LEANING 50

More of the Same

2012-01-02T23:07:00.005-05:00

I admit it. I succumbed. In wondering about 2012, like many others, I resolved once more to eat healthier, get fitter, slimmer, and be more fiscally responsible. In fact, reading a survey in the newspaper of the top five most common New Year’s resolutions, within a few hours of waking on January 1st, I had considered at least four of the five.

It seems a pointless mental exercise, to make resolutions to do more or be better than I am now. As I walked yesterday morning I was feeling pretty good. Happy that the holiday season has now finally (and thankfully says my inner Scrooge) wound down, I am looking towards 2012 with excitement and anticipation. I can’t say the exact reason, but I am very content. Outside my window I can see the fresh footprints I made in the snow on our walk this morning. A wind blowing the tree branches is signaling the blustery winter day it has become. There’s a gray sky and the odd snowflake twirling to the ground. January is not the most comforting of months. It’s cold outside. After a busy December, it is a bit anti-climactic, socially. What’s coming is a hunkering down month. A cuddle up on the couch, soup eating, warm sock wearing time of year. But, or maybe because of these things, January is a month for thinking, for resetting, for commencing. Like September it feels all new and full of promise.

Stepping into 2012, I realize that my happy anticipating is in large part a result of the kind of year 2011 was. A rollercoaster of a year, full of real highs and some heartbreaking lows; there was no middle ground in 2011. This year I happened upon some cool new sounds, lost people too soon, started anew, was taken aback, settled comfortably in, shared belly laughs and did myself proud.

Discovered Treasure

I have an on again off again relationship with music. I like listening to music, but more often than not, even when writing, prefer quiet. If I had one, the soundtrack of my life would have, up until recently, been boring mix of Sarah McLaughlin, Coldplay, Adele, David Gray, Black Eyed Peas, Gaga, Alicia Keyes, Nirvana, U2. This year, I stumbled upon Florence and the Machine, The Black Keyes, Dandy Warhols, James Blake and his cover of Joni Mitchell’s A Case of You, and The Sheepdogs. Who knew such beauty and fun were just headphones away?

Passages

I struggle with what to say about my friend Paul. It all seems so inadequate. How do you sum up what a person means to you and those you love? Impossible. So I will simply say this - Paul was like sunshine. He was warmth and light. An adventurous spirit and wonderful storyteller, he was the heart mate to Niamh. He left us too soon, but also left us enriched for having known him.

I think Robert Frost got it wrong. In my experience it is not good fences that make good neighbours, but lack of them. I am lucky in the people living around me. We BBQ in the warmer weather. We share beers in the back garden in the fall; go for dinner and a movie in the winter months. We check in on each other when one of us is sick, walk dogs or mind cats, housesit or pick up mail. We talk politics, share books, travel tips and recipes. It’s a wonderful community. But it won’t be quite the same without kindhearted, accomplished, curious, ballsy and utterly unique Betsy.

It is astonishing to me that the passing of someone I never met can have had such an affect on me. When Jack Layton died in August, for a brief moment after I heard the news, I felt panicky. It was as if somehow things weren’t as alright in the world as they had been just before that. Regardless of where Canadians fall politically, no one can question Jack’s commitment to encouraging Canadians to look after one another and the world. The inspiring words in his open letter to Canadians still move me, as I hope they do others. “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.”

Uphill Climbs

This year, my perpetual struggle with weight loss saw some actual success. To be honest I really tried – maybe that had something to do with it. It feels good. Besides dieting, I stepped up my activity level and even, towards the end of the year joined a gym. Again. Inspired to keep going and undeterred by any setback, I continue; and speaking of uphill climbs, bike season is just around the corner. Weeeeeeee.

Giggles

Maybe more because of the tough losses this year, I spent many memorable nights out with family and friends giggling. Among the 2011 highlights: Friday nights on Fionn’s patio, Harper’s first dinner party, the movie Bridesmaids, Pride, Thanksgiving with the family and pub crawling with the Castillos.

Shining Moments

This year I took a chunk of time for myself. A full 10 weeks. I am proud of that. It is hard to put into words just what that time meant to me and how it continues to inform my thoughts and actions, even now. To an outside observer, it would be tough to determine exactly what I accomplished during August and September of this year. But for me, I set my feet firmly on the right path. There were days when I did nothing at all but walk the dogs and sit in my backyard thinking. There were wildly creative days. I napped most days. I ate and drank whatever I wished. I read some, wrote lots. But more than anything, I mulled things over. Emerging from my sabbatical, I am more sure than I have ever been about myself and so incredibly grateful for all I have.

Surprises

I am resilient. It is one of the things I like about myself. I bounce back and so does my heart.

Ever the hopeful romantic, in 2011 after ending a long relationship, I ventured into the land of love again with an open heart. People come into our lives, I know, for a myriad of reasons and timeframes. Was I saddened to see that things weren’t quite what I hoped for? Absolutely. But time has a way of taking care of these feelings and I cannot be anything but grateful for all the wonderful things that came into my life as a result of having known him.

The brilliant John Cheever is supposed to have said that "the deep joy we take in the company of people with whom we have just recently fallen in love is undisguisable". Here’s hoping 2012 is full of many blatantly obvious blissful moments.

Routines

There are really only two things I do that keep me sane. I walk my dogs and I write.

Maybe it is the Catholic in me, but rituals make me feel grounded. I have other regular stuff I do throughout the year like lighting a candle on my father’s birthday or going for coffee on Sunday mornings to read sections of the New York Times. I never work on my birthday, preferring to spend some time with my mom and celebrate in any other way that suits my fancy. I drink a pint glass of water every morning while the dogs eat their breakfast and I spend each New Year’s Eve reading my journal entries from the year that just ended. This past year, I took on two more regular things that have had wonderful impact on my life.

Round about March I joined a writer’s group, which meets monthly to share our work, talk about writing and nudge each other along supportively. I take such inspiration from these folks. I am writing better now in part due to their feedback and encouragement.

If it sounds like I am brimming with gratitude, I am. Unapologetically so. While on leave, I tried meditation. I wasn’t successful at it. But as I tried to clear my mind of all thoughts, one thing became clear to me. One persistent thought kept popping into my head. I have so much to be grateful for. This realization continues to pop up on such a regular basis that I try now, as much as possible, to stop and give it a moment to sink in. No matter what else is going on, for that second, I smile. I feel happy.

Sitting at my desk here thinking about my year, Murphy is snoring by my feet. I can feel the warmth of his big head resting against my foot and his breath tickling my toes as he exhales. Who wouldn’t be joyful?

I have resolved to make no resolutions for 2012. But I do intend to continue on as I have been – discovering new things, laughing, challenging myself, loving, coping with the tough stuff, creating and being grateful for it all.

Circularity

2011-11-06T17:16:00.002-05:00

It is funny to me how life so often comes full circle. Almost two years ago I started this blog with the notion that I wanted to lose weight, find more time to read and write - to stimulate my mind and reshape my body. In classic MB fashion, my new project took off like a shot. The first few months were a flurry of activity on both fronts. The pounds started to drop and I was getting through books that had been on my wish list for years. But by the end of my first year, while I was a bit lighter, I had not lost anywhere close to the 50 lbs I had hoped to shed and my list of classics had far fewer volumes checked off than I had expected.

This past year, while I have continued to try to carve out more time for reading, I spent far more time focussed on writing. I joined a writers group. I took a leave from work to write. I reworked my schedule to carve out hours for creativity. At times, I felt a roaring success, the epitome of prolificacy, piling page after page. Many days I really really felt like a writer. But there have been just as many, if not more days throughout this year, when I have felt like a sham, a dismal unproductive lump of writer wannabe, staring at a blank screen urging my characters to talk to me, cursing my lack of creativity, my unoriginality, wondering what in God’s name made me ever think I could write even a well formed sentence, much less a whole novel. I was beyond the help of St. Francis de Sales or even the guardian angel of writers, Ecanus. In fact the only voice I heard in response to my meditative wondering was my own, telling me to chuck it all in the bin - your hackneyed words, your ordinary outlines, your implausible plotlines, your aspiration. All of it. In the bin. Now.

So I stopped. I stopped writing. I stopped reading about writing. Poor old Lillian Munsch sat as untouched as a corpulent college girl. The manuscript cover of her 225 pages gathered dust on my desk. A week went by. Another one. I hardly thought about writing. Actually that is a lie. I felt guilty for not writing. Hugely so. But I was getting used to it. As a Catholic I have a high tolerance for guilt, so I was ok. Really. I returned to work from my 10 week writing sabbatical. I busied myself with my work projects. Got the dogs accustomed to our new routine. I brushed off any questions about my writing with a vague response and pretended all was well.

Back a few weeks to my old routine, I was chatting with a girlfriend over drinks one night. Over the summer she lost a lot of weight working a protein based program. She looked great. Felt great. She glowed when I complimented her on her outcome. But as we discussed it, she surprised me. After describing the program and how tough it had been, she apologized to me for being so shallowly fixated on her weight. Here she had been able to do something I have tried many times unsuccessfully to accomplish. She had put her mind to something. In a very determined fashion she achieved her goal. She had no reason to apologize. But I did. Not to her, but to me. I had abandoned my own goals.

By mid October, I had determined on an approach. As of today, 3 weeks and 3 days later, I have lost over 13lbs. Just a smidge over the amount I lost during my first year of blogging. I have an exercise routine. I have a food program. I have a goal - which is very important to me. Without something to shoot for, I tend to go aimlessly and lose interest. I thought of the 50lb. goal I set for myself earlier. It’s a nice round achievable number. But in truth, I want more. I want 80lbs. Why not aim high? Right? Putting it here, out here on the web, where people can read it, is a bit daunting. So many what if’s come to mind. I choose to disregard them.

With November fast approaching, my writing group and I were discussing the NaNoWriMo challenge. National Novel Writing Month is a 30 day creative blitzkrieg where writers from all over attempt to write a 50,000 word original piece of fiction. A novel in a month. Actually an incredibly rough draft of a story in a month is more accurate. For the past two years, this challenge has been something which I have enjoyed immensely. All along I have said I was in. I had a rough idea for a story. I logged on to the Nano site. I set up my profile for this year and sat down to outline my story.

And once again nothing.
No story worth telling came forth.
No cool characters I could get excited about.
No interesting plot ideas.
No original place or names, gadgets or gizmos.
Nada.

November 1st came and went. Nope. Still nothing.
Then the 2nd and the 3rd passed. I still had no clue what to write about.

I started to imagine what excuse I could give my writer friends for backing out of the writing challenge. The weekend arrived and all day yesterday I tried and tried to come up with a story idea. I received a worried email from a friend wondering if I was still Nano-ing. I want to, I felt like writing back to him. But I’ve got nothing. I looked at Lillian sitting all dusty on my desk. I opened my Lillian notebook and read some of my early ideas. The story is so different now than how I had envisioned it in the beginning. I flipped through some of the pages of my most recent draft. I still love that character and the others too – Nicki, Alejandro and Ian.

