they are affected by them. I know from 20 years of teaching that children (in the last 5 years or so) seem to rely on those close to them to react when they watch a film, or a play, and it's often strange to watch them watching each other to measure what their reaction to a scene should be. They are truly incapable of sitting quietly and experiencing the viewing privately, because it has become a moment to explain and react to as a group. This is the result of home videos, and the failure to separate what is truly a public space, and what is a private one. Likewise, at a concert, they are anxious to "share" so that they can all confirm that they're witnessing the event correctly. It is the most intriguing phenomenon to observe, mainly because I have so little opportunities to do so.

Where are we going from here? No idea, except that I am not sure I can keep myself from being diverted from the stage to all the little hands pressing characters into their smartphones. I would love to go back to the days where all the lights did not compete with those in the audience, and where the most you'd see in the dark was a Bic lighter dancing along to a ballad. Bono very recently expressed his frustration at seeing endless fans obsessing with their cellphones in the front rows of one of his shows. "Live in the moment, for God's sake!" he shouted to the offending parties. Indeed, Bono, that's what we need to learn to do again. But how? That's the question.

How Curiosity Keeps Me Sane(r)

2011-10-21T15:34:00.003-04:00

Those of you who frequent FB might have seen my quick post about my arrival into the airport on Tuesday night. Let's just say it was not the smoothest landing I've ever experienced. I am sure we were never in real danger, or in any more danger than one can be in metal box zipping around the clouds. That said, I do remember my brother telling me, many years ago when he first worked for British Airways, that the best ways to lose your fear about things was to discover how they worked. A lot of wisdom there, along with my personal belief that there is a serenity that also comes with being very observant, if for no other reason than having an eye out stops you from having nasty surprises sometimes.

Both of these things were true on Tuesday night, as the landing gear came down and we made our final approach to the runway in front of us. I always book the window seat because I love watching what is going on below, above, and beside me. There is something breath-taking about seeing the Rockies, the Amazon, or the Grand Canyon from a bird's eye view, and that's largely why I do it. As we were descending, though, my eye was drawn to another flight on a parallel course to my right, slightly below us, but on a similar track for a different runway. Suddenly, its nose went up and it started to climb, and my brain immediately wondered what was up. Of course, less than five seconds later, our slow glide down was reversed, thrusters went to full-throttle, and we went up,up, up as well. Technically, this is not the safest thing to be doing when your flaps are likely already dragging and slowing you down, although the pilot's banking as we climbed back to what Austin later told me was 4 000 feet (amazing what info you can get from iPhone GPS trackings) is a smart way to minimize the risk of an engine stall. Passengers looked around at each other, visibly nervous, scared, and wondering what the hell was going on. I was too, but just for a quick minute, until I remembered how the landing/take-off sequences work and quickly reasoned that someone below us in a cross-runway had likely missed their cue to take-off and caused this hiccup. Toronto, as it turns out, is the 18th busiest airport in the world, and 7pm is the rush hour of flights outbound for Europe, and inbound from all directions. There just wasn't enough distance between the arriving and departing planes to allow us to keep landing, and an instant decision had to be made for us to abort and try again. My head figured that out, and I calmed down immediately.

Once you figure out how traffic control works, you can go through harrowing moments without the need to scream and panic. I long ago also reasoned out that each pilot must be trained for all kinds of emergencies, including the possibility that the plane right in front of him or her could crash upon landing or take-off, which would mean a reversal of course for any aircraft just behind or crossing. Decisions like that need to be made instantly, as they were on Tuesday night, and I'm willing to bet they happen more often than we might suspect, all with great skill and professionalism. That's not to say that I wasn't relieved when the wheels finally did kiss the ground, but I think I was a lot calmer than some of my fellow travellers. They say curiosity kills the cat, but I think it also soothes the mind.

Japanese Baths

2011-10-09T22:34:00.005-04:00

I have added a new must-have for future visits to San Francisco, an experience I will undoubtedly want to repeat before leaving here next week. In Japantown, there is a spa that has, as an added feature, communal baths that you can visit at your leisure. The Kabuki spa is all soft lighting and traditional Asian music, with glowing candles and subtle incense as you come out of the locker area and into the main baths. There, you find a row of individual wooden benches, with wide metal bowls to cleanse your body before the water therapies. The taps and shower faucets are self-regulating and you can choose between cucumber and lemongrass gels. The usual practice is to fill the bowl and then pour it over your body. Three days a week, it is open only for female patrons, likewise for men, with one day reserved for clothed co-eds.

What you notice immediately is that it is a serene room, where each person wanders freely, without the need for clothes or dialogue. The lighting is dim, the music gentle, and the scent quite soft and soothing. There is lemon and cucumber- infused water, fresh fruit, and hot herbal tea to heighten your experience, and lime sea salt scrub to exfoliate in the steam room showers. The hot pool is comfortable on tired achy muscles, and the proper response to a hot treatment is to follow it up with a dip in the cold one. The recommended time for the second phase is a minimum of two minutes, which is quite challenging in such a warm room. A large clock, which seems out of place, is there to help patrons determine that needed time for effective cleansing. There is also a gong, which can be struck to remind people of the need to respect the sanctity of the space with their silence.

The steam showers are like a tropical fog, with a humid mist so thick you can't see two feet in front of you. The moisture is so intense that breathing becomes challenging after a time. The dry sauna is much easier, beautifully hot so that you can lie down for a longer period of time, letting the heat make your skin damp and glistening. Your last option is to simply occupy a wooden chaise longue over your towel, close your eyes, and assume a relaxation pose like you would on a beach at the height of a summer's day.

When you are done, the final ritual is a repetition of the entry cleanse, using the bowl station. Then, back in the ante-room, you can towel yourself dry and apply moisturizers and lotions to your rejuvenated skin before dressing to leave. At the exit, you are invited to take a polished stone as a keepsake of your visit, and then it's time to step back out into the world, refreshed, relaxed, and re-energized by what you've let go inside the spa centre.

The Sweetness of Hardly Strictly Bluegrass

2011-10-01T14:14:00.002-04:00

It's summer in San Fancisco, their time of year when the sun comes out and stays out, and when all the festivals are in town. For the first time since I discovered with great city seven years ago, I can actually come and experience what it is to be here in the middle of fair and festival season. And what an initiation last night at the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival in the city's most beautiful urban gem, Golden Gate Park.

I flew in late on Wednesday night, on a fast, pleasant flight where I was apparently a hero for offering up my seat for a baby. The standards are quite low these days if this is any measure of much beyond good manners (thanks Mum and Dad), but I didn't refuse the free wine and dinner out of the same politeness. The air was warm and almost Toronto-in-July muggy when I came out of the terminal, good omen number two. The third good strike was finding that the first festival was starting on Friday, and that one of my favorites, the legendary John Prine, would be playing an afternoon stage just a half hour's walk from where I am staying.

For those of you unfamiliar with John Prine, he was very accurately introduced as a 'songwriter's songwriter'. He is one of America"s greatest living treasures, the only good thing to come out of my first live- in relationship, which was a disaster in every other way except that I got to listen and love his music. I have only seen him live once before, at a small university hall 5 years or so ago when he seemed old, frail, and likely recovering from some kind of illness. In that, he reminded me of seeing Gordon Lightfoot last year, older, thinner in frame and voice, with some health problems and yet the continuing passion of a storytelling balladeer who can paint such a portrait of his country with simple chords and poignant images. Yesterday,Prine looked fitter than when I last saw him, his tone seemed richer, and it was obvious that the audience appreciated his performance. I was thrilled to stand at the top of the hill, with red-tailed hawks hovering overhead above the trees, the sun starting its descent into the Pacific horizon judt behind us, listening to just a fraction of his amazingly large repertoire. It was such a delight to hear "Hello In There", a minor disappointment to not get "Sam Stone" or "Angel of Montgomery", and just a joy to share the moment with thousands of others who came to savour the music of this under-appreciated talent. I really hope I get the chance to her him again, but will always remember that I did get to enjoy him performing in such a gorgeous setting.

And then there was Robert Plant. Another treasure, from a different time and place, who brought to the stage his love of American roots music with folksy versions of Led Zeppelin classics, with country-bluegrass- bluesy hybrid renditions of Black Dog, Misty Mountain Hop, Thank You, Ramble On, and a phenomenal encore with Gallows Pole plucked by banjo strings. He looked and sounded great, his older voice smartly suited to the less thundering but more intensely powerful sounds of American instruments. He was very generous too, often putting the spotlight on his fellow musicians, praising the genius of their craft, encouraging us to come back tomorrow to see some of them playng with their other bands. I have always sensed from him a deep respect and reverence for the talents of those who share the stage with him, and he paid homage to a lot of artists who inspired him as a young man from the Midlands in the way he spoke between songs last night. His Band of Joy is well named, as they play with energy and a genuine love of music that was contagious in the audience as well as on stage. As he came out to do his encores, the sun had begun to set and one could see the fog rolling in over the horizon of the Pacific just behind us.; the day was now ending, and it was pitch-perfect in every way.

Pure and Easy

2011-09-24T11:24:00.003-04:00

It has now been two weeks that I've been volunteering my dog walking services at the local shelter. Our city has two shelter systems- one public, which is government funded and accepts strays, wildlife, and other lost animals, and the second one, which is the Humane Society, which is wholly funded through private and corporate donations and currently takes its dogs and cats (not to mention rabbits, ferrets, and hamsters) from owner surrenders or from other city shelters it associates with.

Most of the dogs I have been walking have once belonged to someone, and you can see how much some are confused by their new surroundings. They are also quite sweet, wanting to please, and incredibly eager to get out the door and into the fresh air and sunshine. I can't say that I blame them, once you realize how small their kennel area must seem to them if they were previously in a family home. That said, because there are no longer overcrowding problems, the dogs are lucky to have the use of a "double run", and unlike a lot of other city shelters, they are not in cages but on real floors with enough room to turn themselves around and do a bit of pacing without hitting walls.

I love the morning volunteer shift- you get there for 7am, and the team (there are about 6 of us first thing) systematically goes through one section of kennel runs at a time so the staff can clean the cages; one by one, these dogs get their first taste of the outside world for the day, and those without medical problems even enjoy a little enclosed dog park area where they can play with toys, sniff some greenery, and run around without the constraint of a leash. After 15 minutes, we all go in and take the next run section, until two hours later, when the entire group has been taken care of.

The vibe is pretty relaxed, likely because we are all still a bit tired from the early start and not yet fully hyped up for the day, and the dogs are so grateful for the first face to offer them a bit of freedom, that it really is an easy kind of volunteering. Sure, some of the pooches are munching on the leash, trying to slip past me as I lock them back up, tugging away while I try to maintain some order on the perimeter walks, but the overall sense that I have from doing this is quite peaceful and joyful. The staff is happy we're there, the animals are delighted to see us, and the response from doing the work is immediate and so pure in its essence. The dogs respond to their names like you're an angel calling to them, but they know well enough that the day is filled with all sorts of different angels, and they don't get attached in the same way as my dog does. They're happy, but they know there are many people helping them through the day, and so there is a bit of reserve that works well for everyone involved. Perhaps they save their pleading puppy eyes for the adoption hours, but I am quite content to savour the gentle contact with them without the separation anxiety, In that sense, doing this work is turning out to be easier than I thought: you take care of them for 15 minutes, and then move on to the next one, until they've all had a turn, and the rewards are immediate and concrete for everyone involved. I am learning to just be, and to appreciate each dog for the qualities he or she demonstrates: they are all different, with particular stories and histories, and yet they all have something sweet or special that you know will really shine once they get out and find a permanent home. Realising that they are in transition, and that you just need to take care of that "now" for them is what makes it fulfilling, and so simple. Now all I need to do is stop worrying about missing the alarm and actually sleeping soundly the night before, and all will be good.

Hidden Gem in the City

2011-09-13T11:52:00.004-04:00

Two years ago in the late spring, we moved out of our old, familiar neighbourhood into the great unknown just west of where we had spent more than two decades. I had heard great things about this little corner of the city, which is, even though real estates keep referring to it as "up and coming", still a largely working class, mixed enclave near the water and where, 100 years ago, people farmed and cottaged away from downtown. We curve around lake Ontario and have some beautiful views of the skyline day and night, and Whiskey and I often run into swans down at the water line. I didn't know much more about the community other than it presented an affordable alternative to our old one, and promised a chance at neighbours who weren't going to meddle like many had in our old condo life.

Largely, I have found myself very impressed with the people who live around us and those who run and frequent the shops along what is quaintly called Lakeshore Village. For those of you who don't know much about Toronto, the city really is a ravine system over which the British style of the high street has been implemented; every corner has its own set of little individual businesses, and even though we live in a city of 2.5 million, I would bet that most people walk from their residential pocket to the stores along their high street. This was true in the other 4 neighbourhoods I have lived in, and it's still the case. I appreciate that people say hello and greet you when you walk down the street, and that they smile when our eyes meet, or when the dog ambles towards them; more close to home, we have neighbours who routinely cross the street to mow the patch of grass between the sidewalk and the road, knowing we have no front lawn anymore but need the five minute gesture, and still others who volunteer to help us pick up friends and their luggage at the airport "just to help out". This is the kind of street I grew up on, and I am so happy that we made the move out here. I laugh when charity workers come to the door, because they largely and good-naturedly complain that they are rarely efficient on our local streets because people are too friendly, and often slow down their pace by inviting them in for tea or a glass of water.

Just over two weeks ago, I joined the local public gym, which is run in a city recreation centre but still operates like a private membered fitness centre. Every weekday morning since the first week of September, I've been starting my day with a different workout class and then walking back home. The choices are quite impressive: there are low cardio, body conditioning, step, stretching and strength training options, some mixed together in the same program, and from week to week, the same class and instructor seems to focus on different areas. The music goes from 50s rockabilly to industrial and post-apocalyptic classical fusion (how's that for a genre description?) and the group likewise seems to be a diverse group of all ages. What I have appreciated, aside from the fact that there are no LuluLemon yummy mummies at 9am, is that the same open acceptance that I see in my neighbourhood is also present at the gym. Both the men and women have come up, asking my name and shaking hands right from the get-go. I get a lot of "glad you've joined our group" and "nice to have you here for the year" comments, and already feel at home. Likewise the small yoga studio a few streets away, whose classes are run by a sweet woman who lives two doors away; her husband is an artist, and his paintings decorate her makeshift studio at the back of a holistic health centre. From the first class, I have felt at home there too, and was completely unsurprised when one of the other class attendees invited us to her house for tea after the class. Just like that, not knowing some of us from a hole in the ground. She told us her garden looked out onto the lake, and that it would be a splendid way to spend a sunny Saturday afternoon. Sadly, I had an errand to run, but the generosity of spirit that seems to envelop this "up and coming" area is rampant and genuine.

I actually hope this little gem of a neighbourhood never gets beyond that designation. As the Eagles used to sing, "Call some place paradise, kiss it goodbye."

A New Routine

2011-09-07T11:53:00.003-04:00

As the teachers went back into their classrooms last week to set up for the new school year, it was very strange to still be out enjoying the best continuous summer weather in recent memory. While Toronto is certainly hot and humid in July, it is rare to enjoy almost ten weeks in a row of sunny, warm days, and yet there it was for 2011 for all us to savour. Saturday, it was still 40C with the humidity, and then it fell like a stone to the high teens, which it has been ever since. It's as though Mother Nature has children in the school system, and wants them to be comfortable as they put the holidays being them.

For me, the last week and a half has been about transitioning to this "free year" I am plunging into. I've signed up for a gym membership at the local community centre, and have started each weekday with a 9am class: there's low cardio, fusion, step alternating every day, with floor work and weight components and stretching in between. I am, despite the still less-than-100% shoulder (I would guess 85% at this point), managing the fitness component without much difficulty and can do most floor exercises most of the time. To keep myself from jumping in too drastically, I am only using 2 lb. weights to start for the arm work, and the step platform is only on the first riser, lest I destroy what is left of one knee in the first month. The people who take these morning classes are a mash-up of the retired, the off-hour working, and the leisure set: all in all, a friendly, encouraging bunch who take their classes seriously, but not themselves. No make-up and glam yoga wear on this group!

It is good to get the fitness workout behind you by 10:30 am, and to have an open day to look forward to. I have promised myself that a daily jaunt to the dog park in the afternoon will not only keep Whiskey happy, but my legs and heart as well. I suspect my iPod is going to get a lot of use this year as a result, but I am quite happy about the prospect of long walks in the fresh air. I'm also still on track to walk shelter dogs one day a week, and go for my final training on Saturday.

In between all this activity, this year is going to be about writing. I have contracted out a former student to supply me a front and back cover for the book I am prepping for e-publishing, and am in my final content edit in between all the physical activity. For those of you who know me, you know I am quite incapable of sitting or lying around for long stretches, and so the shift back and forth between movement and literary solitude is going to be a perfect balance.

We're also trying to plan out some year-long trips now that I am not tied to the school calendar. So far, California is the early October trip, and we are NYC bound for early November so see my brother-in-law in a play, and then are trying to combine a visit to Atlanta to see our in-laws and then possibly a Caribbean cruise from Miami on a second leg. That's as far as we've gotten with the excursions, and are debating the relative merits of Vancouver/Alaska, Italy/Germany/Netherlands for the late spring. It might be an expensive year, but I also suspect it is going to fly so much faster than if I were working.

Love, Hope, and Optimism

2011-08-24T20:45:00.008-04:00

The week in Canada began with two devastating pieces of news: the death of twelve people on a flight to a remote part of the Arctic, and then the sudden death of Jack Layton, who was the leader of the Opposition party nationally. For those of you unfamiliar with our political system, it is based on the British parliamentary system, which means we have a Prime Minister (and his Tory party in power right now with a majority government), and the Opposition, which is the 2nd place party, at the moment held by the New Democratic Party, which would probably best be described as social democrats. The middle ground Liberals were annihilated during the last election in May.

Jack Layton was very charismatic, and spent about 20 years in Toronto as a member of the city council before entering federal politics, and so he was really a beloved son of the city I grew up in and still call home. He was raised in a privileged home, the son a Tory cabinet minister, and rose to become an environmentalist and left-leaning politician who advocated for the poor, the homeless, and so many of the disenfranchised in our society. His death, which came unexpectedly and quickly from cancer, was shocking and sad as he had just won a large victory in early May election and was poised to go back to the House of Commons in September.

It is only the second time in history that a sitting Opposition leader has died in office, the last one being a former Prime Minister, Wilfred Laurier, in 1919. The reaction to his death has been quite dramatic, and has crossed all political stripes. He was a man much admired for his principles, regardless of whether or not people could bring themselves to vote for him, and he was quite liked by opponents and followers alike. He was passionate about politics, loved his family, music, and his country. He now lies in state in Ottawa, and has been granted the honour of a state funeral by our Prime Minister; as I write this, the public line is now over a thousand strong as they keep the foyer of the House of Commons open late tonight so people can pay their respects. He will be flown to Toronto on Friday and will also lie in state here at City Hall before his Saturday funeral.

The Chalk Memorial at Toronto's Nathan Phillips Square

I never met Jack Layton, but he represented the best of what Canada means to me- it is a country of hope, compassion, and gentility, of people who have come from every corner of the world to start a better life for themselves and their families, and left their former troubles at the door. It is a country where we all muddle through together, from different cultures, languages, religions, and classes, yet somehow manage to get along. Jack Layton was the embodiment of that hope, and of that striving to make this society more just and caring. He was the one to push the federal Tory government to apologize publicly for the shameful treatment of our First Nations people, and worked tirelessly on behalf of the homeless and other vulnerable citizens. A chalk memorial began just outside our city hall after his death was announced on Monday, captured so beautifully by many photographers before today's rain storms washed a lot of it away. (See the photograph above)

I was struck yesterday by the disconnect between the reactions of two prominent conservative politicians and those of two equally powerful neo-con newspapers: our Prime Minister Stephen Harper was gracious in his verbal praise of Jack Layton, and used his discretionary powers to grant him the honour of a state funeral, both of which showed admirable grace; our city mayor, Rob Ford, who has been known to keep his foot quite close to his mouth, was generous when reminiscing about his days in local council with Jack, and complimented him for teaching him so many things and having such strong principles. In comparison, two major newspapers had what I felt were disgusting opinion pieces yesterday- one which questioned the sanity of Canadians who were mourning the loss so publicly and apparently so emotionally, the other wondering if taxpayers should be responsible for the cost of a state funeral at a time of fiscal restraint. I am happy to say that the comment section of both newspapers were flooded by irate and disgusted people of all political leanings who overwhelmingly denounced the two reporters for their ill-timed and mean-spirited editorials. They were tacky, petty, and incredibly disrespectful ideas at a time when an entire nation is mourning, and the complete antithesis of what Jack Layton wrote to his countrymen in his last letter to us:

My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world.

Amen, Jack, and RIP.

Gimme Shelter

2011-08-14T19:01:00.002-04:00

Oh, the corniest of all titles tonight, but a new start for me as I began today to move towards some volunteer work.

The Toronto Humane Society dates back to 1887, and has its roots in preventing cruelty to children before it devoted itself to the care of unwanted and mistreated animals in my fair city. It was, and still is, a wholly charitable organization that depends on donations from the public and its members. Two years ago, it was raided by the OSPCA (Ontario SPCA) for terrible practices, which included the refusal to euthanize dangerous and sick and dying animals, and its entire board of directors were thrown out and clean-up started to make it a better place. I had been a supporter for a long time, and was horrified at the legal mess they were in, not to mention the chaotic nature of the day-to-day operations under their previous management.

Today, as I walked through the main doors to attend a volunteers' meeting to become an official dog walker, I was stunned at the changes around me- friendly reception area, clean premises, in short, none of the overwhelming signs of disarray and despair that would have greeted me just a few short years ago. I was amazed to learn that infections and diseases kept many cats out of the adoption rooms, hidden away in back areas the public never saw, and that volunteers did at times come in the morning to help out to find dead animals in their cages because the belief was that no one was allowed to be mercifully put down. Animals sometimes lingered for years in cages, un-adoptable for reasons of temperament or illness; while the new management clearly states that no animal is killed for space, they do maintain that it is not possible to be an absolutely no-kill shelter and that there are times when it is the best course of action to let an animal go. Their current rate of euthanasia is 2%, which seems acceptable when you consider city shelters run by governments sit around 50% and routinely kill because they have no more cages left.

So, my next steps are pretty straight-forward, and I am further impressed that the process to becoming a volunteer is rather strict, and quite detailed. I am filling out the application, going for an interview, and if accepted beyond that, I will begin some proper training to learn how to walk a shelter dog. They are not exactly like family dogs- stressed, fearful, grieving, anxious, confined, these are all reactions to being in a new, sometimes scary and often noisy place, and I am going to have to learn how to "read" them. I am quite excited for the opportunity- volunteering was always a part of my plan for my year off, and I finally settled down and decided that I am going to do some dog walking and some French-language liaison with newly arrived immigrants from French post-colonial African countries with a local organization. The dog walking is going to get incorporated into my new exercise regimen, and suits me fine because I love animals and I am a big fan of daily walking. The commitment is for 2 hours at a time, once a week, in a regular time slot, which I will manage quite easily, I think. I have no yet finalized my plans with the French group, but they have promised to contact me via email by September to see how I can help. What I was determined to avoid was anything to do with teaching, although making dogs do new tricks will be just fine.

Lazy Days Well Spent

2011-07-19T12:44:00.004-04:00

Spring was slow and stubborn in coming, this after a long, snowy winter that was the opposite of the first one we spent in this house, and I was impatient for it to show a sign, any sign. The flowers were late, or rather, were their normal selves, but I had been falsely deceived by the spring of 2010, which started about 5 weeks early and went straight into a July I spent roasting in Europe.

This year, it is much different, and the languid pace is suiting me nicely. The humidity and haze managed to hold off as I finished the school year, closed my classroom for what will be a full year away, and the hot spell hit the calendar on the very last day of work. Since then, we had been completely blessed by the weather gods, with hints of thunderstorms in the late afternoon and early evening, or long after the sun has gone down for the night. The days have been sunny and warm, although the breezes of last week are now gone and we are in the midst of a muggy phase that it quite typical of July in this part of the country. For those not used to the annual ritual, it is the kind of weather that forced people indoors to the comfort of air conditioning, but for those of us who have grown up here, it is to be embraces, because we know all too well that the season does not last more than a few months, if we are lucky, and that its counterpart can often match the temperatures of the day, but with a nasty minus sign in front of the number.

What have I done so far, since the summer holidays started three weeks ago? Truthfully and happily, very little. I am reading more than I ever have the chance during the school year, most recently a very fascinating book called Globish, which traces the history of the English language from obscurity to its current status as the official language of globalization. Through it all, I learned a lot about how other native tongues added to its vocabulary and got a few good history lessons about England, America, and how the colonies enriched the language of their imperial power. Highly recommended if you are a linguistics or history buff. I am also starting to reread one of my two uncompleted novels so that I can pick up the pen again soon. I cannot believe my last blog entry for it was from May 2010, but am determined to get it finished long before May 2012. My other novel blog is slightly more alarming- last entry posted is February 2009. The current plan is that all three of my novels will be done, edited, and e-published by the time my sabbatical is up. To those of you who have helped me by reading and critiquing, you might be back in business helping me out again, please and thank you.

The rest of the days have been spent in those delightful summer indulgences- time with visiting friends and family, walking to and from the local swimming pool or the dog park, dining out on the deck under the cooling umbrella of the century old walnut tree that makes the yard so inviting. I have not been completely idle, though, having helped my sister with her cottage renovations and our own little home improvements here. In the yard, our fence walls are complete on the both sides, but the gate and back fences are still incomplete. However, the old shed has been demolished and my hand is needed back there to level the ground beneath where it once stood. In the process, I learned just how industrious pack-rats are, having found their plastic milk bag and paper flower stuffing under the wooden base. More science lessons on the fly, I say. I also learned that you need a tetanus shot within 72 hours of the rusty nail scrape, and that leaving it to 71 will get you a stern lecture from the clinic doctor. Of course, my current philosophy is to set one small goal for the day and strive to do nothing much more than that one little thing. Yesterday, it was to brush the dog's thick, shedding coat (done!) and to sweep the dander of all the animals from the main floor (done!). At this pace, being successful is not difficult.

Canadians know how short the summer can be, and so, for the first time in many years, I am in the fortunate position of not having to pack it all in before September, and it feels so much more relaxed than even the usual. I am going back outside, to the deck, for a afternoon read before considering the task of the day- removing the rocks from the old shed base so that I can level the ground on some future day. One small job a day, and the living is easy.

Late afternoon edit: In digging out under the old shed base, I found some interesting bone fragments, which I have added on here. Can anyone identify them at all? I am thinking this was a family cat that was buried as we were all wont to do many years ago, but the skull is almost too slick for that. A small dog perhaps? I am not really sure.

The Beginning of Letting Go

2011-07-02T17:10:00.002-04:00

The lazy days of summer have begun, and recent days have been wonderfully pleasant. Two old friends from my days on an old Usenet group with my fellow "gen-xers" breezed into town this week and we all met up in Kensington market yesterday for great food and wonderful company. This is the newsgroup where I met my husband more than 15 years ago, and it is quite charming to meet up with people who were then young(er) and just starting out in the world- all these years later, most of us are settled, whether this means houses, spouses, children, and proper careers. What a world of difference time can make.

The other big change here is the arrival of what we affectionately call the California crew, our dear friends who spend every July here basking in the warmth of one of the best summer seasons on the planet. For whatever frost and snow winter might deliver to us for long months at a time, there is nothing more glorious than a Canadian summer, hot and humid and largely spent on patios, decks, pools, and private or public lawns in the city, or, for those who get away to the cottage areas just north of here, at the foot of one of hundreds of lakes. I am rolling into summer a bit differently this year, because, unlike my other teacher colleagues, I am not going back to work in the fall; rather, I will be taking the year off to enjoy my first sabbatical.

What are you going to do? This seemed to be the question of the day for friends and parents, and curious colleagues. More times than I care to mention, the list changed over the last 4 years, from wanting to work on the rebuilding of Haiti (too dangerous, still, and maybe a little arrogant) to travelling for most of the year (too expensive, still). My volunteer options have ranged from driving cancer patients to their appointments to walking local shelter dogs to taking my own canine to seniors' residences to cheer them up. I am still working that one out, and walking will likely edge out driving, which I thoroughly hate to do.

I am still hellbent on adding guitar playing to my musical skills, and can't wait to dig into finishing Empty Glass and 19 000 Days, both of which are at least 75% done and were waiting for a proper block of time to get wrapped up properly. I am also going to delve into e-publishing for Behind Blue Eyes, finally, perhaps after trying one last time to get an agent. My sense now seems to be that the publishing world is turning on its ear the way mp3s and the download revolution changed the music industry forever, and that it might be a brave new world out there too.

One last big plan- retooling the body, which is softer than it was before I ripped my right shoulder and froze myself out of my favourite sports activities. I am back on the tennis court, can downward dog almost perfectly again, and am looking forward to finding the hours to tighten and lessen everything below the head. There is a public recreation centre close by, where I have gone to aquafit classes for the last 2 years, and they offer dance and gym classes during the day. I will also be able to simultaneously spoil the dog with daily runs at the off-leash park and tone myself with the walk there and back.

As for the rest of the time, whatever might be left of it not devoted to these "plans", the idea is to let go, and do nothing more pressing than muck about in the garden, read, or go catch a coffee with a long-neglected old friend. There will be a few trips, and I am still clinging to the notion of a Caribbean beach in winter and Italy in the spring, but I am mostly looking forward to the gift of time.

How I became Chauncey Gardner

2011-06-19T18:04:00.002-04:00

My mother made the remark to me last month, after inquiring about what I'd been up to and hearing that I was tooling around in the garden, that I've become old. The irony of this remark coming from someone 30 years beyond my current age of 48 aside, it struck me that she, of all people, would associate a love of plants and flowers with the blue rinse set. I have fond memories of the large city backyard we enjoyed as children, a space neatly divided into a cement patio, with a wooden picnic table most often seen here in local parks, and then the beautiful lawn surrounded in an L-shape by endless blooms that came one after the other- phlox, roses, lilies, bursts of colours and smells that lasted right through the four or five months that mark the Canadian spring and summer time. The peach tree in the centre of the yard always gave us fruit at the end of the summer, and we could always talk our neighbours into sharing their cherries and tomatoes.

I really don't know why we took so long to get out of the condo life into this house, and perhaps it was the sheer convenience of never having to worry financially or otherwise about repairs and maintenance, not to mention snow shovelling and grass cutting, but I don't think I've ever quite so peaceful as I do now, spending afternoons on the sunny deck in the sunshine with friends or family, reading on the shaded porch in the comfort of our old sofa, which is now waterproof with a mattress bag and covered by a one-size fits all throw. What I have noticed in the last two years is that I like to get my hands into the earth, and am quite pleased to see same beauty that surrounded me in childhood. The other thing that strikes me about living in a house with yards is that each passing of the seasons, and indeed the subtle changes within a single season, are now more obvious to me, and it has allowed me to slow things down mentally. One would expect the extra work involved in keeping a house and garden maintained to hurry the pace, but I am finding the opposite is true- I stop to peek into the flower beds, and the small changes from week to week actually make me take a deeper breath and appreciate the little changes. This week alone, the sage butterfly bush has turned purple, the clematis has bloomed both purple and white flowers (are there two plants intertwined, I wonder?) and my Asiatic lily, choked under some weeds that are now in the compost bags ready for the city collection bins, is now just waiting for a hot day to come out of its leafy shell. The Japanese maple is lush, a stunning mixture of greens under the dark wine red, and my spirea has donned some pinkish blooms, which did not happen last year.

Everywhere around me, I am noticing the efforts of the other Chauncey types in the neighbourhood, and it transformed my dog walks with Whiskey. I linger with my eyes as he relieves himself on the grass, taking in some details that never interested me before, and appreciating the combinations of textures, smells, and colours that are on display. If this is what old age is supposed to be like, I'm in.

The Kids Are Alright

2011-05-30T21:56:00.003-04:00

This is a particular delight for anyone who has been teaching a long time, and I do love the unexpected meeting on a random street. This morning, as I set off to school a half hour earlier due to a soccer playoff (which we lost, badly, and in the most ugly way to a rude, crude team, even though admittedly they played a better game), I came out of the subway at what is for me an unusual time. Rounding the stairs, I almost collided with a tall, willowy figure in his mid-teens, a boy who was in grade 6 class 5 years ago. The mutual recognition was instantaneous, as was the jovial greeting. We had a few things in common, he and I, mostly a love of sports and in particular, an obsession for tennis. I decided to speak to him in French, and he was still sharp about it despite 3 years at a private school without any further formal classes in the language. He is planning a summer trip to France to freshen up his dull skills, and he was open to the idea of taking it as a minor in university just to keep it up and give himself more options as he focusses his eventual studies in business administration. I told him that I took it for no other reason than to have an excuse to read, write and converse in my mother-tongue, and he seemed in agreement that it was a good idea for him as well. We talked about his school, my school, and how three of his former classmates in my year with him are in his class now at an all-boys private school. Funny thing, given that my whole class was no larger than 17 that year. They are all doing well, getting on with things, as I frequently reassure parents that most kids eventually do, even when they seem to be proving the opposite in middle school. And the tennis? Yes, still strong for both of us. For me, this is my first year back since my shoulder injury, and I am loving being out there, making the same old mistakes and having the same old strengths. He's moved on from the club I play for, onto a "better" club where he continues to shine on the court.

The entire conversation was likely less than five minutes, and yet, it only took that time to figure out that he is still happily carving out a decent, happy, productive life. It made me smile all the way to school.

City Parks

2011-03-16T13:40:00.003-04:00

I think cities need a place where people can walk and play, and the great ones have amazing parks. San Francisco has just such a treasure with its Golden Gate Park, which I decided will be my walking destination this week while I am enjoying my annual spring break away from the snow.