When I am not writing, I often wonder, so now what? If I am not meant to be a storyteller, then what am I? I envision other lives I could live. I conjure up alternate existences until I realize that all I am doing is telling myself a story, painting another reality in my mind, rather than on the page. It is usually about then that remind myself that I am a writer. I struggle with discipline. I lack self esteem. My creativity is often blocked and my pages stare blankly back at me. But I am a writer nonetheless. A struggling one, but one who knows enough to just keep at it.

In that notion, my main character surfaced. I like to write about people who have something to overcome. Who better fits this description than a writer with crippling writer’s block? It was a nugget of an idea at first. But over the space of a day I was able to flush it out into enough of a story to begin. I have a setting suitable for the cast of characters I’ve thought up. They seem like people I can get excited about spending the next month with. But most importantly, I have a tale worth telling. So I began. It’ll take me some time to catch up in my word count, but I feel better already.

While I spend November with my new heroine, Anabel Rogers, writing “The Neighbours”, Lillian had better not get too comfy on my desk, cause come December 1st; I’m circling back to spend some quality time with my number one girl once more.

A Bit of a Bumpy Ride

2011-08-06T17:17:00.003-04:00

Choppy is a good word to describe this week. Ups and downs. Lots of them.
Getting used to my new routine has been more challenging than I had expected. Thinking I would simply replace a good portion of my previous work day with writing has shown itself to be anything but a successful approach.

I am writing. With the exception of one rather distracted day, I have managed a good chunk of time daily devoted to my story. I just haven’t found my rhythm; which has got me thinking about expectations and my tendency towards preconceived notions. Is there only one way to go about this? Of course not. I know that.

Having booked this sabbatical several months ago, I had many days to contemplate how I would spend my time; what it will be like to write each day with no competing obligations; how to squeeze the most out of the precious gift of this opportunity. I had a loose schedule in mind for most days, knowing I would squander a few here and there with day trips and fun sidebars along the way.

My reality has been nothing like the well disciplined schedule I envisioned.

I spent the better part of a day cleaning out the garage at the family home.
I saw two movies.
I worried about and fussed over a close friend.
I baked cookies.
I lost an afternoon surfing YouTube, tweeting and reading blogs.
I read two books.
The dogs are bathed and have been to the groomers for clipping.
Every sheet, towel, comforter and blanket in my house has been washed, dried and folded.
I pondered paint chip colours.
My unfinished knitting project from last winter has seen the light once more.
I napped. A few times.

While I wasn’t worried I would find stuff to occupy my downtime, I seem to have mastered the art of putter. I have been in staycation mode, where I feel I should be in working sabbatical mode.

Hate the word should. The implication that there is a single right way right to go about things chafes.

I have clear goals about what I want and need to accomplish these few months. That much is unchanged. I approached my work with the idea that I should (there is that word again… yikes) spend at least four hours writing or working on my draft each day.

Now a couple of things come to mind.

While there is no question that writing is really work, the notion of work as a negative, arduous endeavour is off-putting. I prefer to think of my writing time as play. Creative flow. Unencumbered expression. Fashioning. Retooling. Laying down. It is hard to do. But it is also satisfying.

This time away is every bit as much about exploring my process and continuing to hone my skills, as it is about finishing the story of Lillian Munsch. So while my best laid plans have morphed somewhat, my intention is still the same. I will come out the other side of this a better writer, with a finished product in hand. How I get there? Well figuring that out is part of the fun along the journey.

Beginnings

2011-08-01T21:47:00.003-04:00

“Literature has been the salvation of the damned, literature has inspired and guided lovers, routed despair and can perhaps in this case save the world.”

Nothing like setting the bar real high, eh? But I love this quote by John Cheever. It reminds me of the affect that art, and in particular books and stories, can have on us all.

I have no idea what is in store for my novel. I do know this. As I begin my sabbatical of a few months from work, I sure intend to find out.

I’ve got a story to tell. So I guess the best thing is to get started.

Do the needful

2011-06-29T09:36:00.002-04:00

As my sabbatical begins in less than a month, I am feeling more than a wee bit of pressure to get things wrapped up before I leave work. Needling details keep cropping up. Just a few seconds of your time requests abound. I even fielded a brazen suggestion that I squeeze a whole new area into my tight implementation schedule which concludes at the end of July. While I am the master of accomplishing down to the wire monster to do lists, I am stressed – more so than usual.

As I walk with the dogs, my sacrosanct morning thinks are being invaded by thoughts of project plan tasks and worries over how my little area of responsibility will be managed while I am gone. I much prefer enjoying the sunshine. I would rather be taking in the dewy smell of clover coming off Murphy after a roll in the grass. Instead it is like I am sitting at a restaurant with a long lost friend; eager to hear their tales of adventure but distracted by the ruckus of a crying child at the next table.

I know I will get all my work done. I always do. I have my lists. They are categorized quite efficiently into:
the not on your life requests,
the nice if I can manage it tasks and,
the absofuckinglutely must dos.

The needful is what I am focusing on right now. I am doing the needful. And if I have a spare second, I will look at the rest. So it is not about whether or not I’ll get it done, it is more that all this focus on my work life is sort of bringing me down. I like my job most days. I really do. I just like my life better. The real life. The one I live away from the office. The one where I am not all task driven and listy, but creative and relaxed. The one where I don’t stress about blurting out a well placed fuck. Ok. Scratch that. I say fuck at work. And will likely do so more this coming month than usual. But you get my point. There is a work face we all put on each day. I like the my real face of MB better. Hers is an enthusiastic and uncensored and more fearless face. She is nourished by the day to day experiences in her life and wants to share them with those she loves.

Taking a few months off to finish my book, to read and to spend quality time with my hammock and my dogs is an exciting adventure. I am lucky to be able to have this time. It almost makes this work stress worth it. Trying to readjust my headspace this morning I thought of taking a page out the story of my character Lillian Munsch who faced with her own death tries to figure out how to live. I wondered what is my real list of needful things? Do I have a bucket list? What should be getting my attention?

Gack!
Such nonsense.

To be honest the first thing that popped into my head was “Get your arse to the office MB and get on with it!”

I started off thinking that I needed an attitude adjustment; that I am placing all my emphasis on the wrong things. But the truth is that if the needful this month is a shitload of work and the inherent stress that comes with it, I’ll take it because soon enough, the only task on my to do list will be making a cup of tea or maybe deciding on what book to read next.

Wondering where I have been?

2011-05-31T07:38:00.004-04:00

The book is coming along quite nicely. Writing group has certainly helped to motivate me. Love seeing it all printed out like this.

Balance

2011-02-23T20:25:00.008-05:00

I find great comfort in the universe’s ability to right itself; to maintain harmony; to counterbalance each action with an equal but opposite reaction. I can tend to forget about life’s splendid capacity for symmetry while wrapped up inside my head, particularly when my thoughts are darker than usual.

Until now I have made a point not to write about love here much because, frankly, I suck at it. My ego doesn’t like me to be that exposed and would prefer I stick to chat about things I have or wish to accomplish, issues that I need to rave about or in the telling or retelling of tales funny, curious or moving to me. In retrospect though I see how flawed this thinking is. I began this blog with the goal of discussing not just my book lust but also my struggle to get more active, lose weight and improve my health. Talking about being overweight and how that feels is about as personal as it gets. It’s not easy. I often feel awkward and raw around the topic.

But as tough as that might be, it ain’t nothing compared to how writing about love feels to me. So one might wonder, why bother?

First and foremost, it is important to note that writing is how I process. It is my chosen and most comfortable form of expression, and a sorter outer for me as I communicate the good the bad and the ugly of life.

Secondly, I am certain I cannot be the only one who feels from time to time that they have a defective love gene. There must be others who think that this isn’t how it’s supposed to work. Case in point, I stumbled upon this commentary from the eminently talented author Neil Gaimon earlier this week.

“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.”

Paints a pretty sad picture eh? My soul-hurt isn’t as dark as all that. It’s more just a disappointing ache. A realization that things are not what I thought them to be. But, man! Gaimon’s description is emotionally visceral. I loved tripping into it so much that the drama queen in me could not help but reread it over a few times and then share it with a friend or two, relating my situation to that which is described above. A bit of wallowing ensued.

And then, just like that, the very next day the universe righted itself. Perspective was restored and a wonderfully dynamic group of people in the form of a new writers group entered my life. Something good, something creative, something to remind me of the beauty of being me doing the one thing I love most.

I still do not feel all that comfortable writing about love. Maybe that is because I am not that comfortable in love, generally. But if I know one thing for sure, it is the more comfortable I am in my own skin, the less it matters. The emotional ebb and flow is fodder for my writing. So in the end, it all balances out nicely.

Blink

2011-02-10T14:42:00.004-05:00

A pestering friend (cough...Marc) recently pointed out that coming up next week it will be a full three months since the last time I blogged. Over the past while I have had more than a few gentle nudges to continue blogging. So here I am.

It’s not so much that I have given up on blogging. It is more that mired in amongst all the day to day stuff of work, my writing, spending time with friends and family, blogging just seems to have settled quietly into the backseat. I once read a statistic that more than 60% of people who start blogging, fall away from regular entries within a year. I suppose I am more average than I would hope to be... at least in that regard.

To prime the pump some and get me back to it, I’ll start with the highlights. The past three months looked something like this.

November was all about NaNoWriMo. Setting my ongoing writing project aside, I tried my hand at a new genre, the murder mystery. Basil McNabb’s A Fair to Remember was such fun to write. Coming up with a reasonably plausible way to kill off my characters and layer in deceptive red herrings here and there as I attempted to weave together a plot was challenging. I enjoyed the experience immensely and was super proud to finish my 50,000 word story just in the nick of time on November 30th.

While creativity was my focus in November, December was more about sharing my time. It’s no secret that Christmas is not my favourite holiday season. This year I spent time as I have done in the past working on our outreach program to aid over 100 families in need with food, gifts and basic household items. This year’s Caring & Sharing program was a big success; a testament to the spirit of generosity alive and well in our community, even in these tough economic times. Beyond the outreach program, I spent some wonderful time with my closest friends Christmas Eve and had a lovely and laid back Christmas Day and Boxing Day with the family.

Somewhere in January a shift occurred and I began to reprioritized things on quite a seminal level. I am not one to make New Year’s resolutions. That is not what I am talking about. More than ever these days I am aware of how quickly time passes. It’s not a new observation for sure, but one which inspired me. Beyond my normal internal musing over my life, I was recently given a series of philosophical questions to ponder. It’s Oprahesque stuff, absolutely. But that aside, the one question that haunted me was… is this what I want to be doing? The notion is not just directed towards career. It is about life. How my day to day unfolds. How I interact with people. How I feel physically. How I spend my time and with whom. Big concepts, but fundamental ones. After some navel gazing on my own, I was sharing some of my insights with my friend Greta who asked me simply why I don't just take a year off to pursue my writing and whatever else I feel like doing. It got me wondering what was holding me back. I cannot really afford a year without pay, but the idea resonated with me so strongly I knew I was on to something. And so, I have arranged a three month leave of absence from work this summer. I plan to write mostly. But I also do so very much look forward to having the unhurried time to think, to read, to travel some if I choose, to soak up the sun and lay in a hammock, to drink pints on a patio, to swim, to play catch in the park with Murphy and Matilda.