The sun is peeking out this morning, for the first time since I arrived late Saturday night, but I never let weather stop me from doing things. How can I, as someone from the land of the ice and snow? Yesterday, I got caught in the middle of the park in the middle of a rain storm, but I didn't let that dampen my enthusiasm for what I was doing. You see, in the winter and early spring months, there is something truly magical about the Northern California landscape. The greenery is more than forty shades, and it is lush and fragrant. As you walk among the trees, there are knots in the wood and bark dangling almost poetically. And the flowers- to see such colour when you have spent months looking at the faded browns of the dead of winter garden you left behind, splashes of orange, pink, bursts or yellow and purple, well, it is just a feast for the eyes.

On my walk, just as the sky was turning ugly, I came up to a place called Prayerbrook Cross, and saw a waterfall. In a city park, a cascade of spring water fell before me in loud rushes, and I followed the current along the road until it brought me to a little lake within the park. There, ducks were feeding and the water had slowed to near stillness. As the rain came crashing down and I turned back towards the house, I was reminded of similar feelings of wonder and joyI've had in the many city parks and cemeteries I always make a point to visit when I am away from home. Tomorrow, I am going to head westward towards the ocean and visit the bison pen at that end of the park. Can't wait.

Child 44

2011-03-06T10:23:00.004-05:00

March is reading comfort month for me. Spring break is just a week away, and I've been compiling my companion books for my week away. For the most part, my favourite reads are in the mystery genre, although I've expanded my interests in recent years. I have a long list of favourite mystery authors, most of whom are British (think P.D. James, Reginald Hill, Ian Rankin). We can now add Tom Rob Smith to this list, for his debut novel Child 44, which was long listed for the Booker prize in 2008. I tend to think of Booker nominees as "literary" genres, and while I totally admire how well this book was written, what made it so enjoyable to read was that it was a thriller about child murders in Stalin's Russia. What made it even more pleasurable to read, in the end, was that it is a brutally accurate portrayal of what life was like in the USSR of the 50s, and what it surely must be like now in many parts of the world. There were echoes of Orwell's 1984 in there, and it was chilling to imagine what it must have been like to try to survive in that society. The detective chase had so many twists and turns, and there was so much to learn about daily life, that the 400 pages flew by during my commutes.

I'm not hoping a request for his follow-up novel, The Secret Speech, will come off the library system in time for my Saturday departure. Although I have two novels already packed, my favourite list has just grown again.

LIFE by Keith Richards

2011-02-04T22:49:00.003-05:00

I am not more than halfway through Keith Richards' autobiography, and just need to stop and reflect a bit on what I've read so far. I've heard from others that this was a fantastic, wonderful read; others have shrugged their shoulders or disliked the endless references to drugs.

So, sitting around page 300 and heading into Exile On Main Street and a French château, how am I feeling about this book? For the most part, I am enjoying it. Keith's prose is easy to read, and he is fairly straight-forward about things, places, and people. I am not sure it's fair to speak so badly and bluntly of the dead, who really can't defend themselves, and I'm sure there are a few living who'd like to wring his neck for his less than charitable remarks. That said, I have been fascinated by the discussion about the process of songwriting, and how certain melodies and lyrics came about. I love those musical anecdotes, and they are by and large one of the main reasons I so loved watching Elvis Costello's wonderful tv show Spectacle. I really like how he links particular songs to a place and time, and goes on to explain where the lyrics came from. I was also quite enthralled by the whole 5-stringcopen tuning he described, though as someone who doesn't play guitar, I can't really appreciate the liberation of that last string. Those are the moments in rock and roll memoirs that I love reading about. the gossip about who dated and did who, couldn't care less. I love his reverence for some of the pioneers that came before him, and I do admit to being just a little bit surprised at his admiration for Baden-Powell. I would never have taken him for a boy scout, but I can see the taste for learning survival skills. That is perhaps why he's still here, despite lots of falls from many different types of coconut trees.

My only frustration is that he sometimes doesn't say enough and just glides over events. I suppose it's because he thinks many of his readers have read about them to death, but there were a few instances where I was left wondering what the hell he was on about and didn't think it was up to me as a reader to go look up the incident on Google just to satisfy my need for narrative details and decided to just plough forward.

As for the endless drugs, that didn't strike me as something that got under my skin. It's there, always, but never invading the narrative in a way that annoyed me. I am looking forward to getting to the late 70s, and to the point where he and the Stones showed up at the El Mocambo (where, by the way, my parents met in the late 50s when it was a swing hall) and changed the course of Canadian politics and a Prime Minister's marriage forever. My teenage brain remembers those events one way- I can't wait to hear his side of the story.

Children's Books

2011-01-03T21:36:00.004-05:00

I am going through a strange reading phase at the moment, and I am not sure what to make of it except to keep doing it. I am reading children's books, from novels for the 10+ set like the magnificent one whose cover I have displayed above, and YA (young adult) genres like Michael Grant's Gone series. I could pretend that I am doing it as a professional endeavour, but that is not the case. I find myself thumbing through the monthly Scholastic catalogues that the company sends my students, looking for books that interest me, and I find these little gems. The Underneath, shown above, is one such treasure. It is the beautifully written story of a lonely and pregnant calico cat who finds the equally sorrowful hound, Ranger, and the bond they forge before fate sends them down a twisted, dangerous road; the modern story is intertwined with an old magical legend that begins a thousand years before in the same bayou region of the US South. It is a tale of bravery, loneliness, of wanting and loss, and all told with a poetic, elegant prose that just captured me and wouldn't let me go. I wish I could write like this debut novelist, so beautifully descriptive without being long-winded or full of unnecessary words. There is so much feeling and longing on each page, so much ugliness and then, wondrous beauty. I could not put this book down, and yet... I am not 10, and still was enchanted by the unfolding of this story.

I can't quite explain why it is that I am drawn to this younger fiction. Perhaps it is because there are amazing writers now turning to a younger audience, or perhaps because these novels work on different levels. The students in my class who have read this book were just as enraptured by its pages, and seem delighted that I am now reading it out loud to the class. This alone tells me that the author did not set out to write a children's story that ended up appealing to adults only to fail the target market, but the fact that a friend's 10 year old daughter devoured it in one day during my recent trip to California just cements that belief.

You Never Give Me Your Money

2010-12-12T10:42:00.003-05:00

I have just finished Peter Doggett's meticulous examination of what happened to the Beatles' financial empire after the band broke-up in 1969, and have to tell you it was one of the most interesting yet painful reads I've had in a long time. The pain mainly comes from a fan's perspective, and having to realise that my musical icons were not such angelic humans after all. This isn't really a surprise, but to have it confirmed with anecdote upon anecdote of pettiness, vengefulness, and manipulation just managed to change my view of these four talent individuals forever. I do have tremendous sympathy for them, however, and for the ridiculous situations they were placed in as the "saviours of their decade" and the last hopes for the music business. It was likely not easy for their record companies to watch them bicker and eventually drift in 4 separate ways, but the wrangling and deception that followed, not just from them but between them now makes me understand some of the decisions that followed from the age when I was old enough to follow their solo careers and see the re-issues of their older catalogues. I was 7 when they walked away from each other, and so have no recollection of the group as anything but a thing from the past, but found this book fascinating in its research and attention to detail. As a huge fan of their music, I really appreciated finding out how certain pieces came to be, and as a student of mass media at university, the long and winding road through the press in the last 40 years held my attention throughout because I was reading a historical account of some of the greatest (and sometimes not so great) PR stunts of the music business.

If you're a Beatle fan, this is a must-read, although you might end up wincing here, there and everywhere at the callousness of behaviour. No one, perhaps with the exception of Neil Aspinall, comes out looking very good in this expose, least of all the three major songwriters of this formidable band. I'd be curious to see what Paul's reaction might have been to its release.

The Urban Forest

2010-12-06T17:05:00.003-05:00

I am so lucky to live in such a green city, built by a great lake in an area of Canada that Natives used to call the Great Forest. Indeed, Toronto is a city of beautiful ravines and abundant greenery, and people sometimes forget that such spaces often mean that wildlife shares the city with us. In the last ten years at my school, I've seen coyotes, foxes, rabbits, possums, and skunks roam the lower schoolyard, and although I knew deer lived in the large park just a kilometre away from our school, I had never seen one before.

Until this morning. A beautiful young doe wandered up into the school yard. She had been seen by children and parents all week just past the grounds in an adjacent park, which surprised everyone as these animals are usually quite shy and not as bold as the other mammals we usually encounter. No one knows why the doe chose to come up towards the school, though it is possible that she was disoriented by the overnight snowfall and couldn't see past the blanket of white on the ground. Once up by the old building, she was greeted with dozens and dozens of loud, rambunctious children, filing onto the property just minutes before the entry bell. What followed was a horrendous scene: the doe attempted to jump over the main fence that separates the school grounds from the sidewalk and the road, and could not see the ledge under the snow. The poor thing slid or hit the cement in preparation for her leap, lost her footing, and hit the metal fence instead of clearing it. She snapped her neck and fell in front of a large group of children, twitching and bleeding, but mercifully dying quickly. The teacher on duty ushered everyone inside, and did a great job of keeping things in order despite his own horrified reaction.

I went up just a minute later to fetch my class, hearing that a deer was outside near a fence, but never imagining I would end up two feet away from it at our side doors. I pictured a fence near the bottom of our hill, and was so upset by the distress of the poor creature that I started to cry. I managed to get myself to the main office to get the staff to call animal services, and then went down to begin the day. Not an easy task, but the kids know that I am a tree-hugging, animal-loving hippie at heart, and so were quite sweet in trying to comfort me. I was quite impressed by a few of them, who had kept calm just feet away from the
panicked animal, and led their peers into the building just after the accident. I was further grateful to three of my girls who volunteered to put some added snow on the spot where the deer had fallen, which was still bloody after the morning recess, despite the removal of the animal. I was surprised that no one had thought to cover up the spot, because you could clearly see the outline of the body, along with soiling and blood. Wanting to spare anyone else from having to see the scene, I was relieved that these students were so kind to cover it up.

It is perhaps a blessing that the animal got caught on the fence and died shortly thereafter, because the alternative might have been a successful leap into traffic on a busy road surrounded by a congested sidewalk full of parents, children, and their dogs. It is not hard to imagine what a disaster it might have been for someone to hit the poor creature, or skid into other cars or people trying to avoid it. That scenario might have caused untold carnage, and resulted in a slow, painful death for the animal. How sad that the beautiful doe was caught in the wrong place, at the wrong time of day. Just five minutes later, and there would have been no one on the grounds to spook her and lead her to such a sad fate.

Munk Debates- Hitchens and Blair Debate Religion

2010-11-27T14:11:00.004-05:00

Photo is from The National Post.

Tony Blair- War Criminal. That was the chanting that greeted us from around the corner as we made our way to Roy Thompson Hall last night for the last of this year's Munk Debates. I was a bit surprised, I'll admit, but the local news cameras were all there and although Blair is no longer the PM, he is still involved in Middle-eastern politics, so perhaps I should not have been.

Next stop, security. No big shock there, as I had been phoned the day before to be reminded to arrive with plenty of time to allow for the scanning and searching that is required when former heads of state appear in public. I have to say, used to as I am to airport measures, this was a rather ineffective display of serious security. The guard posted at the door, young and likely inexperienced, just took my word that all I had was "a cellphone and my wallet down there" when I briefly opened my purse. On the side sleeve, I had one of those cloth grocery bags, which I merely lifted up to show- anything could have been hiding underneath, but I guess I looked really trustworthy, especially after I pointed out that "there's only feminine products" in the side pocket. It never ceases to make me laugh how squeamish some men are about tampons, but I digress. The metal detector wands were almost laughable too- I removed my coat and purse, held them at the tip of my outstretched arms (the shoulder really is getting stronger!) and the wand went up and down my legs, torso and arms, but not over the purse and coat. Not much of a check, is it? My sister and I remarked that a good blowdart would have easily done the trick, given how close we ended up being to Blair once we were seated.

The debate itself was rather one-sided, and I say this above admitting I am firmly in agreement with Christopher Hitchens on the Con side of whether religion is a force for good in the world. Hitch had a lot of automatic sympathy from the audience- he is in the last stages of what is likely terminal cancer, he looked pale and gaunt, and at times he struggled to keep his voice strong and clear, though I can assure the wit and sharpness of his criticisms did not seem to suffer from his grave illness. It was very hard to look at his thin, bald frame, but he did not disappoint those who came to hear him lob endless verbal grenades at his opponent. Blair, on the other hand, was a real let-down. For someone who was a seasoned parliamentarian, I expected more than just the same argument repeated in various ways. Granted, perhaps Hitchens had the easier position to take, but he seemed much more prepared to give examples and counter-arguments than Blair did. All we heard from the Pro side was that people of faith were motivated by this faith to do great things and that ,surely this was enough to win the debate. Hitchens went after him for all sorts of historical wrongs, continued attacks on science, women, poverty, and war atrocities aided by the religious leaders of all stripes, but Blair hung on to one message, often trying to separate fanaticism and wrong-doings from religious institutions as misinterpretations of religious ideals rather than products of doctrines. Overall, he didn't seem to be able to make his points as strongly as his opponent, who won the debate in 68% of the audience's opinion.

My favourite Hitch story was one I was already familiar with, from a journalistic foray into Northern Ireland in the 70s at the height of The Troubles. He was due to interview one of the leaders (and I cannot remember for which side, honestly) and was taken at gunpoint to meet with him. During the ride, with a pistol pressed into his temple, he was asked whether he was Catholic or the Protestant. His reply: I am a Jewish atheist. Your friendly local gunman: Are you a Protest or Catholic Jewish atheist? You can't make this stuff up, and it was part of a great retort to Blair's claim that the Good Friday Peace Accord was the result of faith groups coming together to solve a problem. Hitch quickly descended upon him with the obvious point that, had there not been religious intolerance to begin with, there would have been no discord.

There was also a beautiful portion of the evening when Christopher Hitchens explained that one does not need to be religious to admire the luminous or transcendent that occurs in the world- he held up the Parthenon as an example of something so beautiful, that it matters little that it was once a temple to long-forgotten gods. In that view, he and I are much alike. He praised the beauty or architecture and sculpture (but not painting, which made me chuckle along with many others) brought about by faith, but doesn't feel one needs to have belief or faith to appreciate them as extraordinary creations in our material world.

My only regrets are that the sound quality was not always great. I was seated in the choir section of what is primarily the Toronto Symphony orchestra's main performing hall, a mere ten feet away from both speakers, and struggled often to make out the words. Granted, Hitch coughed a lot and lacked steadiness in his volume and clarity, but even Tony Blair seemed faint at times. My last regret is that I will likely never hear Christopher Hitchens speak live again, and that saddens me, admirer as I am of his spoken and written words. Apparently many fans who bought tickets last night for over $500 thought so too.

For anyone interested, you can purchase the full debate audio here.

Forever Young? Or Forever at What Age?

2010-11-16T19:57:00.005-05:00

Strange how my brain forms. In tiny patterns.

Man, I do miss Thomas Dolby's genius sometimes, but this came to me reading Ian's response to my Remembrance Day post. What is it about getting older that keeps a part of us tied to the past, or is just the result of feeling sad that there are people and places we remember, that came before, and will never come again? For me, I think it's the latter, and the idea of just wanting to freeze a moment in time. Rush has a great bit in their song Time Stand Still that really captures how I feel sometimes:

(Time stand still)
I'm not looking back
But I want to look around me now
(Time stand still)
See more of the people and the places that surround me now
Freeze this moment a little bit longer
Make each sensation a little bit stronger
Experience slips away

I don't think I would want to stay forever young, although I really do think the song is one of the best things that came out of 1984. I chose the youtube video with the lyrics because they are a great snapshot of a young songwriter caught in the nuclear fear of the cold war's dying days, and there is great beauty in the melody and lines. What would be interesting, maybe, would be to freeze time, to pick a moment when you were at the peak of your powers, or your happiness. What would you choose and why?

I would go back to being 35 or so. It's the late nineties, I've been living alone for over a year, I've met Austin although he is not yet made the move to Canada so it's still this long-distance thing we're working through, and I am at the top of my game in every direction. I am finally financially stable, it's just me and the beasts, I'm laying the ghosts of one failed marriage to rest, and I've picked up my pen after 15 years. The story is still waiting for me, but now I am ready to tell it- I have managed to live a little more, my writing skills are sharper and more defined, and I am finally excited about the idea of being a writer. I am determined to travel again, to pick up a tennis racket more often, to investigate new ways of using up my energy- belly dancing is coming, so is yoga, and swimming, and I have will never feel sluggish and weak again. It is the beginning of the many changes that will bring me here, to 2010, still carving out the writer's path and looking forward to the free year that is just eight months within my grasp so that yoga, swimming, and tennis will be allowed again as the shoulder moves ever closer to full restoration. I'm 80% there, so close, and yet I can patiently wait, because I learned in 1998 that the novel I started in 1980 would have been a disaster if I had rushed it then.

What about you? Would you freeze a moment a little bit longer? If so, which one?

Close your eyes and enjoy the song. It's still beautiful all these years later, although I also like the Jay-Z/ Mr. Hudson version.

J.K. Rowling:Edu-Critic

2010-11-12T16:45:00.006-05:00

From the blog of Nathan Bransford, as part of Harry Potter week:

As a teacher and as a reader, I always found that J.K. Rowling used her Harry Potter series to lob a few not-so-veiled critiques at elements of society, such as using the muggles vs. wizards bigotry to attack xenophobia. She took a quite a few potshots at the education system, which was going through big changes in many countries around the world, including my home province of Ontario. We had a huge provincial government take-over of local boards, including their abilities to control funding and their own curriculum. Did anyone else feel that she was attacking their local or national school system the way I did, and if so, how?

Remembrance Day

2010-11-11T20:55:00.005-05:00

The school gym was a sea of poppies this morning, for a ceremony that gets more and more moving as I get older. This year, a sweet group of 4 and 5 year-olds sang Imagine, and my first tear fell. Then, the brilliant A Pittance of Time played on the screen, and my cheeks got wet. After the reading of Flanders Fields, Honoured Son, and the lighting of the candles, the laying of the wreaths, and the two minutes of silence, another video, this one made by some grade 8 students a few years back, played to the still silent crowd. Called Every Soldier Was Once a Child, it used archival footage of old students and some from the war years. It is that video which affects the students most strongly, because they are able, even at their tender age, to realise that youngsters before them played in the same yard, walked the same halls, and went off to far-away lands a few years later, some giving up their lives for freedom and country. I could see it in their eyes when we talked afterwards- they get it, and they understand how lucky they are to live in better times.

When I was their age, Remembrance Day was a day-off from school, and we observed it much more casually, if at all. I am quite glad that someone made the decision in the last 30 years, or whenever it was, to make sure that children don't in fact get the day at home, but come to school to attend the service. They learn about the sacrifice of the generation before them, and of our current soldiers, many of whom are in harm's way around the world, keeping the peace and still fighting in Afghanistan. In so doing, let's hope they will grow up to strive for peace.

You can find our school video here.

What Would You Do?

2010-11-05T20:55:00.004-04:00

If you were the parent of the child in the article I am linking, what would you do? Home Invasion Article.

I am curious to hear your reactions, and yes, this is a very local story.

It Gets Better Project

2010-10-22T19:25:00.004-04:00

I found this on an agent blog that I read yesterday and wanted to share it. I think it speaks to President Obama's leadership that he has added himself to the It Gets Better Project, which is trying to deal with the results of homophobia in American society, although I would quickly add that the US is not the only so-called civilised place on Earth where bigotry of this kind is still allowed to persist, unchallenged in places such as schools and work. I love this clip because he is fundamentally right: gay-bashing is un-American, if one agrees that America stands for freedom and individuality. If you love that about the US, and hold that truth dear, than it's time to accept everyone for who they are and let them pursue their liberty and dreams without fear and hatred.

It gets better, young people, so hang in there.

I Am a Writer

2010-10-19T17:30:00.005-04:00

The last six weeks have been quite difficult for some close friends and family. One of my dearest colleagues is watching his daughter battle leukaemia, and while her long-term prognosis is excellent, her current quality of life is horrendous because the myriad of drugs floating in her system have caused her pain and nausea. At the same time, a close cousin of mine is battling two cancers at once, an old online friend died last week, and today, I watched a good friend bury his father. While none of this is happening to me, the world has become quite dark recently for people that I care about, and it has affected me greatly. I love them dearly and just want the best for them, and yet feel like a helpless by-stander.

Until yesterday, that is. I got the sweetest email from someone who has been having recent difficulties, and I just wanted that person to know that they really made my day. Apparently, some of the fiction I wrote helped this person work through some personal issues, just because of the way certain characters very working through their own problems. My initial reaction was to be humbled and touched that something I invented could have such an effect on someone. Last night, I went to bed thinking, I am a writer. Thank you for the email, dear reader and friend. It made me remember that sometimes we are able to do something, even if we don't realise it at all in the moment of creation.

Christopher Hitchens vs Tony Blair

2010-10-17T10:28:00.006-04:00

Funny thing about timing. Having just read Hitch's memoir, he appears in the page of my newspaper as one of the debaters appearing at a public debate next month. The topic is Be it resolved that religion is a force for good in the world, with former British Prime Minister Tony Blair taking the pro position, and Christopher Hitchens weighing in on the con side. Of course, quicker than I can hit a few search buttons, the event is already sold out. There is going to be a live stream over the internet for a pretty cheap price, and an overflow live tv screen somewhere downtown to accommodate all of us who are disappointed but interested. If the location is a good one, I'm in. If not, listening at home is not a bad third option.

Anyone interested can go here for more information.

EDIT: Yay! They released a block tickets today which are behind/beside the stage where the choir sits. I am going! So happy!

I Want to Make Time for Christopher Hitchens

2010-10-13T17:47:00.007-04:00

This is a check-in for those of you who think I've abandoned the blog for FB. Not a chance, but these are busy times. The black walnut keeps dumping dead leaves on the deck, which need daily sweeping so we don't break an ankle during the late-night trips to the hot tub, we just hosted the US part of the clan for the Canadian Thanksgiving weekend, which included two dinners and a trip to see the salmon spawning run, and I am doing my usual paperwork drowning at school, catching up after a month of baseball and a successful Terry Fox cancer run in which we raised over $1200.

I can barely find the time to finish a memoir I am quite interested in, namely that of Vanity Fair writer/journalist/bon vivant Christopher Hitchens. He has led quite a fascinating life, one I had considered (well, not his life, but that of a journalist) before diverting into teaching. I don't think I'd have ended up having the courage for what a lot of reporters do, although some might think standing up in front of 10-year olds is a whole different level of bravery.

Hitchens is a wonderfully colourful writer, and his turn of phrases amuse me to no end. His descriptions of English boarding schools are realistically horrific, although he doesn't seem to have taken the ritualistic abuse to heart. I laughed at his anecdote about Bill Clinton's Oxford days- yes, ladies and gentlemen, he did not inhale- allergic to smoke, he took his dope in cookie form. Ah, that Bill, always a precise use of words. It makes "I did not have sex with that woman" so much clearer now, no?

I am about 100 pages away from the end, with 6 days before the public library system issues me my first fine, and can't renew the book because a long list of readers stands behind me ready to take Hitch in. I have so much work to do, too many distractions (5 people playing Scrabble-like games on FB and my new, superfluous iPhone) and yet I want to just snuggle up and read more stories from the trenches. The sad part too is that Christopher is dying of esophagus cancer, and all I remember from the news media lately is that he wishes those praying for his salvaged soul would use their energy for better things. Something tells me this famous atheist is not going quietly into that good night.

Autumn Lawn and Some Roger Waters Photos

2010-09-25T18:59:00.009-04:00

Here are some pictures I took at last week's Roger Waters' "The Wall" show. I still love the hammer logo from the original movie, and found the menacing flying pig quite amusing. His back was peppered with slogans, like "Drink Kalashnikov Vodka" and "No Fucking Way!" ( a response to the line, "Mother, should I trust the government?" and he flew around the entire length and width of the floor area in the second half of the show. The headmaster was also a favourite of mine (I bear no resemblance to him, for those who are wondering) and I managed to catch the local inner-city choir singing along the infamous "We Don't Need No Education" line. What a thrill it must have been for them to be up there, although many of them had to Google Waters' name because they just had no idea who he was. I was in grade 11 when The Wall came out, and for me, it was a pivotal album in terms of my coming of age. Still brilliant 30 years later, and relevant. I also took a photo of the pyrotechnics that started the show. Enjoy.

Today, even though the temperature dipped about 15 C from yesterday, and the grey skies were threatening, I managed some afternoon yard work on the front lawn. I moved a beautiful New Zealand grass from the back, where it was hiding behind the overgrown cone flowers and bushes, and did the same for two boxwoods that were crowded from the unbelievable success of my summer garden. I also added some fescue and iris bulbs to the front. The asters are just coming out now in their purple splendour, and the chrysanthemum that is bursting between the purple plants has changed flower colours from last year's orange to what now appears to be a rich red. I can't wait for it to bloom. I must say, I am pleased with the garden, which benefitted from night rains and the best summer I can remember, and probably also lucked out that I was away for four weeks and so couldn't ruin it with too much fussing. :)

Roger Waters and The Wall, Thirty Years On...

2010-09-16T23:35:00.002-04:00

To me, "The Wall" has always reminded me of the Who's "Tommy", with its similar themes of post-WW2 trauma and ensuing shutting down of the individual. I am of an age where the Pink Floyd version hit me in my mid-teens and left a huge impression- the iconic hammers and their fascist walk, the teacher churning out ground meat from children, the hauntingly beautiful guitar work and melodies that are peppered across this magnificent double album.

Tonight, I finally got to see a bit of it live, as Roger Waters performed his second night at the Air Canada Centre as he starts the North American leg of his tour. The show is a whole run-through of The Wall, in its entirety, with the big foam bricks resurrected, but helped along with modern computer graphics and the old animation from the movie. It was sometimes surreal to watch it, and to be brought back in time 30 years, and yet... It was very modern, very current, and used up-to-date scenes from Youtube and the nightly news to show us how little the world has changed in all this time. It was at times emotional, touching, troubling, but always hopeful, which is what drew me originally to the album back in 1979. Those who condemn Pink Floyd for being pessimistic miss the point, I think. The Wall is like Townshend's Tommy- it is hopeful, it dreams, and eventually begs for those walls to come down so the light and love can come in. It is also anti-authoritarian, anti-war, anti-violence, all the while demonstrating this with sometimes brutal graphics and images. I loved the theatrics, the lights, the pyrotechnics, the crispness of the guitar work and the beauty of Waters' older voice, still strong, clear, and still fighting the good fight. I loved his tribute to fallen soldiers of old and current wars, and his inclusion of civilians as well- the wall of remembrance during the intermission was very touching. He had the audience engaged from the moment he circled the floor area, carrying a strange sign ten minutes before the show actually began, and their attention never wavered. No one working the stands objected to the gentle wafting of marijuana smoke, everyone in our row was friendly and generous, and the overall sense was that we had all witnessed something magnificent.

If you're a fan of this work, you won't want to miss this show if it comes to or near your town. I am going to remember this a long time.

Facebook: the Good, the Bad, the Bizarre, and the Funny

2010-09-01T18:02:00.008-04:00

It's been a week and my experience has been mixed.

The Good:

I am happy to have connected and re-connected with some people I dearly treasure, love, and like. Those are my only reasons for accepting or requesting friends on FB, and so far, that seems to be working out well. The party is small and I like it that way.

I can quickly check-up on those people and see what's new.

I can find out interesting things and read up on topics that I might never find otherwise.

I can play games.

The Bad:

The initial notifications drove me up the wall.

You need discipline to ignore links to friends of friends of friends. I think I have this one almost under control.

You need discipline, if you're wordy like I am, to keep it under 420 words. Another reason I don't text very well. (Ian, this is going to cramp my style, indeed!)

You have to resist the time suck, and just walk.away.from.the.keyboard.

The Bizarre:

I have already been blocked by someone who is a mutual friend of some other friends. Not sure why, except that I said something bone-headed almost 5 years ago and had a falling out with her. However, I mean her no harm, and do feel bad that I hurt her feelings many years ago. I guess I am just surprised because I would never contact her to friend her on FB, much less say anything negative on another friend's site she might be commenting on, and therefore find the decision somewhat of an over-reaction.

The Funny:

My husband has declared that he is married to me on his info page, while I have a lot less info on mine. Of course, Facebook asked me to confirm that we are married to each other, which I did after consulting with him. Two people quickly offered him congratulations, which sent me into a fit of giggles. Add to that that two of our mutual friends, who were the photographers at the ceremony and reception back in November 2006, not to mention his brother, have piped in on his wall to add to the surrealism.

A Village Lost and Found

2010-08-26T21:08:00.004-04:00

I found this bit of information on a Who fan board last week, and think some of you might be interested, especially if you're into photography. It's the latest project by former Queen guitarist Brian May, who totally impressed me when he completed his thesis in astrophysics in 2008, some 30 years after he abandoned it to pursue his rock and roll dreams. The paper is entitled A Survey of Radial Velocities in the Zodiacal Dust Cloud, for those of you versed enough in science to understand such things.

May recently published a book with Elena Vidal called A Village Lost and Found, based on the work of the Victorian stereoscopic photographer TR Williams. He also designed the viewer that you need to use in order to capture the 3D effect of the stereoscopic images. I am strongly leaning towards purchasing a copy as a gift for my husband, who is an avid amateur photographer, and I suspect he won't be the only one finding the topic fascinating.

The book is available now, and I believe that there are some UK fall dates on Brian May's website for lectures he and Elana Vidal are doing to explain their project. You can also go to Youtube and find a two-part video clip in which Brian and Elena (Brian mostly does the talking) discuss the project. I found it quite informative with regards to what stereoscopic photography is.

Moon Phase Art

2010-08-22T22:42:00.003-04:00

I'm just back from another fun weekend in Port Dover with my sister, her beau, and my friend Brigitte, who also brought along her youngest son Avery and his good friend Hisham. The weather was unsettled for most of the two days, and it really poured in the early evening and most of the night on Saturday. Luckily, we had just left the beach before the torrential rains hit the area. Today, we dropped the boys off on the beach and went off to see a small exhibition of local crafts people. One vendor in particular caught our attention and we ended up each getting a rather unique pendant. The design was based on the moon phase on the day of our birth, and it turned out to be a rather interesting adventure in moon phases. My sister and I, who already share a Zodiac sign, were both born on a new moon. Apparently, this makes us sensitive and creative. I was more struck by how unusual that must be in a family. She is a Sunday child, full of blithe and good and gay, whereas I am the "has far to go" Thursday girl. Our friend Brigitte was the opposite, a full moon, Friday baby who is loving and giving. As a social worker, and as a friend, she certainly does have those attributes in spades.

The pendants show the new moon as a blue circle, while the full moon is white and will glow in the dark, which the vendor assured Brigitte will be quite the conversation starter in a nightclub. As a trio of jewellery fans, we each ended up getting one, with me treating Brigitte to hers as an early birthday present. Having dealt with our moons, we returned to the beach in time to see the end of the afternoon rain and the unveiling of the sun. The water was warm enough, and we played in the lake for a few hours with the boys before heading home this evening.

If you'd like to see your own birth moon phases, there is a quick link here.

Summer, Part Three

2010-08-20T00:22:00.003-04:00

Today began around 5:15 am, with a flurry of activity that revolved around getting our two California girls to the airport for a very early flight. Then, for me, it was back to bed, which proved more unsuccessful than anything else as the sun was quite bright. I managed a few extra hours and then got down to the final business of the summer, which is the clearing of the basement storage cantina and sorting of all kinds of boxes which have been down there since the move over a year ago.

The sorting took most of the day, and tomorrow, I need to properly pack up the various boxes destined for a garage sale in a few weeks, and those we intend to keep in the storage area. I also need to go through each room and see if any items can be added to the outbound piles. Once we've got the redundant things taken care of, we will need to decide where to place the art and other display items, although I suspect this may need to wait until Austin's return from his conference, which takes him back to San Francisco next week. I wish I could join him, but there is too much to do around here in the waning days of summer- the house and yards have been neglected by Summer, Parts One and Two, and I also need to visit the doctor, the dentist, the physiotherapist, and a few friends before heading back to the classroom in two weeks. The house also needs a top-to-bottom cleaning as well as a huge organisational overhaul, and this must be done before I go back to work.

Whiskey was moping around all day today, looking for Autumn and Antoinette to return from wherever they went this morning. He looks quite forlorn; as you can see from the Port Dover picture taken last weekend, he was quite attached to them and doesn't understand where they've gone. It's adorable, no? And my alpha-cat Dalziel is also wondering where the "meat lady" went and does not seem pleased at all that there are only vegetarians left in the house.

Fun, Fun, Fun!

2010-08-17T21:28:00.010-04:00

We're been having lots of fun in recent weeks with our visiting California girls and other friends. Here are a few pictures from the last few days.

Autumn's very chocolaty birthday cake, made by Austin and devoured by all on Sunday.

Autumn in full baker mode, with Whiskey waiting as patiently as possible for his bone-shaped cookies to be made. Autumn quote: "First the birthday, then some work!" (Or, as the fabulous Sindy would say, s'not fair!)

Our group photo from our trip to the Toronto Islands today- it was warm and mainly sunny, without the humidity of recent weeks, and everyone had a good time. In the photo are Autumn and her mum, Antoinette, my very dear friend Brigitte with her son Avery and his two good friends, Hisham and Tariq, who are brothers. Oh, and I'm there, too.

La BD a Bruxelles (or how I relived my childhood at the comic strip museums)

2010-07-29T16:51:00.011-04:00

Yours truly in front of the famous "On a marche sur la lune" rocket.