Marc pointed out to me that it has been over 90 days or in other words 2,160 hours or even 129,600 minutes, which is remarkably more than 7 million seconds since the last time I blogged.

Seems like the blink of an eye to me.

In another two blinks, I’ll be enjoying my much anticipated leave. Another blink after that and I will find myself back to work again.

Life is like that. But given that I cannot slow the pace of time marching on, I now fully intend to get as much out of my seconds as I can.

NaNo Update - Day 15

2010-11-15T20:01:00.002-05:00

What a terrific day I had.

Unofficial first day of my vacation, with the weekend not being counted, and I spent it doing exactly what I most hoped for. I wrote. While mischievous Mattie happily romped at doggie daycare and Murphy snored on the couch beside me, I spent the majority of the day in my PJs working on my NaNo story. A wee bit of editing to get me going (I know I am not supposed to be editing now, but couldn't resist) and I had a wonderfully productive day. This is exactly the kind of week I planned. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. It is days like today that give me a real glimpse of what it would be like to work at my writing full time. It fuels my dream. Truly.

Day 15 is the midway point in the NaNoWriMo project. 25,000 is today's mark for those who are schedule. I am still behind but catching up... grin.

My stats today are:

Coffees drank: 48
Most wince worthy cliché written: you seem visibly upset
Hours spent writing: 47
Deaths/Murders: one body, throat slit, missing left hand
Best line so far: I would happily trade flirtatious banter back and forth, until such time as your ego is sufficiently inflated for me to drop kick it like a football to the other side of the grounds.
Chocolates consumed: 55
Most time squandery distraction: running up and down stairs doing laundry
Take outs ordered: 3
Words written: 16,449
Characters introduced: 15
Favourite word written: litigious*
Social / family functions attended: two
Motivation level (scale of one to ten): 25

* I have noted the appalling deterioration of intelligent "favourite words". Will try to halt the decline before the prose is reduced to a series of monosyllabic grunts.

NaNo Update - Day 14

2010-11-14T10:33:00.002-05:00

I made it through week two, barely. I am proud of the fact that I trundled along, writing every day. Every damn day. Even when it was just for a wee bit. And there were more than a few days like that this past week. Nonetheless, I am almost halfway through the month, admittedly behind in my word count, but happy that I am now officially on vacation for a week, sure to catch up during my break.

It is like this, November. Life goes on and for me anyway, it is important that NaNo fits into my life, not the other way around. I write amongst work deadlines, birthday parties, gossipy pints with friends and my day to day routine of dog walks, coffee with the girls and reading. The house right now smells deliciously of the carrot cake I baked for a family dinner tonight. I'll not get much writing in until I get home, but that is ok. This is my version of a writing life.

I have one thing going for me and my story. I finally figured out how the whole thing ends. Although a few background characters seem intent on worming their way to the forefront of the story, I think I know how it will all turn out. It is twistier than I originally planned. I like that.

Almost halfway through November, my stats look like this:

Coffees drank: 43
Most wince worthy cliché written: and now, without further ado…
Hours spent writing: 42
Deaths/Murders: one severed hand found… what do you think?
Best line so far: He was chucked out; no discussion; placed firmly outside their life as one puts garbage by the curb for weekly pick up.
Chocolates consumed: 53
Most time squandery distraction: the appearance of Star Trek characters in a smokey jazz club
Take out ordered: 3
Words written: 13,721
Characters introduced: 13 of 13
Favourite word written: apropos
Social / family functions attended: one (see the aforementioned jazz club)
Motivation level (scale of one to ten): a slightly over confident 7

NaNo Update - Day 6

2010-11-07T08:05:00.003-05:00

Daylight savings time here in Ontario means an extra hour of sleep. Or, if you have a one year old puppy at home, that you are now getting up at 5:30 am rather than 6:30 in the morning. Giving up on listening to her whining pleas for attention, breakfast and the back yard, I rolled out of bed around 5:40 (yes I give in way too quickly) and we were up and taking our morning stroll well before 6am today. It's dark and very quiet at that time of day. I absolutely love it. Crisp leaves crunching under our feet and a coolness in the air that is not winter yet, but certainly no longer warm. Bundled up nicely as we strolled, I reviewed the progress of my NaNoWriMo story so far and figured out where we'll go today.

I'm still a bit behind in my word count, but with another productive day today, I will be just fine. I know I have another busy week at work before I am get a full week to myself, so I am trying to make the most of the quiet time I have now.

My NaNo stats look like this at present:

Coffees drank: 19
Most wince worthy cliché written: go big or go home (sad I know)
Hours spent writing: 14.5
Deaths/Murders: none
Best line so far: Thanking his most favourite saint, Anand, the obscure and under appreciated patron of barkeeps, he noticed the abundantly stocked set up.
Chocolates consumed: 18
Most time squandery distraction: dust bunnies (I know what you are thinking. I must be really hard up for a distraction, if I start cleaning!)
Take out ordered: once*
Words written: 6,556
Characters introduced: 9 of 13 (so far)
Favourite word written: collywobbles
Social / family functions attended: none
Motivation level (scale of one to ten): an optimistic 8

* studies have shown that there is a direct and not so surprising positive corelation between a person's level of creativity and their pizza eating frequency.

NaNo Update - Day 4

2010-11-05T12:28:00.003-04:00

The most common impediment to my creativity is procrastination. I'm a fantastic putting it off til another day kind of girl. When I actually sit down to do some work, I am usually productive, even demiurgic occasionally. It is just getting my arse into the chair that has posed problematic. That is why I like the NaNoWriMo challenge. Because of the looming 30 day deadline, I don't have the luxury to procrastinate too much. If I get too far behind, it would become physically impossible for me to complete by midnight November 30th. As failure, epic or otherwise, is not an option I have to keep a close eye on my totals and pace.

Entering my first weekend, I am scheduled to hit the 10,000 mark sometime on Saturday. Right now, just shy of 4,500 words, I have my work cut out for me. Am I worried? Hell no! Well maybe a little bit. But we write on. What choice is there?

Stats after last night look like this:

Coffees drank: 15
Most wince worthy cliché written: rising star in our midst
Hours spent writing: 10.5 *
Deaths/Murders: none
Best line so far: Shall I have you for breakfast?
Chocolates consumed: 15
Most time squandery distraction: brand new e-reader
Take out ordered: none
Words written: 4,467
Characters introduced: 7 of 12 (so far)
Favourite word written: inveigle
Social / family functions attended: none
Motivation level (scale of one to ten): 8

* An average day's 1,667 takes just under three hours to write. My pace is not bad all things considered. Especially if I include all the time spent banging my head on the desk trying to find the right words.

Will sound triumphant horn of jubilation when I hit the 10,000 mark this weekend. Listen for it!

NaNo Update - Day 3

2010-11-04T12:39:00.002-04:00

I'm still loving this writing process. I say "still" because yesteday was not the most of productive days. Last year when this happened (a few times actually) I panicked. Big time. But this year, I know it is not that big a deal. I can catch up. It's still early. But last night there was absolutely no helping it. While working away, I could literally feel myself falling asleep. You know the feeling - eyes burning, head heavy and bobbing forward some, pillows temptingly cozy and warm. I just couldn't do it. With only 600 or so words written, I switched off the light and went to bed.

I was into work early today, and will leave early. My evening plan involves throwing in a quick load of laundry while the pooches settle down after their walk and firing up the laptop for a good several hours. By the end of the day today, I should be around 6,670 words. No problemo she says confidently. That's a mere 2,600 give or take tonight. Sheesh!

My stats look like this right now:

Coffees drank: 12
Most wince worthy cliché written: Who did they think they were dealing with?
Hours spent writing: 9
Deaths/Murders: none
Best line so far: an itinerant splash of Jamieson’s browning the envelope as Basil’s fist pounded the bar mid tirade
Chocolates consumed: 14
Take out ordered: none
Words written: 4,001
Characters introduced: 7 of 12 (so far)
Favourite word written: curvaceousness
Social / family functions attended: none
Motivation level (scale of one to ten): 7

Curvaceousness.... a very good word! Grin.

NaNo Update - Day 2

2010-11-03T10:20:00.006-04:00

Another creative day had. Who knew I could write into the wee hours of the night? Took me a bit longer to get my rhythm than it did yesterday, but I got there and was off like a shot.

My NaNo stats:

Coffees drank: 8
Most wince worthy cliché written: talk of the town
Total hours spent writing: 7.5
Deaths/Murders: none
Best line so far: If a beguiling set of knockers flashes in my direction, how ungentlemanlike would I be if I refrained from marking their bodacious beauty?
Chocolates consumed: 7
Take out ordered: none
Words written: 3,470
Characters introduced: 6 of 12 (so far)
Favourite word written so far: scurrilous
Social / family functions attended: none
Motivation level (scale of one to ten): 11

NaNoWriMo Is Here

2010-11-02T11:25:00.004-04:00

Finally, at long last the writing has begun. My month long challenge to write a 50,000 word novel for the National Novel Writing Month challenge started at midnight November 1st.

Yesterday was a spectacularly productive day. I somehow managed to get 1,904 words written and a rough outline of my story completed. Still have so very many holes to fill, but that is where the fun is. I sort of know where I am going now and will figure the rest out as I go. A confirmed pantser (as in flying by the seat of mine) as opposed to thorough and organized planner, I feel quite on top of things.... for the moment.

To keep me focussed, I will try to post an update here regularly through the month. For more specifics about my story “A Fair to Remember” click here .

So without further ado, after one full day, my NaNoWriMo stats look something like:

Coffees drank: 5
Hours spent writing: 4.5
Deaths/Murders: none
Best line so far: She went up like an old man waking from a long nap
Chocolates consumed: 3
Take out ordered: none
Words written: 1904
Characters introduced: 3 of 11 (so far)
Social / family functions attended: none
Motivation level (scale of one to ten): 8

It's the most wonderful time of the year....

2010-10-03T12:52:00.008-04:00

It's that time again.
I've been itching to begin.
Now, only 28 days left.
The annual NANOWRIMO (that is National Novel Writing Month) challenge is right around the corner.

The website has just been relaunched for the 2010 season. I have updated my profile and posted the summary of my novel which you can find here.

As work on Lillian Munsch is winding down to prepare for NaNo, I am starting to shift gears towards my new story - a murder mystery. The unofficial title is "A Fair to Remember - A Basil McNabb Mystery". If I like this character and genre, I may write more stories with Basil as main character. But that is getting way too far ahead of myself (shocking I know).

In the meantime, we edit and tweak and are still rewriting Lillian's story through October, being reasonably on track for my self imposed Thanksgiving deadline.

For now, off I go with the usual intentions of posting more frequently; but knowing, realistically, once November begins I'll be lucky if I can get my 1,674 words per day done, let alone have time to post a blog entry.

But, I will try!

Really.

I promise.

Productive Perambulations

2010-08-29T12:46:00.005-04:00

One of the pleasures of having a dog is the walks. I have always been a good walker. I live in a walkable city. I don’t drive much and like that everything I need or want is a relatively quick stroll away. Even now, with my odd aches and pains, I love to walk.

I have neighbours who go for an evening walk most nights after dinner, to digest their meal, get some fresh air and relax before bedtime. I often take the dogs out around then too and run into these folks as I wander. We stop and chat about the goings on in the neighbourhood, as we see each other each night on our way. A convivial enough habit, for sure. But for me, the more satisfying walks are the ones I take with the dogs very early in the morning every day. Quiet, mostly vacant streets we three stroll block after block, admiring the flowers, Murph and Mattie stopping to roll on the plusher lawns and me ruminating on the various notions filling my head. During the week, some blocks are spent ordering my work day, reviewing my to-do list. But on the weekend our morning walks are often spent mulling over plot points or imaging a less maladroit description or phrasing from my previous day’s writing.

Assiduously working towards my Thanksgiving deadline for Lillian’s story, I cannot help my mind wandering to the next project, the next NaNoWriMo challenge. I have pretty much decided already on a genre; a detective murder mystery. I wanted to pick something new to me. A style I haven’t written before. My problem was coming up with a likeable main character detective and setting for the book. I have been trying on various scenarios. I’d find a good character and then couldn’t plot him or her in a plausible setting for murder and mayhem. Or the reverse. I would envision a brilliant how and where to off some hapless victim and have no clue how to match a detective type to solve the crime.

I talk these things out with Murphy and Mattie as I go. I don’t honestly know anyone who has dogs who doesn’t seek their counsel from time to time. As we rounded the first block, he came to me - the perfect reluctant hero for my story. But even better than that, by the time we were nearing the back porch an hour later, I had a back story for him and a setting for the macabre events.

Since Murphy arrived, I have gotten used to early mornings. While I cursed his early rising proclivity initially, I have found it to be my most creative time of the day. I think best in the morning. I write more prolifically then too. I’m counting on that, as I finish Lillian Munsch and begin my new project - a Basil McNab murder mystery.

Habit Forming

2010-08-08T17:36:00.005-04:00

We are, many of us, creatures of habit. Familiar routines and places punctuate our existence. Despite being someone who doesn’t fret change when thrust upon me, I do find comfort in my day to day rituals: the same corner table at Starbucks where I can write with a view of passers by on the street, weekends of dog walks, grocery shopping, brunches and movie going. I like that the guy behind the counter knows just how I like my vanilla latte and am accustomed to seeing the same folks stumbling towards the dog park each morning, unclipping leashes and letting their puppies romp for a bit while they make small talk about the goings on in the neighbourhood.

If Aristotle is correct and we are what we repeatedly do, then I am most certainly a dog walker, a writer, a movie goer and bookshop browser, a coffee hound, a laundry avoider and a muser. He was a smart guy. I can live with what my habits say about me. Mind you, he is also to have said “all paid jobs absorb and degrade the mind”. It’s a shame I also have this pesky habit of keeping a roof over my head.

Coming home from the movies today, I saw a woman on the subway reading TS Eliot’s The Wasteland. She had an interesting bohemian look to her, a shock of bleached blond hair ruffed up and sticking out in all directions. The sundress she was wearing gave anyone who looked a nice view of the tattoo curling around from her back and over her shoulder – a gorgeous medieval drawing of an angel, wings spreading. I love encountering people like this. They rouse me from the regular of in my life and remind me of the importance to live unimpeded by convention, and go boldly in my own direction, heedless of the need for conformity to anything other than my own true self. Taking a nudge from the angel on the subway, I am encouraged to make sure my experience of life includes creating, loving, thinking, absorbing, all adventurously. Now that is a habit I could get used to.

Right on. Write on.

2010-07-26T20:09:00.005-04:00

I have said it before. It is just as true now.
I work better under pressure.
I like a looming deadline, some sense of urgency bearing down on me.

While pondering life gloomily this weekend, I more than once thought of how rapidly time passes. Before long summer will be over, and with summer fading, fall is just around the corner. And with fall comes.... drum roll please... the NANOWRIMO writing challenge.

As I was enthusiastically singing the praises of this novel writing exercise last week, recruiting my friend Brian to participate (see Bri, now it is on the internet for the whole world to see – grin) it dawned on me that I cannot give myself over to the NaNo madness unless my work on Lillian’s story is complete and I have handed it over, as finished as a solid first draft can be, to someone else for review and editing. So, I am somewhat freakishly relieved to note that the clock is ticking now. My work has taken on a more feverish pace as I have just realized the following:

According to my latest storyboard and outline, I have about 30,000 words of work to rewrite.

I have another 20,000 plus words of work that needs some significant editing. (There’s a certain symmetry in being back to the 50,000 mark again.)

If I am going to do NaNo this year (and I most certainly am doing it!!), I need to put my current book to bed by Thanksgiving. That is Canadian Thanksgiving for those non-Canucks, which falls around the second week in October. This will give me about two and a half weeks to plot and plan out my 2010 NaNo story so I can begin writing at midnight (or whenever I wake up in the morning) on November 1st.

This works out to a mere 78 days to finish.

If I factor in vacationing in September, family birthday celebrations, a weekend which I am required to work, a visiting friend from Ireland and my trip to Montreal this coming weekend, I estimate I would realistically be left with about 65 days to write.

Figuring the rewrites will take me about two thirds of this time, it boils down to finishing the writing by September 10th, writing about 750 words per day. Child’s play when you figure I had to do 1,650 a day during November last year for the NaNoWriMo project.

I really do love these characters in Lillian's story. I have been living with them for over a year now. Consumed by what they think, how they would behave, what makes sense for them. They first came to me last spring and then fully took up residence with me last fall. I will by no means be finished with Lillian, Alejandro and Nicki by Thanksgiving, but if I work real hard, they should be ready to visit with some trusted friends for a while. God, does this sound weird to anyone other than me???

I have a few story ideas crawling around in the corners of my mind for this November. I have always wanted to write a story about sisters. I like the idea of the complex competing emotional tug of sibling relationships – love, competition, obligation, entitlement. It’s good stuff. I would also like to try writing a style totally other than my normal stuff – maybe a murder mystery.

Whatever I come up with for November, these coming months will be good for me creatively. It’s no secret I am not the most disciplined writer around. I need accountability and a mechanism to set my pace. I have posted a tickertape tracker so I can plot my progress til Thanksgiving. 750 words per day. That is just over two pages a day. No problem, right? Write!

Funkadelic

2010-07-25T21:55:00.007-04:00

As I settle down for a quiet Sunday evening preparing myself for the coming week, a part of me can’t help but hope that the next few days scoot by so I can get on with our road tripping adventure in Montreal later in the week. I try hard not to wish time would pass quickly in anticipation of an upcoming event. Time whizzes by so quickly and I hate the notion that I might have hurried it along even faster. That said, last week is one I would have been happy to have rushed out the door.

Overall, it was not all bad. So so, is a more apt description.

On the fun side I spent a night out with my sisters at the Bon Jovi concert. I am not one bit ashamed to admit swooning was involved. That man is simply HOT! I also had dinner with my friend Brian, got caught up on life and talked writing, his and mine. I even managed to squeeze in a few movies. (Inception was cool. I like a movie that leaves you wondering.)

However, any fun I did have this week was marred by the events of Wednesday when, over the course of just one day I heard of the death of three folks who had touched my life in one way or another. I rounded out the week feeling a bit more philosophical than I usually am (which says something in and of itself) and the mood sort of stuck with me through the weekend. I suppose I didn’t exactly help to buoy my spirits by reading the Dave Eggers book I have on the go. As two of the three people I know died of cancer, reading his memoir A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, which recounts his life raising his brother after he loses both parents to cancer within a single year, might not have been such a great idea.

It is not so much the death thing that has me all introspective. Having a humongous family, I have been to my fair share of funerals. I think I have a fairly healthy outlook when it comes to death. It is also not the cancer thing. Cancer is a bitch. No getting around that. It is tough, both for the patient who suffers and battles the disease and the loved ones who are left behind. It is craptastically bad. But that is not the reason for my funk either.

Thinking it over this afternoon, I see a pattern in it. One person leaves, one arrives. Three bad things happen and then three good things occur. There is a rhythm to these sorts of things; to life. It got me thinking about the cycle of life. I find comfort in knowing that there is a season for everything, for everyone. Some long, some short. Some colourful and others muted. But each unique to those who experience it.

I think my grim mood comes from the fact that I want so much out of life; not just to nibble at life but to gulp it up. To digest what I have taken in and be enriched by the experiences. While I try hard to live in the present, I do worry that I won't get to all the things I want to accomplish, that my life will have had no meaning. So while I get that there is a pattern and things flow in their proper course, I cannot help but feel like I want to guide them, to nudge them this way and rush them that way, before time runs out.

See... funky. Now enough of that! My Ontarian roots are wincing apologetic for the philosophical and pensive mood I'm in. So to compensate anyone who's read this far, I surfed around and stumbled on George Carlin’s hilarious YouTube videos on death. The man was a genius and what better way to end, than with a grin.

“The most unfair thing about life is the way it ends. I mean, life is tough. It takes up a lot of your time. What do you get at the end of it? A Death! What's that, a bonus? I think the life cycle is all backwards. You should
die first, get it out of the way. Then you live in an old age home. You get
kicked out when you're too young, you get a gold watch, you go to work. You work forty years until you're young enough to enjoy your retirement. You do drugs, alcohol, you party, you get ready for high school. You go to grade school, you become a kid, you play, you have no responsibilities, you become a little baby, you go back into the womb, you spend your last nine months floating...

...and you finish off as an orgasm.”

Nudge Nudge

2010-07-20T14:27:00.005-04:00

I know. I know. Feast or famine. But what the heck.

It occurred to me that I should have given props to the impetus for my return to blogdom. There is no question, that I am relieved to finally put a halt to the relentless and persistent nudging, pestering, badgering emails from a certain omnipresent support of all my literary endeavours (cough, sputter, Marc!); notes asking me "are you ever going to blog again????" But, if truth be told, I was inspired by my sister Maggie's foray into blogging. She's a delight and I cannot wait to read her more.

From one to four: you rock!

The Prodigal Daughter Returns

2010-07-20T13:46:00.007-04:00

As a squanderer of time and waster of opportunities it appears my prodigality these past months has been epic. I have no huge adventure to tell of, no whopping accomplishment to announce, no trips and relatively few funny anecdotes to relate. These past four months have been utterly bereft of anything other than the mundane. Even trying to conjure up a hit list of highlights I am embarrassed to post the following.