As a Frenchie growing up in an English country, you'd think my childhood would have become immersed in anglo-culture. You'd be partially right, in as much as television, music, and books might go, but my mother thankfully kept our French traditions alive by buying us the weekly Spirou comic book magazine and occasionally gifting us hardcovers of the latest Tintin and Asterix adventures. I did not know as a child that these two works were at the heart of the Franco-Belgian comic book tradition, one that also includes many of my other favourites. Unlike the American superhero comics that some of my contemporaries grew up reading, the French BD world was filled with ancient civilisations (Asterix, Alix), cowboy westerns (Lucky Luke), intrepid reporters (Tintin) a boy and his dog (Boule & Bill), car racing detectives (Michel Vaillant), a Japanese air stewardess- detective (Yoko Tsuno) and those blue-bodied Schtroumpfs that everyone later knew as the Smurfs.

Brussels has finally acknowledged its rich history with two great museums devoted to this "Ninth Art". The Musee de la Bande Dessinee explores all the creators that had their start in Belgium, and the Herge Museum is mainly a celebration of the Tintin creator's life work. In the BD museum, you can learn about how comic strips were drawn and then coloured, and see some remarkable pieces from the 30s to the present day. There is a great hommage to Franquin, Peyo, Jije, and Morris, the so-called "Gang of Four" who are revered from the golden age. There are all sorts of strips and magazines on display, and I was charmed by all the classcis from my childhood. Because the Herge Museum is also opened, there was little Tintin in this first museum, but still, it had enough to keep me there almost four hours.

The Herge Museum was a delight because it represents everything I remember warmly from first being a competent reader. As a girl, I never wondered why Tintin's universe was all-male and certainly didn't take offense that Bianca Castafiore, the opera diva, was the only female in the vast cast of recurring characters. I just loved the stories and all the far-away places Tintin got to visit, and thought the stories were engaging and funny. I have to admit that as a Frenchie, I never realised the band The Thompson Twins was named after the English version of the bumbling detectives. In French, they are Dupont and Dupond, so named because it is the most widely occurring surname in France. An interesting note about that: if you look at their mustaches, you can figure out which is which because Dupond with a "d" has one that looks like the letter when you turn it sideways. I also found out that Herge was a cat lover, particularly the siamese kinds. He never ever owned a dog, but couldn't imagine a better sidekick. My only regret with the museum is that they glossed over Herge's problems after WW2, when he was investigated for treason for publishing Tintin during the occupation; even though I know a fair bit about why the charges were never substantiated, I think it was a mistake to miss that part of his history, as it goes a long way to explain local touches in his comics (ie: the street trams running late in The Secret of the Unicorn) and also his very subtle digs at the occupying forces. I think I felt the same disappointment when I saw that Morris had removed Lucky Luke's cigarette to appease the anti-smoking lobby.

All in all, a very interesting journey back in time. Because of a lack of French bookstores here in Toronto, I also picked up the first Tintin (in the land of the Soviets) and also managed to get a companion book to the Red Rackham book which explains all his little tricks and adjustments from the initial copy to the final edition. I have such a book for the Secrets of the Unicorn, which I found fascinating.

If you are a lover of the BD or its English equivalent, you will find these museums really worth it, should you ever be in Brussels.

The comic strip, Alix, where I learned all my ancient Rome knowledge along with Asterix. I took this picture because I completely remember the page and the Roman putting his thumb up to save the gladiator, despite the book having disappeared from my hands a long time ago.

Some of the more serious topics from an older audience strip from the 80s (anti-female society).

The classic Boule et Bill with a "poisson d'Avril" (April Fools) joke.

Lucky Luke has lost his cigarette in the museum display..

A very early Lucky Luke strip.

The cover of a 1947 year-end Tintin magazine, with all the usual suspects.

The cape of the Schtroumpfissime, from a Smurf book.

Summer, Part Two

2010-07-27T16:14:00.003-04:00

Wonderful flight home today, filled with beautiful Dutch babies, toddlers, and their happy parents who were delighted by the smooth trajectory and their well-behaved children. I don't think I've ever seen so many bouncy blond heads all in one place before.
My wonderful sister came to meet us at the airport and kept Whiskey at her place so we coud do a bit of luggage off-loading and house organising. She also very kindly vacuumed and cleaned up so we could be ready for our friends who are flying in today from San Fran to see us for a few weeks.

A few lovely surprises: the basement reno is 99% done, and all the important bits are completed so we can now start hanging paintings and organising things down there. We have stairs, and a railing, and everything else is in place! It also looks quite beautiful, which I'll post once I have it all fixed up. The cats are delighted to have us back, no moodies have been thrown, and of course Creemore bolted for the yard once I opened the back patio door. All is well in the cat universe. I am expecting equal gratitude from the dog, who is apparently coming over later with his two canine cousins for dinner once Antoinette and Autumn are settled as well. All the animals will be happy to have some carnivores in the house, as they always appreciate a scrap of real food tossed their way.

Austin has run off to the airport to get them, as their plane landed a few minutes ago, and then will likely stop off to restock our very empty fridge. The weather here is warm and sunny, and we are apparently heading towards another heat wave, which has been the story of everyone in Europe and eastern Canada this summer. Fine by me, as I think surviving Italy made me a pro. My big plans for the next few days is to get over some jetlag by lying around on the deck, or near a pool or beach. No more museums, long walks through cobblestoned streets, or visits to thousand year-old sites, although I must say this was my favourite vacation ever in a long time. I think the last time I felt so pleased with a trip was our 2001 visit to Scotland, which was just spectacular.

Summer, Part Two will be about relaxing in the glorious weather of the Canadian summer, doing nothing more difficult than hopping into the lake to cool off, reading and hopefully writing, and hanging out with friends and family. Given that we left for Europe the day after school ended, despite how much I thoroughly loved our time away, it is good to be home and it will be good to put my feet up and just chill.

As July comes to a close, I wish you all a great end to the month and continued good times for August.

Homeward Bound

2010-07-26T16:55:00.003-04:00

We have settled in for a short night next to Schipol, from where we will be heading home early tomorrow morning. It is strange to think of taking an 8-hour flight at 9:30 am and still getting home in time for lunch.

I have to tell you that it is with a heavy heart that I am leaving Europe again. I fell in love with a new country, thoroughly enjoying the return to three others more familiar and still wonderfully charming, and reaffirmed a friendship and bond with Val and Koos, who were stellar hosts and fantastic company. I have to admit that I did my fair share of "braying" on the train once we pulled out, because it was really hard to part from them and we did delay it as long as we could. Val, yes, you are like a second sister and I will miss you a lot, and I will try to not make it another 4- year gap between visits. Koos, you are sweet, funny, and generous, much like Val, even though I did hear rumors around the barges that you don't care about anyone.;) And finally, darling Sindy, you especially made me bawl my little eyes out as the doors closed, barking your adorable goodbye to us. You are so expressive, your liquid brown eyes just looking up for love and attention. I fell hard for you, little Missy, and I will miss you equally deeply. Thank you all for your generosity, and for introducing us to the local music, to Dordrecht, and the Ch'tis. Our time with you was precious, and we are so happy to have spent our last days in Europe with you. It was the best ending to a magical trip.

Rottering Away!

2010-07-24T13:57:00.004-04:00

We are safely arrived in Rotterdam, where the fabulous Val came to find us at the Central station and brought us back to the familiar harbor where she and Koos live. The day has been gorgeous and warm, much like Belgium was, but not the sweltering type we had across Italy. For those of you who know Val and Koos from their blogs, they are just as charming and kind in real life and are wonderful company. Val and I came to the revelation that the most important ingredient needed to become a writer is an "interesting" family growing up. With at least one eccentric parent or grandparent, you have all the necessary fodder for good storytelling.

Right now, I am stretched out in a beach towel on the deck of the Vereeniging while Austin is whipping up an Italy inspired supper to delight the palet. Sindy seems to have adapted well to our arrival, and we also met the little spaniel Charlie, who belongs to Val's daughter and her husband. They get on well together. We are delighted to be here with them, and I for nor cannot believe four years have gone by between visits. It's incredible to me how we just pick up from where we left off and just have a very natural and comfortable friendship despite the geographical and temporal distance.

I hope you're all enjoying the weekend wherever you are.

XX
AM

Almost Done!

2010-07-23T12:25:00.002-04:00

Just a quick post to wave and say, we've made it to Bruxelles and have been enjoying a relaxing few days doing nothing more than taking in the comic strip museums. More on that when I go home, as they deserve better than what I can offer on my limited bandwith right now. Tomorrow, the train to Rotterdam to see the fabulous Val and Koos. Really thrilled to meet up with them again, and of course to use Sindy as my pretend pooch.

Love to all. Val, we'll send you a text once we find and board a train. Apparently, the Belgians don't believe in reservations, so we'll see how that pans out tomorrow. :)

xx
AM

Last Day in Italy

2010-07-20T09:52:00.002-04:00

We are taking another resting day today after a lot of "touristy" days in a row. My left knee needed a tensor bandage yesterday for the trip to Venezia, and it was a good thing to have thought of it given all the up and down stairs on the bridges. I actually had my first disappointing day yesterday, not with Venezia itself, because it is a stunningly beautiful city, but with the circumstances surrounding our day there. It was so overcrowded that it took a lot away from the visit, and made us leave a bit earlier than planned. We had a quiet dinner in the hotel, wiped as we were, and the owner of the hotel told us that in the summer, it is not "her" Venice, and that she largely stays way until it can be the city she recognizes again. Even though I am likely no different than most visitors (well, I am not much of a shopper, and that is perhaps one difference), I found it quite frustrating to find the maddening hordes. We decided that our next trip here will have to be in the off-season, either in June or after September, so it will likely be in my sabbatical year, which is only a year and a bit away.

Today, we are reading, and relaxing in Padova before taking our night train to Belgium. This is a lovely, slightly out of the way city with gentle people and a hotel that we know we will return to. Venice looked like a suitcase nightmare, and we wouldn't consider staying there.

I don't know how our online access is going to be outside of Italy, but I'll plan to post anything of interest of we can hold onto the 3G network across the next week, if I can. We are planning to hit the comic book museum in Brussels, where I shall indulge in my love of all things Tintin, Asterix, and Boule et Bill, among loads of others, spend a day in Brugge, and then meander up to Rotterdam to see Val and Koos.

I hope You are all enjoying your summer vacations in the heatwave that seems to be covering Europe and a lot of North America. Arrivaderci, tutti!

Padova and Verona

2010-07-18T15:33:00.004-04:00

Both are cute little towns in the north of the country,with very different architecture. Padova, which is our pied-a-terre until we leave Tuesday for Belgium, has covered walkways all over the town centre, with beautiful open arches to gel you navigate. They had a Nuit Blanche last night, but we were so exhausted from the travel and endless walking the few days before that we chose the nuit noire option.

Verona is a charming walled city, with lots of medieval history, including a castle that has become an art museum. There are of course the Shakespeare connections, but beautiful Verona has some roman sites and a stunning backdrop of mountains in the distance and a lovely, flowing river with old bridges. Very open due to Napoleonic influences, with those broad boulevards one might associate with Paris. Our day trip there was lovely, but the folly of climbing the 300 steps to the top of the Lamberti tower for photos instead of taking the lift just wiped us out tonight and so it is an early bedtime.

I have to tell you, before I sign off, about our last supper in Firenze. We went to an amazing, authentically local restaurant on the recommendation of another waiter. Its name was Antico Fattore, and in its glory days of the 1920s and 30s, it hosted writers and philosophers alike on Wednesdays. The discussions and debates were always over good food and wine, of course, and the evening meal there was one of the absolute highlights of our trip so far. Our waiter, Mikele, told us about the history of the place and also led us down a gastronomic adventure that ended with a lemon cheesecake, chocolate slice, and Arancello, which is the orange equivalent to limoncello. The best part of the resaurant's past is that they were so supportive of the writers that congregated here that they started a literary prize inn their honor. The tradition continues to this day, and I promised Mikele a copy of Behind Blue Eyes, signed by me, once I get the book published or self-published in the next year or two. What a grand way to end our time in that great city.

Edit: you can find out about the prize and its history from their website at http://www.mega.it/antico.fattore/epremio.htm , although you need to book a table there to experience the joy of Arancello.

Bits and Pieces

2010-07-16T13:10:00.002-04:00

Cinque Terre was suggested to me by a colleague and I filed it in the back of my mind. Luckily, I convinced Austin that a two and a half hour train ride to its national park zone was worth it, and we spent a wonderful day there yesterday hiking along the paths, where he took what I hope will turn out to be spectacular photos, and swimming at one of the beaches. Next time we are here, and there will absolutely be a next time because I am truly, madly, deeply in love with this country, we are going to swim off the rocks where the water is turquoise instead of saving the swim for the crowded public beach.

Today, we saw Michaelangelio's The David. There are no words for how stunning this sculpture is in real life, right in front of you. Much like my experience with the Coliseum and Roman forum, the scale and beauty just left me awestruck. The series of incomplete sculptures, called "the prisoners", line the way to The David, and their partial state gives you a glimpse into the artist's genius, as he freed the statues from the rock. I was even more in utter wonder to find out he never worked from a model and pre-set spot marks, but did all his work freehand.

A few random observations:

There are beautiful piazzas here, but they need would do well to take a lesson from the English and make green public spaces for people to relax and congregate in. The thermometers here hit 40 C today, and hot cement and marble just don't do the job of a patch of lawn.

I am still amazed at the amount of smokers in this country. Where are the public education programs?

The men continue to fascinate me. Like fine wine, they seem to improve with age, and most, whether young or older, are quietly elegant and stylish. I am still craning my neck at every corner to admire the suits, and the fine cut of their garments. What is also interesting to me is how delicate their bone structure is, and how narrow their waists and shoulders are. Most are not very tall, but they suit their more compact frames. Austin had to replace a pair of shorts, and I was impressed by how nicely they fit him in terms of cut, especially given that he is not shaped like a local.

The traveling French, in general, are a grumpy lot. We met a lovely pair today who defied that generality, but admitted that suburban French people are very much like that, and that it's fashionable to complain all the time. Personally, I do wish at times I did not understand them, because the banality behind their bitching is irritating to endure as a passer-by, or, if you're completely, unlucky, from the next table over in a restaurant.

Firenze e Siena

2010-07-14T16:20:00.002-04:00

We arrived in Firenze yesterday afternoon, me, a real cranky bitch after going over 7 hours without protein. Not pretty. I am not hypoglycemic, but I sure had a mini-meltdown on the way into the town centre until a Gatorade type drink returned me to my normal chipper self. It did not help to drag around the suitcases from the train station to the B & B for a km, making the shoulder sore once again. My first impression of the city, from across the station,away from the tourist centre, is that it is far less pedestrian friendly than Rome. There are crosswalks, but the propensity of one-way strteets makes them hard to use as you are forever going through three of em to get from one side of the road to the other. That said, the old town is stunning, and we lucked into a quick (25 minute) entry into the Uffizi Museum, which apparently is impossible to get into without reservations at the height of summer. We basically just walked by to look at the entrance for another day, saw that it was open until 10 pm, and went into the really short line and waited. Inside, we were rewarded with some of the most beautiful Renaissance art collection under one roof. Boticelli's work is incredible up close, and we got to enjoy other masters as well. The best part for me, though, aside from the classics, were the older, more quirky paintings, with their perspective problems and oddities. We saw the baby Jesus with his middle aged faces, his Michael Phelps torso, and most amusingly, an interpretation of the adoration of the baby Jesus where the little innocent was happily playing with himself. "I'm a boy!" he seemed to be saying as he fondled his genitalia, which was a surprise and a delight to giggle over. There were some other hilarious sections of paintings, with boys peeing in the water, and another depicting the arrivals of the baby Jesus and a background of "immoral" pagans who suspiciously looked like they were having a grand time tugging at each other. Another recurring, surprising theme was the depiction of the Madonna breastfeeding her baby- I was quite amazed that this would have passed the church censors, but Austin seems to think the older Catholic church fully accepted the human qualities of Jesus, masturbation and suckling alike, and that the more repressive attitude to human functions is a more recent thing. I don't know enough about art history to know either way, but will be following it when we are back home. Needless to say, my interest in the subject is quite heightened by our experiences here.

Today, we took a train ride to the magnificent town of Siena, nestled in the the Tuscan hills just an hour and a half away. The trip itself was a wonderful experience, with rolling hills of vineyards and rustic, tiled houses scattered in the countryside at every turn. The town is a roller coaster of alleyways and narrow, cobbled streets, a perfect foil for the heat and blazing sun. We managed to stay shaded for most of the six hours we spent there, and once again were treated to some incredible sightseeing gems. The best part of the Duomo was not the inside of the church, though it was stunning, but both the outer design, which to me resembled an iced gingerbread house, and tthr Duomo Museum, which stores the cathedral's art collection. It was originally constructed to do one better than the one in Firenze, but abandoned before being finished. So what you have is a wall with a terrace top that serves no real purpose other than to be used for a panorama of the surrounding hills. The climb is treacherous, for the steps are circular, narrow,and quite small if your shoe size is bigger than a female 7, but it is worth the journey upward. At the top, you are rewarded with the most spectacular all around view of the entire countryside, with beautiful vistas in all directions. You can also look down and see the stones where the enlarged altar would have stood. It was ezthe highlight of the day to stand up there and marvel at the beauty of Tuscany, well worth the trip out.

Tomorrow, we are off to Cinqua Terra, hoping for another beautiful day of natural wonders. If anyone is interested in seeing some of our travel photos so far, Austin has been uploading some of his favourites to his photo blog. I am just enjoying not having to carry a camera case. You can find his work at aureolastatua.tumblr.com.

Why I Love Rome

2010-07-11T13:57:00.004-04:00

Why am I so in love with this city after just ten days?

I could just write about the food and that alone would be enough, but there is a ritual to food here that goes beyond just stating the obvious about the delights of the buffalo mozzarella and the freshness of the bread. When you enter a restaurant in Rome, you go into the chef's home, and he welcomes you with tantalizing antipasti to get you ready for the main courses. As vegetarians, we've had to stop at the primi menu, but what has met us has been a variety of imaginative pastas and other dishes- risottos, soups, and raviolis with cream sauces and spices like sage and nutmeg and the freshest ricotta. Add some vini rossi and a cappuccino with tiramisu, and you have a recipe for gastronomic bliss, night after night.

But no, there is ore than just food. There are the men, so effortlessly elegant in their gorgeous suits, crisp shirts and striped ties. They are beautiful, and I am in awe of their cool-while the rest of us are melting in the high heat, they just stroll by in their formal attire, not a bead of sweat on their classic, Roman faces. On average, I fall in love once every two walking blocks.

This is a walking city, and I am getting my summer legs toned and tan. The best part of the city on foot is that you get to navigate the crosswalks, and there too, is a ritual, a dance between the cars and pedestrians. You have to venture out confidently, with one hip out into the traffic to declare your desire to go across. If you lead well, the cars will stop and let you go, and there is a subtle trust between driver and walker. I have not been afraid yet, and I enjoy the dance every time we touch the edge of the curb.

This is a city of hidden gems, with old churches and museums tucked away in side streets and alleyways. You stumble upon a site without warning, and can easily miss one if you pass too quickly, and I really like this about the city. There is a generosity of old ruins, relics, and treasures, but you must go find them, and do so carefully, or they will pass you by.

There is a lot of humor in this city,first in the way women dress themselves modestly to enter Catholic sites. They wait in line in skimpy summer dresses, with almost non-existent straps, and bare legs and thighs. Then, as they are about to have their skirt lengths and shoulder revelations measured, they quickly pull paper scarves and leggings out of their purses and are suddenly virtuous and pious for the Vatican inspectors and parish priests. Another ritual, this one terribly amusing to watch repeatedly.
Today, we laughed as we sat on the terrace of Castel Del Angelo, the old fortress that is connected by not so secret anymore passageway to the Vatican: before us, an English speaking tour group moved along, listening intently to the guide, who weaved a gripping narrative for a few loud moments until we realized he was describing Dan Brown's climaxing scene from his novel Angels and Demons. As he told the story, we laughed as he led his audience to the site where "Langdon" had saved "Victoria". He was an animated storyteller, using the tourists as props to continue the tale. Hilarious.

There is great patience among the locals for those of us wanting to unleash our newly acquired Italian on the masses. I have found them gracious in answering my questions, and incredibly appreciative of the effort to address them in their own language. I am enjoying the widening of my Italian vocabulary, and a little "grazie" and "per favore" go a long way.

The final reason to love Rome is the magnificent treasures it shares with the world, from the art to the antiquity sites you can walk around in. I am sure we barely scratched the surface of what there is to see here, but what we have seen so far has been stunning. My favorite day was the one spent at the Coloseum and Roman Forum, because all the guide books in the world cannot prepare you for the scale of what lies under you and what stands around you. It is simply majestic and breathtaking.

An Italian friend back in Toronto said to be prepared for a feast for the senses. How right he was.

Ostia Paradiso

2010-07-08T13:17:00.002-04:00

My husband is quite sweet, and knows I am a bit of a beach hound. So, despite being a fair-skinned, Viking type, he came along to Ostia Beach, which is just a short train ride from Rome to the sea. For me, it was a day to lounge in the hot sun, and splash around in the warm waters of the Mediterranean. He managed to sit on the sand and finish an entire book during the time we were there. Me, I just went back from the waves to the towel, over and over again until it was enough damage to my skin. I've got new tan lines, but no real burns, considering the amount of time we were out there. One thing I have to describe is the unbelievable amount of commercial traffic going on around the sunbathers: there are guys selling cold water, pop and beer, which one might expect, out of coolers, but there are still others wandering up and down the beach with these portable clothes racks, hustling everything from bikinis to sun dresses, hats and glasses, not to mention jewellery and other trinkets. There were also others wanting to offload beautiful cotton beach blankets, but who is actually carrying around the amount of cash needed for these purchases? It was quite the spectacle.

The beach was pretty clean, with a lifeguard who had a square Kontiki-like rowboat that he took out once in a while to see if everything was okay. There was also a P.A. system giving out important information, such as the lifeguard's siesta time. They had small bars along the horehound so you could get snacks and drinks, and the typical parasol and lounge chair rentals: as well, they had little cabanas with change rooms, drinking fountains, showers, and toilets for anyone to use. All in all, I was pretty impressed given that these are public, free beaches.

Quite a different day dorm yesterday, when we went to la Citta di Vaticano. Now that's a different world. The women and young girls turned back for bare shoulders and short skirts was random at best, the demands for respectful silence and no photographs in sacred locations were usually ignored, and the exaggerations of how long lines were so that you'd pay to jump ahead were amusing but not terribly convincing. The Vatican museum had some amazing art treasures, none of which more beautiful than the frescoes of the Sistine Chapel. Austin had downloaded a podcast before our trip, and we sat in a corner listening to it and marvelling at the genius of Michaelangelo. I have to say, though, that there is some nicely subversive playfulness in his work, lots of less-than-flattering portrayals of individuals who annoyed him, and more than just a nod to homoerotic elements. One thing I have noticed in a lot of the sculptures around the city and among the ruins of Ostia Antica and Pompei- male derrieres are shaped realistically and quite attractively, but female breasts aren't terribly accurate or convincing. My own conclusion is that most of the sculptors were not used to looking at women. :)

Tonight, we're off to what we hope is yet another fantastic dinner somewhere. There are restaurants at every corner, and there hasn't been a bad one yet. Being vegetarian is relatively easy here, with the pizza and pasta choices, and everything is relatively affordable and usually delicious. The wine is also quite nice.

Tomorrow, more Ancient Rome with some Coliseum and Forum visits.

Magnifico

2010-07-05T09:31:00.004-04:00

Austin always brings along the best toys, and so his new iPad has allowed me to sneak a little post in while he naps beside me under a shady tree in the warm afternoon breeze in Villa Borghese. The park idea was his, after a great but exhausting day trip to Ostia Antica, which is an old ruins site outside of Rome on the way to the sea. We just needed a nothing day after a pair of high-intensity, big walking touristy days on the weekend.

So far, I find Italy a mix of the utterly charming and the annoyingly maddening. The food and drink are exquisite, as are the architecture and sites. The weather is melting hot, but that's okay too, not unexpected and certainly manageable if you're Canadian. The aggressiveness of the locals is tiresome, and I am alternately amazed and amused by the rush to grab subway seats and deny them from older, needy people. There is little gentility here in the way of patience, but I merely shrug my shoulders and let everyone push past. We have all the time in the world. I am also leery of pickpockets and the like, and don't enjoy having to be vigilant for so much of the day—it certainly makes so more tense than is desirable on holidays.

The city is gorgeous, but the overriding smells are those of piss and smoke, both rare in Toronto, where you can't light up in most places, and where, frankly, your bits would freeze half the year if you tried to urinate in public. The airport shocked me—dirty and old, and the amount of graffiti on public buildings and trains is also an eyesore. On the positive side, the parks and piazzas are clean, the gelato is the best I've ever tasted, and people have been genuinely helpful and receptive to my pseudo-Italian attempts.

I also got to watch the Argentina-Germany quarterfinal on the weekend. I guess God didn't want to help Maradona after all. Looking forward to a Netherlands-Germany final.

Ciao!

2010-06-25T06:54:00.003-04:00

Such a long week indeed, as Gina said in her own last post. I have spent a lot of time thinking about sweet Neil, and lamenting the loss of someone too young. Today is his funeral, and my thoughts will be with his loved ones as they say goodbye.

Right now, I have half a million small details to tend to, and my online decisions will have to wait until we are back in late July. At the moment, it's about washing clothes and trying to pack a decent suitcase with the right books and making sure that we get our house in order before the big trip. It's also about watching more of the beautiful game before I find myself immersed in ruins and churches.

Thank you all for the kind words, and the usual mix of good advice and generosity of spirit I have come to expect but not take for granted from you. I'm not sure if I will manage another post before we fly out on Thursday, given the size of the to-do list, but I want to wish everyone a wonderful start to their summers, with lots of sunshine and warmth, and better days ahead. You are a remarkable and much cherished group of friends.

Arrivaderci.

Facing Facebook

2010-06-20T21:19:00.008-04:00

In the fall of 2005, I went online to follow Pete Townshend into his latest venture, which was going to be an online novella called The Boy Who Heard Music. He intended for people to come along for the ride as he wrote this story, asking for criticism and ideas as he wrote it serially on a blog. Blogger was just taking off, and some of the regulars who interacted with Pete also began to make their own blogs, and to share online correspondences with one another. From that experience, I met and interacted with a great many creative people- many were writers, musicians, visual artists, and there came to be a little community of regulars who hung out and supported each other as friends as well as creative artists. What distinguished this group from other online communities I'd seen or participated in, for me, was that there was no petty drama, just straight-forward support and interest in the different creative energies and enterprises coming from all sorts of directions. I was lucky enough to meet a few of the European folks during a long trip in the summer of 2006, and have counted some of these people as friends for quite a few years now. There are more still I've never met in person and still consider as friends because they interest me and I wish them well despite our vast distances and faraway lives. They have been invaluable to me as sources of critique and support for my writing work, but also as good people with a generous spirit. I do think the world of them, even though we've never sat and shared a coffee or a glass of wine.

Sometime back, probably in 2008, a lot of the original blogging group went off to discover Facebook and began to communicate on that network instead of maintaining their blogs. The excitement of the blog had worn off, Pete was done with the whole thing too, and it seemed to have run its course. For me, Facebook has always represented a real dilemma- as a teacher, the idea of mixing the private with the public is not always a good idea, and I still find Blogger to be more anonymous, which I like, with a less cluttered layout, which my ADD mind also favours. I never did join FB, despite the myriad of family members strewn across a few continents and lots of friend requests from people from different places in my life.

Today, it seems to have hit me that I could have joined, asked the techno-savvy hubby to put in enough privacy settings to ensure a big enough wall to protect my professional life. I am by nature terribly sentimental, and easily prone to having regrets about roads not chosen, and today I am filled with the sadness of not having maintained contact with some of the people who migrated from Blogger to Facebook because of a misguided, stubborn determination not to be hunted down by former students and people from a past life.

Neil is now gone, and I regret that I didn't keep up contact with him- his wit, humour, intelligence and kindness are all things that I will miss now, but that I have missed already for two years since he migrated from his blogs to FB. I have the same sense of loss with his partner Gypsy, who corresponded with me before she too retreated to FB, although I can remedy that with a sign-up. With Neil, it's too late. It is a cliché to say that life is short, but damn, it is short, and maybe it is time to rethink my initial decision so that I don't feel this way in the future. I have terrific friends and family scattered across the globe, and most of them are linked together on Facebook. Perhaps I need to stop being faceless, and make the leap in.

Finally, for those of you who came along for the ride in the fall of 2005, this will make you smile. I love Pete's words after the video- he is obviously so touched by it all. Aren't we all just a lovely group of people?

RIP, Neil, I will miss you.

The Beautiful Month

2010-06-11T23:08:00.001-04:00

What month it's going to be!!!!

Ghost Town

2010-06-05T22:04:00.004-04:00

We have 17 days of school left. I still need to write reports, clean up the room, keep the rugrats happy for the next three weeks and a bit. It will be done, and it will be fine. We have all sorts of alarmist precautions coming our way because the G8 and G20 summits are heading north of the city and into the city during the last full week of June. Schools are moving downtown proms forward a week,and are forcing all of us to cancel any kinds of field trips into the downtown core because the children will make tempting terrorist targets. Or they might not like tear gas or sound canons should we all stumble upon protests getting ugly. Fair enough, but the lengths to which everyone is being removed from the inner-city is going to make Toronto look like a ghost town. The price tag for security is a whopping $1 billion.

So, for me, the trip to the French restaurant with my older students is now a week early, during the same one as a visit to the movies to see "Le Petit Nicolas", a movie based on Goscinny's (of Asterix fame) books. Yes, getting paid to watch French movie and to eat French crêpes, it's une vie difficile, for sure.

It has been one of the best school years for me in over 10 years. I can honestly say this group I've taught has been one of the most generous, laid-back, and fun bunch of students to be around. They love school, they laugh easily, and best of all, they forgive quickly and fully and seem to assume the best in people. That kind of generosity of spirit doesn't come along in such high numbers quite so readily these days, and they are one of the reasons the year zoomed by and I didn't mind my shoulder injury most of the time. The best part is we get to hold on to 75% for September, as they move from grade 5 to 6 in my class, and the class of the teacher I am teamed up with. They are lamenting the rapidity of the school year too, having had the same ball as their two lucky teachers. I have to say, too, that it does feel good, in my 20th year of teaching, to be able to say I still love my job, and despite the 17 days left, I really am not counting the days to the end in that miserable way that some of my colleagues do.

Limbo

2010-05-30T13:23:00.002-04:00

What a beautiful week it's been, with temps around 30 C for most of it.

We've got the front yard under control now, exchanging mowing for weed removal, as my brother jokingly said. Our back yard is under construction as well, having been given a treatment on Friday by a local eco-lawn company. We chose a 7-grass mixture with fescue and other types to cover the yard, and must now do lots of watering and keeping all the four-legged creatures of the growing lawn for the next 4 weeks so it will take. Whiskey is very confused by the sudden inability to go wander out and do his business, and having to take him formally for walks and runs at the off-leash park reminds me of my old life. Luckily, the weather is glorious, few clothes need to be thrown on, and it's quite temporary. We let him have a play date yesterday at his auntie's, which allowed him lots of socialising and energy releasing.

Right now, I'm about to begin our final school year stages- report cards (bleah!), cleaning up (bleah, bleah!) and the usual rounds of parties (yay!) and meetings (bleah!). I've decided to forego planning for September as my actual class assignment is also still in limbo due to shifting class numbers. Instead, Austin and I do need to get moving with our trip planning for July. So far, all we have is our flights and the Rome reservations. That leaves the last 15 days to organise. We are also meeting up with the fabulous Val and Koos in Brussels and then making our way up to the Netherlands for the final leg, which I'm super excited about. I can't believe 4 years have gone by since our last trip there. Where does the time go?

On a final note, the FIFA World Cup starts in just under two weeks. It is a complete heresy for me to wish Italy success (I can hear my father scream from beyond the grave), but there is something quite enticing about being in Rome if they do win. I know, Dad, it's blasphemy. I'm not really thinking it seriously.

Yard shots

2010-05-25T14:42:00.005-04:00

Here are some shots of the south lawn. :)

You might see the brown landscape fabric in some spots, and that's mostly because I ran out of it and had to spread it a bit thin in some spots. I will be picking a few bags tomorrow or Thursday when I have more energy and less pain. Today, our school hosted a soccer tournament and our older girls were brilliant, winning all three games in melting heat. We had 28C with a humidex of 34C.

As to Whiskey, we do ignore him after an initial "are you alright?" question, and he just goes down to the basement to disappear from the noise. I don't bother to put the radio loudly because there are 3 floors in the house, and he just goes for the darkest, deepest place while we carry on with our normal activities. Today, he's doing alright again.

Keep On Working...

2010-05-24T22:27:00.002-04:00

I was working in the yard today, but no letter came from Southampton way.

My camera card reader is on the fritz, so no pictures to share, but I put in a good long day getting rid of the front lawn. 13 bags of black mulch, endless newspapers with help from the recycling bins of two neighbours, and close to three rolls of landscape fabric later, the grass is indeed greener on the other side of the street. I met so many people today, from casual passers-by and neighbours from more than a few doors away who really admired my tenacity in the 28 C heat of the midday. I did get a bit of a sunburn, and I have aches all over the place, but it really does look smashing. A new friend across the street brought me all sorts of large rocks that he was dying to get rid of, for which I was very grateful. It's funny but he lived across from us at our old address too- small world. Another neighbour brought me some banana and chocolate chip loaf she had baked because she was sure I deserved it after all that work. How sweet is that?

The only drag about today, aside from all the pain I am sure to feel come tomorrow, is that Whiskey is cowering in the basement because he is terrified of all the fireworks. I have no idea how we are going to coax him out for his pre-bed walk. He is literally shaking, poor little mister.

Pictures tomorrow if we can find a new card reader, I promise.