In April I took a week off to write. Met a boy. Forgot I was a writer. Rescued a triple layer death by chocolate cake from the Murphenator. Pumped said chocolate from Murph’s stomach. Celebrated Easter. Dumped a boy. Puzzled, analyzed and commiserated with baffled friends. Drank more than my fair share of red wine and Guinness. Dusted myself off and took the dogs for a long walk.

May was the second month I took a week off to write. Wrote mostly shit. Read ravenously instead. Squeezed a few sentences of arguable brilliance onto the page. Edited 95% of the past two months of work into the bin. Slept in a hammock a fair bit. Decided not to go to Italy.

Now June was fun. During the month of June I worked an entire four weeks. Joined a gym. Watched my city aflame. Thought about writing. Lazed. Procrastinated. Lollygagged. Idled. Goldbricked. Unwound. Became disenchanted with my main character. Dreamt of winning the lottery. Swam. Wrote a staggering 526 words.

And now, lookie lookie. Here we are in July. More than midway through the month no less. For now, the words are flowing again. Am employing the tried and true and none too glamorous AIC method of writing (i.e.: ass in chair) and piling pages. Lillian has new life and now that I’m working on some of the juicier parts of the story, it is fun again. I know it won’t always be fun, but for now that helps.

Besides writing - yes there is actually life outside writing - I am looking forward to a road trip scheduled for the last weekend in July.

My friend Marc is once again riding his bike from Toronto to Montreal in support of the Toronto People with AIDS Foundation. The Friends For Life Bike Rally has raised over a million dollars since the late 90s to help make the day to day life of people struggling to live with AIDS liveable. A week on his bike, camping out along the way, riding an average 100 km per day for such a worthwhile cause deserves a party. So, Mags and I, Marco and a host of other friends will head east to be there to welcome Marc when he and the others ride into Montreal after their journey. That is something to write about! And just to make sure, we’ll stay the weekend, celebrate their awesome accomplishment and reacquaint ourselves with the beauty of old Montreal.

Life in March

2010-03-21T23:04:00.001-04:00

I heard a radio announcer say today that the earth went to bed angry last night. From the headlines it certainly seems the case. A cyclone hit the Australian coast; a volcano erupted in Iceland; another avalanche killed in British Columbia and flooding occurred in the US Midwest. These meteorological events seem incongruous with my experience of life these days.

I spent a near perfect night last Friday.

It was a pastiche of my most favourite things. I supped a sumptuous feast at our quirky local haunt. I enjoyed a wonderfully bold red. I laughed. I felt loved. I ate something delicious and sweet. I plotted, philosophized and gossiped. I shone. I commiserated. I argued politics, which films really deserved Oscar, and chatted about good recent reads. I sat contented surrounded by family and friends and hugged them well before heading home.

March is like that for me. I’m a very very lucky girl.

The older I get, the more acutely aware I become of quality of life. How I spent my time, how fleetingly life passes; how seasons blend together, years even. I suppose this is common enough. But today, on my birthday, I feel it more. It is becoming increasingly important for me to follow my proverbial bliss. Spending Marchy kind of nights such as I have done recently. Searching the cobwebbed corners of my brain for the right words as I edit my novel. Walking my dogs on crisp mornings. Bliss.

In retrospect, I feel a bit weird today about the bounty I have in my life particularly in light of the devastation that is going on in many parts of the world. I am not ungrateful for what I have. I can chock up my present thoughts to the notion that, especially after the globally stormy night, one never really knows what is around the corner. I know it is important to live well and fully. While all true, these rationalizations rings a tad insufficient. I am usually so completely aware of how rich my life is in so many ways, that to feel awkward about it does not sit quite right with me. I wonder if my final birthday gift this year comes more in the form of a reminder. I have pinned to my fridge an oft quoted phrase which resonates today. To those whom much is given, much is expected.

And so, what will I do?
It is a good birthday gift. An invitation to do something. More.

Our Game

2010-02-27T11:02:00.004-05:00

Our Father, who art in GM Place, hockey be thy name, thy will be done. GOLD to be WON on ICE as well as IN THE STANDS, give us this day, our hockey sticks and forgive us our penalties, as we forgive those who cross check against us. Lead us not into elimination but deliver us to victory, in the name of the fans, CANADA and the HOLY PUCK. AMEN!!

GO CANADA GO!!!!

Destination Envy

2010-02-21T13:21:00.004-05:00

It is remarkable to me how much calmer I become once I book time off. Still another 38 days away, I already feel more relaxed knowing I am taking a week off in early April.

Life is hectic enough under normal circumstances, but March is shaping up to be a killer month. With the last gasp of implementations scheduled at work where we have a fully staffed team, I am trying to jam in as much work as possible while we still have warm bodies. Add to that the usual social obligations surrounding no less than five birthdays and a wee celebration called St. Patrick's Day and I am crammed to the rafters with life stuff. Good life stuff for sure.

Deciding to take the first week of April off to do nothing but read, write and muse was a no brainer. Now that the pooches are booked in for a holiday up north, I am free as a bird to write without distractions, wander the city, hang out until the wee hours free of any schedule save what whim I fancy for a full 10 days.

A peaceful mindset descended over me the minute my vacation time was approved. Funny how that is. Just having something pleasant to look forward to somehow makes the crazy bearable. And if this week in April doesn't do the trick, I still have the visage of an Italian getaway in September to conjure up in times of chaos.

Ahhhh
Respiri dentro. Respiri fuori.
Keep calm and carry on... til it's time to take a vacation!

We Are More

2010-02-14T11:18:00.003-05:00

Shane Koyczan's phenomenal poem delivered at the Opening Ceremonies of the Winter Olympics deserves thunderous praise as he strikes a chord in Canadians everywhere, inspiring pride beyond measure.

Shane, you did good!

We made it be!!!!

Life in February

2010-02-13T10:46:00.003-05:00

Because I hate the idea of starting off with a whine, I will begin with recommending the past two books I have read: The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery and The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie by Alan Bradley. Coincidentally, both books have a precocious (in a good way) delightfully insightful and intelligent young girl as a protagonist. I enjoyed getting acquainted with Flavia DeLuce and Paloma Josse.

The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie is essentially a murder mystery, where 11 year old Flavia DeLuce, lives in 1950’s England on a big estate with her widowed father and two clueless and narcissistic older sisters. Flavia is an odd ball - a bit of a mad scientist with a penchant for all things chemistry, especially poison. Imagine her delight when after overhearing her father and a strange man arguing over a priceless stamp, a few hours later she stumbles upon the same man dying in their cucumber patch. Being the only one present to hear the dying man’s last words, Flavia is delighted at “by far the most exciting thing that had ever happened to (her in her) life”. On her trusty bicycle Gladys, she determines to solve the mystery of the dead man’s murder and prove her father’s innocence. A smirk inducing read, I was pleased to hear that Alan Bradley has written another Flavia book called The Weed that Strings the Hangman’s Bag. Delightfully light and perfectly suited to the kind of month I’ve been having, I liked this book immensely and look forward to more time spent with Flavia DeLuce.

The Elegance of the Hedgehog is a story told from the perspective of two people who reside at a posh apartment hotel in Paris. Madame Renee Michel is the concierge, an autodidact lover of art, literature and film. Inconspicuous to most of the residents in the building unless they need something from her, Madame Michel secrets away her intelligence so as to play the role of a woman of her station, fully aware though of all that is going on with her residents. Juxtaposing Madame Michel’s point of view about the residence are the musings of Paloma Josse, the youngest daughter of a diplomat father and self indulgent therapy addicted mother. Paloma, convinced of the futility of life, that it is nothing more than a meaningless taking up of space, has decided to kill herself on her thirteenth birthday. Several months away from her death, Paloma begins recording a series of “Profound Thoughts” and remarkings on the universe as she sees it. Living each with their secrets, both Madame Michel and Paloma’s lives are turned around when a mysterious and elegant Japanese man moves into the residence. Intelligently and beautifully written, at times funny and very heart warming, I particularly liked the interplay between these characters, the insights of each and as with most stories written with Paris as a backdrop, I was drawn in immediately to this very good read.

After recalling the enjoyment of getting lost with these characters the past few weeks, a whine about life seems a little bit self indulgent. Without question, work has been a political mind field. I make a conscious effort these days not to let the nonsense going on at work spill into my personal life, but it has been challenging. Blessed relief will arrive at the end of March when much of the problem will come to an end. A lesson in patience like no other is what work is now, so I will take that consolation.

At home, Mattie has been a typical 6 month old puppy replete with all the inherent mischief that comes along with that age – the chewing, testing her boundaries, the nipping, the need to be the centre of attention and even emergency trips to the vet for several stitches after an encounter with a pointy pile of sticks. I know the puppy thing will get better. But right now, when I need peace and quiet at home, it is a little bit hard to come by when Miss Matilda Mischief is awake. All that said, she is such a beauty. And, if I am being perfectly honest, I have always been drawn to those who rail against placidity and launch themselves at the world. She is all that and more.

Not surprisingly, I have had trouble finding time to write. Spotty at best would be a good description. “If writers write, then what am I?” is the thought that keeps swirling around in my head. Writing gives me joy. This is a certainty. Presently, I feel the need for the salve writing brings more than ever. So I started again last night and here I am blogging to prime the pump as much as catch up some. I am a writer I can answer today. An easily distracted and at times undisciplined one; a struggling writer… but a writer nonetheless.

Life in February chugs along, complete with barks, hard work and drama, but also chock-a-block with beauty, spunk and the constant inspiration of good books.

Life in January

2010-01-02T10:53:00.003-05:00

Walking the dogs this morning on our usual routes through the sunny and snow covered neighbourhood, I couldn't help but smile at remembering one of my favourite Calvin & Hobbes cartoons. While the snowmen series are brilliant, this one seemed perfect for today.

10 for 10

2010-01-01T12:34:00.005-05:00

Looking back on it, 2009 was an extraordinarily good year in my little part of the universe. I am incredibly blessed to have people in my life to love and who love me, a cozy little place to call my own, robust health and a good job. Today, in this moment in time, I am happy and grateful and feel inspired on many levels.

I do not ascribe to the notion of New Year’s resolutions. Last year, for the first time in years, I made one – to avoid all discussions of the weather. For the most part, I stuck to it. I continue to refrain from weather smalltalk. We live in a northern climate. We have four distinct seasons and the weather changes from day to day. None of this is new or newsworthy. I would much prefer to chat about something someone read or saw or experienced; something someone is thinking about rather than the fact that it’s cold out or wet out or humid.

So no New Year’s resolutions to be made by this Chiquita. But in lieu of that, a wee recap of 2009 and thoughts for the coming year...