Victoria and the Stain-Glass Window

2010-05-21T16:07:00.004-04:00

I was at a funeral this morning, for the father of a school colleague who is also a good friend. The service was lovely, and although I only met his father once or twice at family functions some years back, one got a clear sense of his larger-than-life personality and generous attention to friends and family. A few of his grand-children grew up in the neighbourhood where I teach, and while I never taught any of them directly, I coached some of the girls years ago. It was quite pleasant chatting with these now young adults, who marvel at the quickness of time passing. I smiled- if you think time is flying now, just wait, it goes even faster still. The most touching part of the remembrance came from a grand-daughter and one of her uncles, who both expressed eloquently what a treasure it was to have had a grand-father so close by in their young lives, something I know a lot of my generation never had.

And then there was the stunning setting of both church and gardens, which you can see a little by the photos included from their website of the church and the chapel's gardens. St. Jude's Anglican Church, built in 1883 in Oakville, a once small town west of Toronto that has become a commuter suburb, was reminiscent of an old England country church, with its beautiful side gardens and stunning stonework and stain-glass window. How appropriate, on this approaching Victoria Day weekend, that the monarch herself was the subject of one of the glass windows. The inner walls had cornerstones from old abbeys and cathedrals, from Canterbury, Glastonbury, and Chester. Surrounded by old stone and brick houses from two centuries ago, one could almost forget we were a continent away. The gardens were at once wild and manicured, cared for in a manner one can only describe as English when it is before us.

Now, a three-day weekend to mark the Queen's official birthday. I am planning quite an ambitious front garden project. Pictures to come if it all turns out right. Have a great weekend, everyone. Victoria Day here is the official start of the summer/cottage season, and it promises to be warm and hopefully sunny. Predictions are for 30 C by the middle of next week- yay!

Neighbours

2010-05-15T18:26:00.003-04:00

In our old life, at the condo, there was a general camaraderie with our neighbours that I enjoyed, and there are certainly specific people that I do miss from there. That said, I think we have moved into a lovely little corner of the city, an area that isn't quite yet gentrified to the point where the streets are full of nannies and the main shopping district is filled with Starbucks and chains.

What I really like about our end of town is that we have the same types of great neighbours, the ones who come over with their motorised lawn mowers because they know you have a sore shoulder still and see you digging out your front yard and just want to make life a little easier, or offer you some splits plants from the yard because they see you're buying all sorts of new shrubs and plants and want to help you out a little financially. They're also quick to come out and give you some advice about planting and gardening because they know you've been in a condo so long you certainly have limited knowledge of the soil in this end of town- quite full of clay, unlike my old stomping grounds.

Whiskey has also been the beneficiary of some balls and treats from the neighbours, and I have to say, just a week or two away from our first anniversary here, I know we made the right choice in changing locations. This place is so much more down-to-earth than the old, more established area we left, and people aren't quite as opportunistic and self-serving. Our real estate agent said it's on the verge of exploding as "the next place to get gentrified", and I hope she's wrong about that, to be honest. As nice as skyrocketing land and house values might be, to quote the Eagles, "call some place paradise, kiss it goodbye."

The Asiatic Lilly

2010-05-12T18:47:00.004-04:00

I chose the flower because I was intrigued by the name. Lillies have always been favourites of mine, but the smell evokes death and funerals and so it's a hard choice to include them in bouquets for me. I chose the Asiatic lilly as an addition for my front garden during a recent stroll at a local nursery, unaware of which colour would eventually come out. I thought the surprise was well worth the wait. It has been blooming now for days, and isn't it just a beautiful flower?

Aupres de ma blonde

2010-05-04T18:47:00.003-04:00

Another gorgeous day out, and finally, the lilac trees are starting to bloom in the backyard. My mind wandered to this children's song I used to sing in French, which I always thought was about lilacs and girlfriends, and not about the French-Dutch wars and longing for one's husband. I purposely chose a kiddie version, which you can find here. One of my favourite things about youtube is finding long lost French songs- what a treasure trove of nostalgia.

I also remember the dashing Patrick Stewart singing it during his reign on Star Trek as Jean-Luc Picard.

Burn and Crash

2010-05-02T18:47:00.004-04:00

No pictures this week, but my gardening has turned into a Pilates class of sorts. I can feel the burn in my gluteus region, and the knees are buckling a bit. My shoulder is healing nicely, and the digging and planting hasn't affected that part too much, for which I'm grateful.

Over the last two days, I've made a few trips to the local nurseries, and come back with some beautiful coniferous shrubs, primarily some junipers of the spreading and blue star variety. They are all dwarfish in nature and will lay low (under 2 feet) in the eventual rock or wild garden. I also got myself a holly tree for the centre of the front lawn, just so we can have some year-long greenery with the possibility of red berries. I also bought a variety of ornamental grasses to put just in front of the veranda stone, including a funky New Zealand type with corkscrew blades, a blue-green Elijah Blue fescue, and some zebra and other striped varieties. It'll be very cool once they grow into their own and provide some visual interest after the summer flowers have gone.

Austin was away in San Francisco all week on a business trip, also enjoying the company of Antoinette and her family, and he is looking quite bedraggled today from the jet-lag and all the fun he had. At this point in the evening, we are thankful for the Indian take-away down the street as we are going to settle down for a dash of spice and delve into our Italy guide books to finalise the first part of our July trip. And then it's hot tub for the sore muscles and early bedtimes for both of us.

A Flower?

2010-04-25T10:14:00.009-04:00

I am stiff and sore today, but very proud of the beginning of my front lawn and garden makeover. The idea is to eventually have a lawn-free rock garden of sorts, and I started by removing the four small boxwood shrubs from the very rear of the flower bed, where they completely disappear from view once the asters and coneflowers start to grow. Since I don't cut the flower stems until spring, it means the shrubs don't provide any visual interest for most of the year. I decided to move three along the curve of the stone steps, and the last one in between my Japanese maple and another wider shrub. The digging was a lot of work, and my tight muscles can attest to that this morning, but I think the re-arranging looks so much better. I also added a lavender phlox, a red asiatic lily, and some violet garden sage to the front garden, and put a three coloured flower whose name escapes me to the little side one near the clematis and silver mound. The last thing I did was choose three tall grasses to replace the shrubs: two are the kinds that turns pale yellow and feathery throughout the winter, while the last is called a porcupine grass and has beautiful yellow and green stripes. They will look stunning against the stone veranda wall, and provide a great contrast in every season without the flowers obstructing them.

The colourful photo was taken last summer, when the flowers were in full bloom. as you can see, they completely overwhelmed and hid the shrubs.

It's a Miracle!

2010-04-19T19:49:00.003-04:00

It sure feels like one, but it's really the result of a cortisone shot administered almost two weeks ago to relieve the shoulder pain enough to extend my range of movement. So... After 11 months, I can once again link my fingers behind my back!!!!!!! This is the beginning of the thawing phase. My endless trips to physio, daily exercises, and my combination of patience and stubbornness are all starting to pay off. Woohoo!

The Book Thief

2010-04-17T16:26:00.003-04:00

Markus Zusak has a new fan for life. This book is at once beautiful, ugly, funny, sad, and haunting. The language is so vivd, and the story made me want to continue to turn the pages right to the very end.

Out of Africa

2010-04-13T18:12:00.002-04:00

My mother is actually leaving South Africa, and while I cannot sort the fiction from the facts- she has always been quite adept at subterfuge and camouflage, not to mention her own alternate history narratives- the end result is that she is coming back to Canada to live sometime before the year is over. She says it's time to go, and that's it's dangerous to continue to live there- after a car-jacking, a few robberies, and a nasty incident with a big dog in the last few years, I can see her point. That said, I don't know how she is going to stand the winters here (she just missed the most beautifully warm one we're likely to get for years to come!). She has swooped down upon my fair city like a hurricane, and I have to admit that I prefer Ouragan Maman as an international pen-pal. As Riker used to say, "Shields Up! Red Alert! " Suddenly, the Borg look really harmless.

Farms, Not Factories

2010-04-05T17:20:00.006-04:00

This is the most disturbing book I have read in a long time. It is, in a nutshell, an exploration of the factory-farm system in the US, which produces 99% of all meat sold in America. A lot of what is in the book was not a surprise to me, since I did a bit of research back in 1990 when I made the personal choice to become a vegetarian. Like the author, Jonathan Safran Foer, I was concerned about what was in the meats being produced, and like him at the end of his journey, I walked away from a meat diet. Two years ago, fish was suggested to me as way to help my arthritis and peri-menopause, but was horrified enough by the realities of commercial fishing (75 mile-long nets that trap whales?) and factory-farmed salmon (swimming in shit, literally) as described in the book to go off fish again. For good.

What I liked about the book is that, like me, Foer doesn't have a dispute with the idea of eating animals as a part of culture, tradition, and taste. What has disturbed him is that traditional farming and husbandry have largely disappeared from the North American landscape and been replaced by corporations and industries. The animals and their workers are commodities in the name of profits, and both are treated poorly and subjected to horrific conditions. Animals are raised in cramped, smelly, sun-less spaces, in quick, "efficient" manners to maximize revenues, fed antibiotics and unnatural diets to bring them to slaughter as young as possible. The commercial turkeys grown in the US cannot reproduce sexually, eat sawdust and leather tannery by-products, and are routinely given antibiotics in their feed. American chickens are also one dominant breed, produced for their meat-heavy breasts, which have deformed them so much that they can't even hold themselves up. These genetic freaks are so unhealthy that they need to be helped along by pharmaceuticals during their 39-day lives. The practice of giving animals antibiotics have caused pathogens to be passed along to humans (avian and swine flus, anyone?) and there is no doubt that thee-coli and food poisoning cases are related to the ordinary practices of the factories- feces, bacteria, salmonella, all are sent to your table along with the legs or breasts that are consumed.

Food for thought about factory-farming: it is not uncommon for cattle to be skinned, bled and cut while they are still alive, since the stunning practice does not always work. Workers sometimes have to sever the spinal cord to make cows immobile as they hang to be bled and sliced, which doesn't make them insensitive, however. Calves who are being born while their mothers are being slaughtered(!!!!) are also killed and kept aside so their blood can be used for cancer research. 145 animal species, including dolphins and whales, are captured in tuna nets. Sows used for breeding are kept in crates where they are unable to move, and lie in their own shit for the entire gestation periods. Egg laying chickens occupy a space that is the size of a sheet of paper. All the statements above apply to 99% of animals raised for food in America.

Foer's main point is that, if we are going to eat animals, we need to make sure they are raised in an ethical and humane manner, without pain and in natural settings. He wants everyone to stop and think about where their consumer dollars go, and what the implications are for the animals that suffer, for the environment that gets destroyed, for the workers (mostly illegal migrants) that are taken advantage of, and for the humans that end up eating tasteless, harmful food.

The good news, strangely enough, is that this current system is not sustainable. It has to collapse, because it is based on profit and efficiencies that endanger our environment and our health and will eventually kill the planet and humans unless it is changed.

I hope I haven't sounded preachy, but I will say that I feel horror and rage that we, as a society, have allowed this to happen and continue to do so. This includes my own practices, and I know I need to move beyond my disgust and make some personal changes. My immediate next step is moving away from eggs, which are largely factory-farmed and responsible for more chicken suffering than the broilers that are raised for the dinner plate. I don't drink milk, and haven't for a few years now, but need to think about my cheese consumption. I need to see if it's possible to have eggs and cheese in an organic, ethical manner, and if I can't, I will have to remove them from my diet. I can't continue to eat them, after this read- to do so would show indifference to huge suffering.

For more information, please visit Jonathan Safran Foer on his Web site, http://www.eatinganimals.com. He can also be found on the web in many places, including youtube, discussing ideas from this book.

Summer?

2010-04-02T09:43:00.002-04:00

It's going to be 25 C and sunny today (and close to that tomorrow as well), and I just finished having breakfast on the deck for the first time this year. It's April. In Toronto. This is crazy. I'm in, though, for whatever crazy wants to bring me in terms of little slices of heaven.

Happy Easter to those of you celebrating this weekend. I'm looking forward to seeing some family and friends over the next few days, and just taking in the fabulous weather.

Spring!

2010-03-23T19:04:00.009-04:00

The western view from the Turnbull Winery in Napa.

Above, a lot of botanical beauty.

A little girl jumps for joy at Ocean Beach.

From the Golden Gate Park Botanical Gardens.

Another pretty view from the zoo.

A meerkat doing yoga at the SF Zoo.

Zoom Zoom... Cough.... Cough....

2010-03-21T13:09:00.002-04:00

I had the most wonderful week away. The weather, as Grace predicted, was stunningly gorgeous the whole time. Blue skies all around, and warm days for the whole week. San Francisco never looked so good in March, and I even got a sunburn from sitting out in Golden Gate Park one afternoon, reading, writing, and enjoying their botanical gardens. My favourite part there was the fragrance garden. I also managed to take in the SF Zoo one afternoon, where one of the adult gorilla males did not appreciate my lingering look at the new baby gorilla and decided to pelt me with stones and mud. The incident was more amusing than dangerous. I also enjoyed another afternoon at the beach, took a trip to Napa for some wine tasting and more sun-soaking, and did my Canadian influence-peddling by taking my friends' two children for a skate at a local rink. Can't let them forget their ice skills, which they developed while they were living here a few years back and have never forgotten thanks to our annual ritual. I didn't actually take to the ice myself, due to the healing shoulder.

Getting home last night was quite the adventure. I had a quick and smooth flight to Detroit, just in time to catch a commuter jet for the 45 minute hop to Toronto (it's all got to do with the US airline hub system, which is a complicated endeavour at the best of times). Of course, nothing ever goes as planned, and there was a hydraulics malfunction to be sorted out first. Two and a half hours later, they finally let us go. Interesting thing flying out so late (it was 12:45 am when we got out) is that we didn't need to hit a high cruising altitude to avoid other air traffic and managed the flight in 34 minutes. Isn't that crazy? The other thing I noticed on the return flight was how much of the continental US is still under a full or partial blanket of snow. This was true during the outbound and inbound flights, and very different from the Canadian reality this year, which has largely been to wonder where winter went. Now we know- it went south.

I have some spring-like photos from the trip, which I'll try to load up later on today or early in the week. Right now, a good spring cleaning and mountains of laundry await.

Happy Spring to everyone (it is coming!!!!), and thanks Antoinette and Richard for such a great week!

Zoom Zoom

2010-03-13T08:01:00.003-05:00

Off to the airport to go find myself a little patch of sand to play with. See you all in a week!

Beaming

2010-03-06T13:38:00.003-05:00

It's not just the gloriously blue sky, and the threat of double digit temperatures that have me bouncing. An hour ago, as I was walking towards the subway station after my physio visit, I ran into a former student of mine, actually one of my originals from back in 1990, when she was in grade three and I was fresh out of Teachers' College and into my first classroom. She is now 28, two months away from having a baby, and she was strolling the shops of my old neighbourhood with her parents, their dog, and her partner. When she introduced me to him, she said, "This is Anne-Marie. She's the one who got me to love books and reading."

And that's why I still love my job.

Fitting Finish to the Vancouver Games

2010-02-28T19:08:00.003-05:00

I have to come right out and admit that I didn't actually see Sydney Crosby's amazing overtime goal, the one that gave Canada its record-breaking 14th gold medal, and, more importantly, allowed our men's hockey team to come out on top over a wonderfully impressive USA team. I was so freaked out by the US's last minute tying goal at the end of the 3rd period that I had to take a soothing bath to get my heart rate back down. In my defense, I was under the impression that we would be playing a full 20 minute extra period and was planning to check back in 15 minutes into that and see how the lads were holding up. Instead, they went 4 on 4 and it was a golden goal, which Austin calmly announced as I was soaking in epsom salts and lavender oil.

Tomorrow, I can look forward to normal bedtimes and television withdrawal, but the last two weeks have been just amazing for me, and my entire country. I love the winter Olympics so much more than the summer ones: for one, there are fewer events, which means I can get attached to what is going on and navigate the sports much more easily. And then there's the vibe of the athletes themselves: there is something about doing extreme sports that brings people together in a true fraternity of sportsmanship, partly because it's dangerous, and perhaps because in so many of these games, people are racing individually, which really makes them compete against themselves in that moment rather than in a crowded field with others. Whatever the reasons, I found these olympians so much more relaxed than their summer counterparts, more humble and just lovely to watch.

There were so many fantastic moments for Canada: the sheer beauty of Virtue and Moir on the ice, giving Canada its first dance medal ever, the bravery of Joannie Rochette, skating to a bronze after the sudden death of her mother, the joy of both our hockey teams winning the gold, the amazing finish of Clara Hughes, who goes into the history books as the most decorated two-games olympian ever, with 2 summer cycling medals, and 4 winter speed-skating ones. There was Alexandre Bilodeau, breaking our at-home curse by taking the moguls gold and then celebrating with his brother, who has cerebral palsy and who was just delighted. Most of all, there were women all over the podium, which is an amazing feat when you consider men get most of the funding and attention.

On a world-wide scale, I have to say that Lindsey Vonn was amazing to watch, as was half-pipe snowboarding wizard Shaun White. Norway, for such a tiny population, just blows me away with their skiing domination, though I imagine for them, skiing is what hockey is for us.

Finally, as I go rest up before settling down the closing ceremonies in an hour and bid these games goodbye, I want to say how fitting it was that our national anthem was the one played at the last medal ceremony. A hockey gold to claim our final medal, the one that sends Canada into the record books for the most gold medals ever won at winter games. How beautiful that it was won, at home, by those who represented our national game (obsession is probably more accurate). I have enjoyed the games because we played our own versions at school, because my students will remember these games not only as their first ones, but as a proud moment for our country. Thank you Vancouver, for hosting the last two weeks with such grace and enthusiasm. I will miss the excitement and the pride of watching all of our athletes excel, but I really do need my sleep.

(The waves of the Pacific was such a beautiful touch for the medal design choice)

One Short Week of Winter

2010-02-27T14:28:00.005-05:00

Finally, on Monday, we got what might be called a small winter storm in this part of Canada. It came in the late afternoon, continued through most of the evening, and, for a refreshing change, the snow decided to stay on the ground. It was easy enough to shovel the walkway, since it was soft and fluttery, and the flurries that have come our way since then haven't been a problem either. Yesterday, the storm resurfaced and hit us with another short-lived blast. I decided to take a few pictures in the yard, just to capture what has essentially been the only successful landing of snow so far this winter. Since the two photos were taken this morning, our deck has already lost its white canvas and the excited paw prints that danced across the wooden planks during breakfast play time. By Monday, the entire yard should be back to mud, much to Whiskey's lament, as he is never happier than when he is pushing a ball of frisbee through the snow.

It's a bit hard to believe that it will be March on Monday, and that winter will be over soon, without truly having begun for us in the usual way.

Year of the Tiger

2010-02-24T07:11:00.003-05:00

In the Chinese Zodiac, I am a Tiger. It is one of my favourite animals, so I am happy to be associated with it. As it turns out, the Tiger sign shares a lot of characteristics with my western Capricorn sign. I think, either one you use, people are in trouble of they try to argue or mess with me. :)

According to the Chinese zodiac, I resemble this:

Tigers are rebels. They are both colorful and unpredictable. Their energy and love of life are stimulating.They love being the center of attention and never go unnoticed. Tigers are impatient and always look for action.They speak their minds when upset and have suspicious natures.

But in spite of their quick tempers, they are sincere, generous and very affectionate. They also possess a great sense of humor. Tigers like people, involvement,and dedication to humanitarian causes. They seek out adventures, and at certain points in their lives, they will be very rebellious. They must act out some of their ideals and lash out at the wrongs of society. Tigers are so daring that they acquire many admirers. Those who disapprove of what Tigers do still will secretly admire Tigers for their actions.

When Tigers are injured they need all-out sympathy. Logic does not appeal to them. They want to be comforted. They will listen sincerely to the advice you give, and then do exactly as they please. Since they have a lot of spunk, no matter how down and out they get,they never give up. They can always start over again.

People born during the year of the Tiger have super egos. Tread lightly and don't hurt their feelings. They may never forgive you! Tigers are romantic, passionate, and playful. They are also extremely jealous and possessive. If they do not learn to control their emotions, they could cause themselves much trouble.The lives of Tigers are full of emotional situations, but they love it that way. They love life and want to live it to the fullest.

Optimistic, Tigers always bounce back for new and fresh challenges. Tigers are very generous with rewards when you have pleased them. Being delightful hosts, Tigers go all-out to see that you have a good time. They are intense individuals, especially when upset and angry, but Tigers are famous for their ability in influencing others and swaying crowds.

Completely off the mark, I say. :)

Here's what the Chinese Year of the Tiger has in store for all of us:

Change will be the keyword this year. All signs will feel the restlessness of the Tigers influence motivating changes in many key areas of life. Many may pick up and change residence or jobs or both (possibly more than once.) Tiger years are a time of commotion, uproar and bold new moves. An unusually charismatic influence, more action-oriented and more impulsive is active. Takeovers, marches and empowered forces will finally make their move. In all endeavors ask yourself the question, "Is this a rash decision?"
The hidden element in the sign of the Tiger is Wood which negatively clashes with the Metal stem of the year. This clash between Wood and Metal could indicate an explosive and difficult time. Tyrants, both on the home front and internationally, (empowered and made bold by the previous Ox year), could act out in rash, unpredictable ways. 2010 will be a year favoring action, and courageous movement. In addition, the Metal element combined with the Tiger will make 2010 an unbending, rigid time. The nature of Metal is to define and strengthen which brings structure to ones life. The Metal element symbolizes clear thinking, sincerity and accuracy. For greatest success, learn to compromise with those who are in a position to help you.

Looks like we're in for a fun ride!

Grr...

2010-02-19T17:32:00.005-05:00

Two things about me: I love, love, love my job, and it's not often I write about it, especially to gripe. But today, I need to scream. Just a smidge.

Why do certain parents think it's ever a good idea to go over your head to complain via email to your principal, with a cc: to the superintendent and school trustee, about something that they haven't verified factually before hitting the send button? The only reason I'm even in the loop on this one is that my principal asked me to step into her office to ask for details, to which I had to shrug my very sore shoulders because, as it turns out, I am not actually the person directly involved in the incident except in the most peripheral manner since another teacher implemented his/her own version of a discipline method I regularly use, presumably in a less than successful manner. My principal is highly annoyed, not at me, but at the trustee who pandered to the factually incorrect email and went on a tangent and a rampage all in one fell swoop. So here I am, on a Friday afternoon, shaking my head at the mess, which is now a three-ring circus involving all sorts of school officials, wondering what mum and dad were thinking when they fired off the first of many emails. My goodwill towards them is now completely evaporated, and all it would have taken to set things straight was a little phone call explaining the facts as they were. Strangely enough, I believe that's what my principal is going to suggest to them. Can't wait to sit in on that one.

And now, back to the Olympics.

Note: the cute little mascot above is Sumi. Sumi is the official mascot of the 2010 Winter Paralymic Games. He represents the animal spirit of the woodlands of BC, and is also associated with my school team for our version of the winter games, as we do our own tribute to the Olympics on Monday.

The Curse is Lifted!

2010-02-14T23:56:00.004-05:00

Canada has finally won an Olympic gold medal on home turf, with a great run tonight by Alex Bilodeau on the freestyle moguls. Woohoo!

The Great White North?

2010-02-13T09:22:00.006-05:00

So, I live in Toronto, where the sidewalks are clear and dry and the little piddly bits of snow from two days ago are now largely gone due to the sun's daytime magic. My in-laws, on the other hand, live in Georgia, where these two pictures were taken yesterday. For those of you not familiar with US geography, Georgia is just above Florida. Apparently, right now, all 49 of the mainland US states have snow somewhere inside their territory. Perhaps Vancouver could call Burt Reynolds and get a convoy of snow started from Florida to Whistler for the Games? Some Great White North we've turned out to be this year.

RIP Alexander McQueen

2010-02-11T18:29:00.004-05:00

What a huge loss for British fashion. Such a massive talent, so young, with still so much more to give the world in terms of creativity and design. RIP, Lee Alexander, you were a shining star.

(Photo is of Alexander and his mother, who died last week)

Odds and Ends

2010-01-30T13:44:00.002-05:00

It's always foolish to announce the absence of winter, because apparently I have now summoned the season. It's been rather frosty the last few days, down close to -20C, but I'm good with it because the sun has been out to keep winter company and I always prefer sunny, bright days to overcast skies. It's February in a few days, and whatever that month beings, I can take it because spring is just around the corner. We're six weeks from our school break, I've got my ticket to California, and all is good at school and at home.

My shoulder is getting better thanks to a change in treatments- I'm being manually stretched as part of a new course of treatment and it really helps. As well, i spent most of the last month working out with the new Wii Fit Plus program we have, abstaining from alcohol (much easier now that the shoulder is healing), and eating smaller portions, with good results. Three kilos (6.5 lbs) are now off, and it's not hard to stay on the system I've designed for myself. I'm also going to aquafit classes once a week, and generally feeling good.

I also made a rather monumental decision last week to spend part of my leave year (my middle-age gap year, as I am going to call it) in Haiti. My husband is worried about it being dangerous, to which I've responded that I really won't be going if it is, but it seems to me that they will still be needing help in two years time, the weather there is bound to be nicer than here, I am quite okay camping out in tents (and would take a tent over a concrete shelter any day), and it would be a good use of my French and teaching skills. Another colleague of mine who is retiring next year has pledged that we'll do it together, and find some organisation to work with between now and then. I think it's a brilliant idea, and I'll make sure to bring some notepads and books down so I can write and read in my spare time.

We've also got our summer plans more narrowed now- Italy for two weeks, and then some train rides up through France, Germany and the Netherlands to see some friends and family. As they say, Americans think 100 years is a long time, and Europeans think 100 miles is a long way. It's been 4 years since we were in Europe, and that seems like an eternity, so we'll do the train travel quite willingly to see some of our favourite folks. In the meantime, let's hope the sun continues to shine here.

Hothouse Who

2006-07-12T19:12:00.001-04:00

Berlin was baking today, and the sauna sensations followed us to the Arena near Treptow Park for the Who show. We missed connecting with some other fans because the heat forced us back to the hotel for a change of clothes and we were too late to meet up with them- sorry Stefan, Mike and Dino, I wish things hadn't taken so long to cross the city twice.

The Arena was like an oven, but filled with wonderfully enthusiastic fans who didn't seem to care that they were cooking. Onstage, Casbah Club rocked really well to start us off, and I tip my hat to Simon for keeping the suit jacket on- I'd have stripped in that heat, personally. Their set was really good.

The Who came on for a blistering two-hour set, and they played 2 songs off the new Wire & Glass, which I absolutely need to find here before going home, as it is not available in America, which means also not in Canada. They also played the Mike Post Theme, and the three songs were really well received, and many were singing along to them. There were a few surprises in the setlist (Relay, for one) though I really wanted to hear I'm One or anything off Quadrophenia, which is my favourite LP. There were technical glitches here and there, and some sound problems, and Roger pleaded (to no avail, I'm afraid) with the front-row smokers to give his voice a break by not lighting up, but the band was energised despite the steam bath, the audience responded warmly, and Pete in particular was in a jovial and light mood, joking with everyone and just having a great love-in. Fantastic night!

Austin's camera captured about 200 pictures, one of which I uploaded here to show you how fantastic Roger and Pete both looked and how lucky I was to sneak my way to the second row. It was a smallest venue I have ever seen the Who at, and there seemed to be great intimacy in the room and an eventual ignoring of the hot conditions around.

We were also very lucky in that Rachel and Mikey did a little walkabout into the arena after their webcast of In the Attic. I spotted them a few feet away, did a double take to make sure it was really them, mustered up some boldness and introduced myself to them and they were both just lovely. Rachel is as beautiful in person as she appears on the show, and the pair of them looked fit and relaxed. Mikey is absolutely sweet, and Rachel was just brilliant as well, and they both kindly posed for a picture with me. It's on my camera, and I don't have my gadget to download it, but I will ask them for permission when I get home and then post it on the blog at a later date if they give it.

Fantastic Who night- my ears are still ringing, my feet are still burning from standing on the hot pavement for hours, but it was memorable and absolutely fabulous to have been there. Everyone needs to catch them if they can!

Love to all of you who have been saying hello over the last few days. I've been able to stop by some of your blogs, and I hope you're all having some summer fun!

The Who in Berlin!

2006-07-12T02:29:00.001-04:00

We made it into Berlin yesterday, and my sister and I are practising our very rusty German. Most of the time we are making ourselves understood, although the raised eyebrows at our very rudimdentary grammar is quite amusing.
We did very little last night except find an amazing restaurant in Savigny Platz, which seems to be a theatre district area, and then walk from Zoo Station to the Brandenburg Gate, which took us through the debris that was once the Fan Mile for the FIFA World Cup, a long stretch of avenue where fans watched the games for free on large television screens.
It is a blistering 31 C in Berlin, has been since yesterday, and the sun is really quite bright. I think it's going to be a hot night for the Who in all ways possible. I will post a review later on for all of you following our boys, and look forward to meeting some of the Who fans at a pre-concert pub dinner.

I hope everyone is doing well, and thanks for your good wishes.

Last Night In London

2006-07-10T19:31:00.001-04:00

Today was a fantastic day in London- the rain held off until I came out at High Street Kensington tube station after the blogger dinner, and it was warm all day.

We started off with a walk towards the Earls' Court to see if a longer walk was worth avoiding a change of tube trains to go to Heathrow tomorrow with all the luggage. The result was a resounding yes. Along the way, a funny thing happened: we met a nice lady walking her beautiful golden retriever, and made small talk with her as we walked, until her dog pressed her to a faster pace than our leisurely stroll. She excused herself, and I kept wondering why she looked vaguely familiar to me. At the Earls' Court Road, I suggested to Austin that while we were in the neighbourhood, could we go down to Logan Place, where Freddie Mercury lived, just to see the house again, and we took a quick turn to do so. Up ahead of us, the same lady and her retriever turned into the Mercury house as we were coming up to the first gated door, and it hit me that we had been chatting with his longtime girlfriend Mary Austin, who inherited the house and his estate after he passed away. No wonder she had looked vaguely familiar.
We took a stroll through my beloved Brompton Cemetery and took some pictures of the Victorian stone statues and the overly-friendly squirrels. I love the peacefulness of the walk across the gravestones- I know that sounds strange, but it's quite a beautiful walk.

We headed towards the Embankment area and went to visit the Temple Church, built in the 1100s for the Knights Templar and made famous by DaVinci Code. We had quite the history lesson from the curator. We then took another leisurely stroll to the Wesminster Abbey, which I hadn't visited in a long time, and for the first time I became very aware of the tourist throngs. It was enjoyable still, though. Took the tube back to the hotel and had a late lunch and an even later swim, and then went off for the blogger dinner at As Greek As It Gets.
Marietta can certainly choose a good restaurant, and we had a fabulous time together. Marc and Jill were sweet and funny, as were James and Jonathan, and I just adore Marietta for making all these arrangements to meet up with me and make this London stop so fantastic.

I've got to go pack now, as we fly out to Berlin tomorrow. Wednesday night, I am meeting some of the German Who fans at a pub pre-show and then getting my Who fix!!!! I hope everyone's doing well out there!

Londonium, part two

2006-07-09T19:46:00.001-04:00

For those of you wondering what I'm doing posting two days in a row, it's got to do with Austin having his laptop and paying for two hours of wireless login per session- I decided that the blog was a good place to record my comings and goings before another glass of Strongbows makes me forget everything I've done.
Today we started off and the V & A Museum as planned, but due to a wicked barometer headache, I only managed the fashion exhibit, which included the 60s clothes, before begging for a change of scenery. The skies were spitting rain, so we dashed into the Museum of Natural History across the road and took a tour of the mammals and dinosaurs, which featured a hilarious robotic T-Rex making children scream all around me. Not much help for the headache there, but a lot of cranky and cross parents shouting at their children.
I took a break in the afternoon to use the hotel swimming pool and stretch the jetlagged body, as I tend to suffer from what I refer to as Economy Class Neck Syndrome. Then we dashed off to Kensal Green. I have a certain fondness for foreign cemeteries to begin with, but I have some scenes in my novel sequel which involve KG and I needed to do a bit of research at the site to make things more realistic. Not as pretty as Brompton's, and I recognised the crematorium from Freddie Mercury's cremation service there, but I managed to get the pictures and visual information I needed. As well, it was a lovely walk around the grounds under sunny, warmer skies.
We met up with blogger Marietta at the Tea Clipper pub in Knightsbridge for some World Cup action after that. She is a lovely, fun person, and I'll be seeing her again tomorrow night for blogger dinner, or blinner for short. Despite the outcome, it was a fantastic, competitive game with excitement at both ends, and after Zidane's disgraceful conduct, my heart sank a bit and I just had a feeling France was done for. The Italian fans spilled out on the Brompton road afterwards in cars and motorbikes, waving flags and honking up a storm. It was great to watch their pride and happiness, though it must have been mayhem back home in Toronto, which boasts the largest Italian population of any city outside the old country. I also had to laugh- a friend of mine in Toronto text-messaged me. One word: crap. I didn't recognise the number, and asked who it was. We've been out of touch for months, and it made him laugh to find out he was sending a message to London. Hard life, he replied. Yeah, isn't it?

Beautiful London town

2006-07-08T19:20:00.001-04:00

We made it into London without any problems- beautifully calm flight across the pond, even managed to sleep, and are now in Kensington, one of my favourite neighbourhoods in one of my favourite cities. We had dinner in a nice French cafe, and then walked off the brie by crossing Kensington gardens all the way past Buckingham Palace and then around towards Victoria. Had a pint at the Bag O' Nails pub and watched the remainder of the Germany-Portugal 3rd place match while the sore feet took a break, and then tubed home.

I love this city, always have since my first time here in 1972- it is so green, so full of beautiful parks and I am surrounded by the details of Georgian architecture that I adore. People have always said that Londoners are cold and uncaring, funny how I've never seen that side of them. the same is said about New Yorkers and Parisians, and those are two of my other favourite cities and people as well.

Tomorrow, we're going to find the Victoria & Albert museum and then, if the weather is nice, grab a picnic lunch and afternoon read in one of the great parks before venturing to the pub to watch the WC finals. I am looking forward to hanging out with the lovely Marietta tomorrow night.

Thanks for your kind wishes, all, and I hope you're all having nice weekends as well.