I began blogging last January with a project in mind, to read more and to try to lose weight. I set a seemingly achievable goal of 50 pounds and 50 books for my year’s project. One pound and one book per week, approximately. While I did not make my goal in either regard, I had a fabulous time trying and am still quite pleased to be a consistent 13 lbs lighter and having read about 24 books this year that I would likely not have read otherwise. In retrospect it was more like a pound a month and a book every two weeks give or take. Not too shabby all things considered.

Goals are important. I realized just how much so this past November, during my novel writing challenge. I am a person who needs goals to accomplish things. I like the structure, the accountability, the timeline. So I set goals for myself. And strive to meet them. Last year, I read a blog where the author chooses a defining word at the beginning of each year. Something to guide her, focus her attention. It’s a cool idea. If I had to pick a word for my 2009, it would be creative.

Without a doubt, the highlight of my year was the NaNoWriMo writing challenge which I participated in during November. I learned so much about myself as a writer in this exercise. I can actually see that writing is a real possibility for me as a career and life’s occupation. I have written a novel. It’s a messy, badly in need of several re-writes, research and massaging in every way, piece of work. But nonetheless, a novel it is. I am supremely proud of this achievement.

2009 was a year in which I also:

Passed my exam and got my Project Management Professional certification
Shared juicy stories and embarrassing moments, worries and triumphs sitting comfy on patios, at kitchen tables and on the couches of Postridge, Battenburg and Hibernia
Drank sangria sitting on La Ramblas in Barcelona and walked happily and aimlessly along the beaches of Sitges
Took in the magnificence of the Cliffs of Moher once again
Cried happy tears at the wedding of dear friends
Successfully lead several implementations at work which I believe benefit patients coming to hospital for chemotherapy treatments, pre-operative assessments, mental health consultations and cardiac procedures
Became better acquainted with Annie Dillard, Alice Munro and David Sedaris
Said no more
Saved some, spent some but came out ahead
Welcomed Matilda to our peaceful household in all her she-devilish, spunky, sweet chocolate lab beauty
Shed quiet tears at the loss of another member of the family’s old guard
Overanalyzed the nuances of politics domestic and foreign sipping pints at the Imperial and chatted books and religion at Dukes city wide
Realized I need bifocals, made real peace with my curves and counted myself lucky to enjoy curls

Such is indeed the makings of a good year and I look towards 2010 richer for the experiences I have had. Much is made of the passing of the decade. In chatting with friends about this particular new year, I had really forgotten it was a decade marker until reminded of it in our conversation. Time certainly does pass us by quickly, which only serves to remind me of the importance of living in the present, fully engaged and aware. It reminds me of that Henry Miller quote about living. An apology for the misquoting but it goes something like: the aim of life is to be aware, joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware. Joyously aware sounds pretty good to me.

Despite that it is customary, which somehow conveys to me ordinary, I am not immune to the notion of setting a tone for the coming year. So in lieu a resolution and in honour of the decade that has past, here are ten ideas that I wish to make mine moving into 2010.

Read – Already I am all over this one. Whether newspapers, magazines or books; be the format online, soft or hard cover; purchased from independents (preferably) or big well stocked conglomerates, reading still provides me with one of the greatest joys and sources of inspiration, knowledge and food for thought. I look forward to the undiscovered joys that reading will bring to me.

Explore – Travel feeds the soul, at least this soul anyway. Unscheduled, aimless exploration of new parts of the world, different ways of communicating, eating, celebrating, depicting our history await me. The experience of it will alter me in ways I do not even know yet. But isn’t that part of the fun of it?

Write – My chosen form of expression, my bumpy struggle, exhilarating and more frustrating a journey than any I know. My hard won achievement, my joy and my challenge. I could easily have used the word communicate here or create or speak, rather than write. As hard as it often is, I cannot see a day without writing in my future and look forward to the excruciation and the bliss.

Present – I still have to remind myself every single day to try to remain present; to focus my energy and my attention on the here and the now. I know that yesterday is over and cannot be altered. Worry over tomorrow just takes away from today. Who I am with. Today. What I have to do. Today. What beauty surrounds me. Today. What help there is to give. Today, I strive to live presently.

Nurture – I am not a mother, but I do have a wee one at home these days. Not a baby, but a puppy. She’s a beauty and needs guidance. This year will be much about teaching Matilda to be a good companion, well mannered and easy to get along with as Murphy is.

Connect – Frequently I muse on the blessings I have in friendship and family. Relationships take work and while we all manage somehow to stay connected I recognize the importance of making time to venture westward or drag my arse out of the house and away from the computer for brunch so as to enjoy the personal bounty that has been bestowed upon me in the lives of these wonderful people.

Persevere – I am not the most disciplined person in the world. Far from it. Procrastination is still very much a regular in my arsenal of coping and copping out mechanisms. I learned this year that to just keep on struggling through provides you with, if nothing else, the sense of achievement at never having given up. I will write on, slim down, save and never, not ever, give up!

Gentle – Strength is good. But sometimes tenderness and a gentler approach work wonders. I am not good at this. I embrace my strength and wrap myself up in a coat of confidence that I know could do with some time spent hanging in the closet. What would my world look like if I was gentler with the earth, listened more to others, was less hard on myself and sat quietly observing rather than doing?

Conserve – Frugality is not something that comes naturally to me. I can certainly dial it down and do not really live outside my means. But balancing between what is necessary to truly live well and happily and thoughtless spending for the sake of the moment is worth considering.

Calm – It is not so much that I wish to be a calmer person, although there are times when I feel this would help me. Calm here to me means seeking rest, rejuvenation, quieting down and taking time to slow the pace and simply be, enjoy and think… calmly.

I have no idea what 2010 has in store for me or those dear to me. Peace on earth doesn’t sound too bad. I would hope to grow. I prefer that to a static state. Whatever awaits us, I know it will be an adventure. Regardless of where I find myself at the end of 2010, I am looking forward to the ride.

Peace,
MB

Christmas

2009-12-22T12:11:00.003-05:00

Weirdly enough I’ve been thinking about blogging a lot more recently than actually doing it. Life has been so very busy. So much so that with a reprieve from the hectic pace, I have kind of gone into a bit of hibernation recently. When I hibernate I think and when I think I usually end up writing it down. Here’s a little bit of what’s been buzzing around in my head.

I’ll admit that this is not my favourite time of year. I’m a borderline Scrooge. It irks me to think that people place way too much emphasis on the wrong things at Christmas time. It’s a holiday that seems to manifest the best and the worst of human nature as far as I can see. Lining up in the worst category, is all the pressure and obligation, all the mandatory gift giving and consumerism. Each year I listen to friends and colleagues stress about the gifts. What to buy for everyone; the cost, the line-ups. Others bitch about the pressures of spending time with relatives or family that one would rather not see. Obligatory gatherings. Awkwardness and bad feeling. I really don’t understand any of this. Buying a gift for someone or turning up to their gathering out of obligation doesn’t foster good will, especially if done under the cloud of resentment.

I know, from the work that my mother does with her programs helping the working poor and those marginalized in our society that many find this time of year particularly difficult. Feeling alone and scared; or with little food or money; perhaps unable to make ends meet or provide for your family; I can only imagine how distressing all the commercialism of Christmas must seem to them. How much would these people give to have the worries that many of the “haves” in society do. When just keeping food on your table is a primary concern, self indulgent whining seems trivial.

Christmas to me is about sharing – time with those we love and who love us, generosity to those who need us – stranger and friend, food and drink and frivolity, knowledge and stories and traditions passed along. But these are not things that in and of themselves need be limited to just Christmas time. While I thoroughly enjoy spending time with my family and friends over a nice meal, we do that a lot all year long. I like giving and receiving gifts, but I think birthdays are better suited for that. I think it’s important to think of your neighbours and those less fortunate, but not just once a year. I enjoy baking cookies, snow covered streets and the smell of pine, but view these as winter pleasures not limited to just one day. I appreciate the importance of marking the birth of Jesus but know that this gets lost in amongst all the shopping and holiday madness. As unpopular a notion as it may be, Christmas to me is not so special a time of year.

I wondered earlier, before writing this blog if perhaps I am just tired. November was a crazy month. I had two of my projects go live at work, successfully but not without their challenges. I spent every waking moment of the month trying to find time to write. I did so in my PJs late at night with laptop balanced on my knees and Murphy snoring away, at work on the few lunch breaks I took, at my local Starbucks for big blitzes and even on a go train ride to Mississauga. If that was not enough, I know I said “sit” more frequently than I can ever recall and have certainly spent a ton of time cleaning up pee and collecting dog toys from around the house. I ate more take out food and drank more coffee than I ever have; and after all that was incredibly proud and very relieved when I hit my 50,000 word mark and the month was over.

I immediately turned the writing energies over to wrapping up work and preparing for our annual Caring & Sharing program, an outreach event to families in need in the Mississauga area. This year we put together gifts, basic household needs, stockings and food baskets for over 115 families. With well over 100 volunteers, the program was a big success again this year and many people are better off through this winter season for the help they received. Here, is some of the best of human nature at work. Each year I am awed by the generosity of those who give and the dignity of those who receive.

With the Christmas charity event wrapped up for the year, my hibernation kicked into high gear yesterday. Off work now til the New Year, I have every intention of reading, sleeping and writing my way into 2010. I’ll visit with friends and neighbours as I do each year and share Christmas dinner with my family. I’ll see movies and hanging out with my puppies going for walks in the snow. I’ll think about the year that has passed and take stock, maybe even gather together a few notions for the coming year – Italy is sounding like a good idea when I say it out loud. As I think of the month of December what has been and what is left, I doubt I will find any Christmas spirit. I’m ok with that. I would prefer a continued feeling of good will towards man, woman, animal and the earth abound in me. I’ll leave Christmas to the elves.

Peace,
MB

And the winner is......

2009-11-30T22:41:00.004-05:00

ME!!!

Wholly shit. I am actually a novelist. For the past 30 days I have spent hours upon hours writing my novel Lillian Munsch is Dead.

I sweat over this thing. I spent mornings walking the dogs figuring out snippets of dialogue and how to move the story in various directions. I researched ideas as I went along and wrote my way through at least three really frustrating bouts of writer's block. I worked harder at this than I have any other writing project before. I enjoyed it immensely; and this month I have had some incredibly prolific, creative and challenging moments bringing Lillian, Nicki and Alejandro to life.

I learned a lot about what I do well as a writer and what needs work. As I have written about before, I think I actually figured out how to get out of my own way and just let it rip. After these 30 days, having spent years of writing and picking away at stories, today for the first time I actually feel like a real god damned writer.

It's a good good day.

And now.... I need my bed.

To love and win is the best thing. To love and lose, the next best.

2009-11-07T15:36:00.005-05:00

I spent an incredibly productive and enjoyable several hours this morning at my local Starbucks, headphones in, laptop humming as I worked away on Lillian's story. She is becoming a wonderfully rich, thoroughly flawed and entertaining character to write. Getting into the nitty gritty of her love life now, I am having a blast with this NaNoWriMo project.

I had a busy week. Back to work after my bout with the flu and trying to settle into a routine with Murph and Mattie has been hectic. Just getting out the door each morning this week was a challenge:

Monday - up at 6:15 am with every intention of leaving by 8. Three messes to clean up, keys misplaced once and I was walking up the street to the bus just before 9am.

Tuesday - one playful bite on the lip around 6:30 am, only two messes to clean up and out the door by 8:45am.

Wednesday - only one mess to clean up and easily made it out the door in under two hours but skipped breakfast to make it to my meeting on time.

Thursday - no messes but a tussle over a toy put me back about 15 minutes meaning I did not leave til 9:10am

Friday - got things sorted with no messes, treat and walks routine down and was out the door in a respectable 1 hour and 45 minutes.

Sigh. I am tired just thinking of it.

This morning, taking advantage of the fact that Mattie is up around 6ish anyway, I got breakfasted and took the beasts for a long walk before heading off to write. I had hit a snag with a spot of writer's block one night this week, so had a some catching up to do. Having ploughed through it, I found that in taking a look back as Lillian reminisced over a past relationship, I actually came up with a few ideas that will bear fruit later in the story.... Yahooie.

Best of all, I was able to incorporate a traditional NaNoWriMo play on words into my work. Being lost for a name for a character, I did a google search looking for a name that felt right. With nothing grabbing me, I surfed over to the NaNo site to check out the message boards. On the front page, I found a link to a thread entitled Meet Mr. Ian Woon. For a bit of fun, Mr Ian Woon is an anagram of NaNoWriMo. The idea is to introduce a character called Ian Woon into your story to help boost your word count. Mulling it over for a second, I realized that Ian is a perfectly suitable name for the character I was writing. Voila and Lillian meets Mr Ian Woon. It's fun to think that Ian Woon (or his female cousin Naomi Worn) is popping up in stories all around the world, each version of Ian or Naomi different. My Ian is a redheaded Aussie rogue who breaks Lillian's heart. But, not to worry about her though, Lillian is strong. Although I still don't know how it will all work out for her, I know she will leave an indelible mark.

I am once again struck looking at this week's work, as I head towards 11,000 words written, at how productive I have been with this fixed deadline in mind. I know I should have done something like this a long time ago. And while I don't see much point in beating myself up over what should or could have been, I am so pleased to understand this now and feel grateful to have found a groove that fits my style and temperament.

There are thousands of thoughts lying within a man that he does not know till he takes up the pen and writes.

~William Makepeace Thackeray

Going with the flow

2009-11-03T14:01:00.002-05:00

Entering Day 3 of NaNoWriMo, I am finding this surge in creativity wonderful. I have had two very successful days and note that the more I write, the more I want to. Ideas keep streaming out and I am so glad that I didn’t over plan this. With 3,722 words written in two days, I am ahead of schedule. I was a little bit worried about having to do my weekday writing in the evening, but so far so good. Once I get the beasts settled and my own dinner taken care of, I was able to relax into a nice rhythm for several hours before I went to bed.

My muse seems to be encouraging me along the right path and it makes me realize just how important writing is to me. Regardless of how well turned out the first draft is, the process of getting it down, imagining what my characters will do next and going off in different tangents when I think of some new idea is incredibly exhilarating.

I’ve been good about editing as I go and stayed away from it as much as I can. I realize now just how in my own way I was. I think I was actually hindering my process by over analyzing ever word. This is a much freer process and far more enjoyable.

Right now, I have no idea where Lillian and Nicki, Alejandro and Eric or even nasty Brad will end up. Well, actually, that is a small white lie. I do have a very good idea about Brad. Overall, this is way more fun than I anticipated it would be. How cool is that?!!

In the words of the poet James Brown...

2009-11-01T12:24:00.006-05:00

I feel good!

With the flu (oh yes that H1N1 is a nasty bugger) behind me, I feel wonderful. Still I've been careful to hunker down and take er easy this weekend. Saw a movie (An Education - really really good) yesterday and went to bed reasonably early. Morning comes early in this household with wee Mattie needing to get up and go out on schedule. But, I can't complain. The early morning routine which I began when Murphy arrived four years ago has turned out to be my most productive creative time. I am most certainly a morning writer. So once the dogs were fed and walked I was easily able to sit down to my laptop and write. And it does feel good.

Lillian Munsch has been brought to life and her journey begun.

Off to make oatmeal cookies to celebrate.

Swine Flu

2009-10-27T14:43:00.003-04:00

Piglet is still my favourite from the Hundred Acre Woods.

Plotting

2009-10-26T09:22:00.004-04:00

I finally got around to posting a novel summary on my NaNoWriMo profile. I am getting very excited about my story. If you are interested in reading it, you can find it here .

Spent the weekend nursing myself to good health. Looks like I have no choice but to hunker down and stay in bed for a few days now. This cold or flu has finally taken a hold of me. Besides, I want to be over this by November 1st, so I can devote my full attention to my novel.

Canadian, please

2009-10-25T09:41:00.003-04:00

Nothing like a little national pride to pep you up!

Love thy neighbour isn't just a piece of advice, it's a command!

2009-10-22T17:54:00.003-04:00

I was just sent a link to this video of Bono's acceptance speech for the NAACP award. The man absolutely rocks. He is an inspiration.

Listen to this call to action.

Lillian Munsch is Dead

2009-10-22T17:17:00.004-04:00

Very excited about my NaNoWriMo project. I have basically outlined as much as I am going to. I'll take another glance through my notes sometime late next week and it all starts in just 9 days. Have working title and mocked up a book cover for the project. Here it is:

This is all taking shape quite nicely. Have work mostly in hand for the coming week. Man it is going to be a busy 5 weeks. But, hey! I like busy.

200 Songs

2009-10-20T08:29:00.006-04:00

So Sunday I was all concerned over getting the flu. I still feel a little bit as though something is coming on, but for now I feel a ton better. I was surfing around yesterday on Facebook and reminded of something that put my whining into perspective. Flu is one thing, but battling cancer is a whole other thing. I recently lost my uncle to cancer and know how tough a go some people have of it.

I should say upfront that mostly, Facebook is not my favourite place. I go there from time to time to post and look at pictures of friends and family near and far away. I read updates on people. I don't play games or chat much. I recognize that there is lots of information on the site. But frankly, I think most people use Facebook as a time waster. With that said, it's pretty cool when you can find someone using this tool to promote a positive and unique opportunity to do good.

My friend Brian and his buds are doing the 200k ride to conquer cancer. Working for hospitals, I think I have become immune to the fundraising drives that go on in support of research and to combat various diseases. It seems that every condition these days has some drive going on to raise money. By far, in my opinion, the cancer hospitals do the best job at awareness and fund raising. Bike rides and daffodil drives are common enough and worthy of our support. But what Brian has done is put a new twist on cancer awareness.

As a unique and interactive way to support the team on their ride and to memorialize a loved one who may have been lost to or is fighting cancer, Brian began the 200 Songs for 200 Klicks project. The idea is simple. Request a tribute song for someone you love and Brian will post a video of him playing the song. To reach his goal, Brian is hoping to have 200 song dedications before his bike ride in June 2010. As a talented musician, you'll enjoy hearing your very own version of the song you choose. It's simple and very personal in a special way.

So, check out the site here.

It doesn't cost a thing.
It'll make a difference in someones life
Check out the songs already requested (mine is #20)
Request a song.
Share a little music.
Support the ride to conquer cancer.
Make a difference.
Today!

Positively Positive

2009-10-18T19:31:00.003-04:00

The power of positive thinking is what I am relying on today. With every fibre of my being I am putting good health vibes out into the cosmos to prevent myself from getting sick.

I am staying positive.
Positive that because I cannot afford to be ill, I will not.
Positive that despite the fact that both my sisters are now down with some bug, I have a fighting chance at a salubriously relaxed and productive week.
Positive that the achy feeling behind my eyes is lack of sleep, that the sanguine look in my cheeks is from the brisk walks outdoors rather than fever and that scratchy throat I noticed this afternoon will clear up.

Yep.
I'm praying to the gods of all things hale and healthy.
I'm channelling wellness.
I'm imagining myself positively fit and flourishing and flu free.

Because anything less than that, and I'll be positively pissed off!

Betwixt and Between

2009-10-17T13:58:00.007-04:00

I'm in preparation mode these days. Nesting it feels like. Between one thing and another. A veritable Advent season (albeit a bit early) around here. With Mattie's arrival, we are settling nicely into our routine. I have planned to work from home during the coming week to cement our schedule and get her acclimatized to life with me and Murphy. She's gonna fit in just fine.

Beyond puppy though, I have a real sense of being in a holding pattern. I am for the first time in recent memory, between books. I am also, in between writing projects as I prep for NaNoWriMo in November. And, having finished up and closed off a few projects at work, I am getting ready for the next implementation at the end of October. I hate that feeling of destination envy. I would much prefer and try to live in the moment. But this moment, today, seems to be about setting up for the next one.

So there I was, happily devouring the last Stieg Larsson book, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets' Nest, when my Mom reminded me that I promised to lend her a few books. Being only a quarter of the way through the Larsoon, knowing it was number one on her list and that I'd be busy for the next few days with Mattie, I lent it to her. Now that Mattie is napping quietly here beside me, I find I'm missing that story. Won't be but a few days as Mom is a reading ninja, but I am eager to see how it all turns out! It's not that I haven't found other stuff to read (hello Pillars of the Earth!), I just want to know what happens to Lisbeth Salander.

I started to storyboard my thoughts for the November writing project. I am really stoked for this and want to make the most of the opportunity. I have a working title (Lillian Munsch is Dead) and an idea of the plot, plus a sense of the main characters. I am reminded of that notion that over-preparation is the enemy of inspiration. So while, I want to be prepped enough to write a good story and make my 50,000 word goal, I don't want to get too organized and thought out, otherwise the fun of not knowing what will come next is gone. So my prep, once the basic idea is mapped out, will be more along the lines of carving out a writing schedule that will support my ability to write 1,674 words a day.

While I am at home this week, in between making big pots of soup and veggie chili to freeze for November's project and smoothing Mattie's transition, I am also preparing for another system implementation at work. In fact, the day I return from my week away, our computer system goes up in a new clinic. It is a really weird feeling to not be physically around in the days leading up to our "go live", as we call them. A bit overprotective of my new implementations, I fret that everything will go smoothly and like to double check every aspect myself. Doing this from a distance is a challenge and a good exercise in organization, trust, delegation and allowing others room to spread their wings. I'm as ready for this implementation as I always am, the prep process is just a wee bit different. And different can be good, right???

For now, I'll prep and organize in the coming weeks and try, as much as I can, to live in the present. I will enjoy the little mewing sounds that Mattie makes, the ability to work in my pj's this week, some cuddle time with Murphy and creatively hatch and plot for NaNo, until it is time to begin anew.

Sheeeeee's here!

2009-10-16T17:14:00.005-04:00

Quick post as past day and a half have been incredibly busy. Will have more time for a more complete update tomorrow.

Matilda arrived safe and sound - incredibly wee and full of beans. She's absolutely gorgeous and quite spunky. Murphy is being his usual gentle and patient self, We only had two incidents - one where he quite purposefully stomped on her after she bit his tale, and the other when he accidentally (I think) peed on her while we were out trying the leashes earlier today.

All's well here. Am over the moon in love with them both!!

Countdown

2009-10-13T14:07:00.005-04:00

Someone asked me, because I hadn't mentioned her today, if I was still excited about the arrival of Matilda.

ARE YOU CRAZY??? I thought. I'm beyond excited. I'm psyched!!

The house is all ready, with her toys and bed all set up. Murphy has been gently pawing at the crate wondering what is going on. I put a big stuffed sheep in the crate to get him used to things. He's such a good sweet boy.

According to my watch, it's less than 48 hours til she arrives. Having been asked for more pictures, and just because she is SOOOO cute, here are a few more.

Did you catch the kissable white belly on them.... Am I excited??? You bet!

NaNoing

2009-10-12T11:32:00.006-04:00

I am more than likely going to kick myself come mid November, but what the hell! Inspired by a few others I know I have decided to take on the NaNoWriMo challenge for the month of November. For those who don't know about NaNo, the National November Writing Month is an international contest where writers young and old are challenged to write a 50,000 word novel (work, story, saga, tale or whatever) in a big blitz during the period of midnight November 1st to November 30th. A 3o day writing blitzkrieg of caffeine infused creativity.

The idea is to challenge yourself. Each day, you post on the site the word count you have achieved. Forcing the writer to plod on, writing something and moving their story forward, there are very few rules. You must begin and end an original piece of work during the November period. You may not write in teams (although support and advice from friends, colleagues, family and message boards is very much encouraged). To join the ranks of winners, you must simply hit the 50,000 mark. This, for those who care to know, works out to approximately 1,674 words per day. To put this in perspective for me, my average blog is approximately 350-500 words. (insert panicked looking emoticon here!!!)

My reasons for doing this are many. But the big ones are:

I am the ultimate Mistress of Procrastination. Having a deadline and an audience seems to improve my productivity.

I have only two personal commitments in November and so as a month goes, its reasonably light. If work can stay reasonably organized, there should not be any external impediment to my goal.

Being housebound while training Matilda, it is a perfect time to capitalize on the sleep deprived nights and new puppy required hibernation.

My idea book is brimming and it's a perfect opportunity to dip in and flush out a story from some of the notes I've been nursing and nurturing over the years.

I tend to get bogged down in the editing process. A month of letting it rip, knowing the editing will come later sounds like a good way to shake things up.

And most importantly,

I have tremendous doubts about whether I can do this... which means I must try it!!

For any of you who wish to follow my progress, you can find a link to my NaNo page here .

Wish me luck (or send me thermoses of coffee).

Pope Joan

2009-10-11T21:36:00.003-04:00

Beyond a good story of interesting subject matter, the novel Pope Joan, reminded me just how much I enjoy reading historical fiction. This story is a fictionalized version of the much disputed myth of Pope Joan, or La Papessa, who was rumored to have sat as Pope of Rome in the 850s. Well and vividly described, this tale plunges the reader into a time long ago when life was harsh, most average people were illiterate and men, particularly the religious and wealthy, ruled every aspect of life. To be a woman in the 800s meant essentially being owned by your husband or father; subject to their whims, servant to their desire and second class in every respect. To be a curious and intelligent girl was a difficult lot for there existed neither legitimate outlet for creativity nor any real opportunity to pursue one’s desire to learn. Superstition of anything new or different, territorial and religious stakes for power, extreme poverty and disease was the setting in which Joanna (Joan) of Ingelheim, later Brother John Angelicus was raised.

Born into a meager existence, the only daughter of a mean spirited English Canon and his beautiful Norse born pagan wife, Joan was the youngest of three children. Her oldest brother Matthew, expected to follow his father into religious life, had a passion for learning and books. Recognizing the same in Joan, he secretly encouraged her, teaching her on the sly. After Matthew’s death, she is mentored by Aesculapius, a tutor brought in to work with her brother John, who struggled with his lessons, seeing no sense in anything that did not have to do with his desire to be a soldier. Under the tutelage of Aesculapius, Joan thrives. For the first time she envisions a path for herself different than the traditional lot of most women. When John is killed in a Viking raid, Joan takes up his cloak and his identity and becomes John Angelicus. Entering the monastery at Fulda, as a Benedictine monk, she quickly climbs the ranks in the Order, becoming a learned healer, theologian and linguist. When the need to leave the Order arises, Joan ventures towards Rome, where her skills and learning become useful to the Pope of the day, Sergius.

Historical accuracy aside, I liked this book. Politics and plots for power, love and sex and betrayal (in spades), injustice and intrigue all layer together well in this very enjoyable read by Donna Woolfolk Cross. I understand that this novel is being made into a movie. I can see this plot lending itself well to film in a “Name of the Rose” kind of period piece.

In the back of the book Cross includes an essay entitled “Was There a Pope Joan?” Her conclusion is what struck me the most. In discussing the difficult times that existed for women of Joan’s day, Cross commented: “The light of hope kindled by such women shone only flickeringly in a great darkness, but it was never entirely to go out. Opportunities were available for women strong enough to dream. Pope Joan is the story of one of those dreamers.”

The Bev Factor

2009-10-09T19:33:00.003-04:00

Today is my Mom’s birthday. It’s also Thanksgiving weekend here in Canada and in our household, we always celebrate the two things together (along with the birthday of my youngest brother, Chris). It seems very appropriate the twofold purpose of this weekend’s festivities. For a day when we are meant to remember all we have to be thankful for in our lives is well marked by acknowledging the most significant person in my life and the thing I am most thankful for: my family.

In her 70s, Bev or “The Bev” as we affectionately call her is a dichotomous mix of strength and gentleness. Busy and very involved in her community helping those in need, to them she is a source of encouragement and a leg up. To her family she is so much more: our teacher, nurse, problem solver, costume maker, compass, chauffeur, soft place to land, muse, travel companion, sounding board, conspirator, task master, cheerleader, sentinel, she is our heart.

I have frequently remarked here of the importance of family and the wonderful gang I have in my life. All the confidence I have and the gifts I have developed are directly attributable to the influence and inspiration of my Mom, Bev. For her, today and always, I am incredibly thankful.

Much love and happy birthday, Mom!

Hero Worship

2009-09-27T17:07:00.009-04:00

I just finished the second book in Stieg Larsson’s Millennium Trilogy, The Girl Who Played with Fire. Like the first in the series, writing about this one can be tricky because you cannot discuss the plot in any way without fear of spoilers. Nonetheless, if I had to sum up this book into one word, it would be addictive. Larsson’s books do not possess particularly literary prose or evocative language. You won’t see them topping any “best of” lists, nor are they particularly good book club fodder. But what they lack in beauty and symbolism, they make up for in compelling story telling, interesting and complex characters and heart pounding drama. The story draws you in. Like millions others, I have lost hours sitting glued to the couch, racing through the pages, eager to find out what happens next.

It got me wondering about story telling in general and what constitutes a good tale. I am always inspired by an author who has the ability to completely transport the reader to another place. Good stories do that. But how? I’ve read all sorts of books. I have genres I like and those I don’t particularly gravitate towards. There are settings and themes I prefer over others. As a writer, naturally, I want my stuff to be good and appeal to someone else other than myself. I struggle, as many do, thinking my characters are flat or forgettable. Being unoriginal is what bothers me most. So what is it then that makes for good stories? I understand how to construct a sentence; how characters need an arc. I’m pretty good at writing dialogue. But on a broader sense, I am interested in understanding the chemistry of a good story; its components, interactions, characteristics. I doubt there’s a magic combination, but some common properties exist for sure - love, conflict, memorable characters, loss, humour, adversity.

I recently blogged about Sebastian Barry’s The Secret Scripture. I flat out loved that book. I was drawn to the unhurried poetic words. Reading it inspired and left me feeling like I had experienced something beautiful. But I thoroughly enjoyed Larsson’s books too. Two drastically different and yet so very satisfying reading experiences that I immediately set to roaming around the internet to find a place where I can order Larsson’s third installment of Millennium Trilogy (arriving from the UK in October) and expect Barry’s The Whereabouts of Eneas McNulty to be delivered any day now. I like that my taste in books is eclectic. Despite my efforts this year to take one thing at a time, I still frequently find myself with a few books on the go simultaneously. A writing professor friend of mine may have pointed me in the right direction when he recommended that I should read, Joseph Campbell’s book The Hero with a Thousand Faces. I’m still savoring it, but have read enough to summarize the gist here. Campbell was a renowned American author, mythologist and specialist in comparative religion. The point of his book is that there is really only one story; a basic structure to every story that Campbell calls the monomyth. Essentially it goes something like this: the hero of the story leaves his every day life, to venture out into the big wide world in search of something. Along the way, he is hindered and helped by various forces and/or individuals. Ultimately the hero succeeds and returns home to share what he has found with those he left behind. The world is a better place for it. I’m paraphrasing of course. Campbell itemizes various stages in the hero’s journey, but ultimately, this is what stories, what myths are all about. Sounds simple doesn’t it?

Simple, but for one who frets over originality this was initially depressing. I mean, if it is true that there are really no new stories, then what is the point? I will likely always write, at least for myself. I cannot see that changing. But my rather large ego would prefer that my work not be a retread of something that’s come before. Frankly, I was rather pissed at Campbell for a while. There’s no question in my mind, that his idea is sound. Applied to every kind of story I can think of, his structure holds. Brilliant. But, fuck! Who wants to think that their work ultimately is predictable?

I googled Joseph Campbell. On the Joseph Campbell Foundation website, is a link to references relating to his personal philosophy “follow your bliss”. Now this I can relate to!! Campbell’s idea wasn’t just about doing things you like, but in identifying that which you are truly passionate about and giving yourself to it fully. And then I got it. It is in following this passion, doing what makes you tremble with joy, following it however it comes about and wherever it takes you, that you (or your characters) live their story. It is the journey that is the unique part. While the structure maybe archetypal, each journey is unique, as unique as the person (or hero) taking it. Whew! I am sooo bloody relieved. I have no idea whether my stories will entertain as I have been entertained. But formula or no, I continue my journey and if it needed a title, my story could be "The Girl who Gave it a Shot... or Two, or Twenty." Hey, at least my aim's improving.

Munchkin Alert

2009-09-24T09:16:00.003-04:00

At 5 weeks old today, and with just a few more til she comes to live with me and Murph, I received these pics of Matilda and her litter mates. Too cute not to share.

Happiness is a warm puppy!

2009-09-20T20:02:00.013-04:00

It's just over three weeks until wee Matilda joins the family. In prepping for her arrival, I've found myself thinking of the past years with Murphy and remembering the day I brought him home. What a cute little bundle of white fur he was. I've said this before, but it bears repeating, he was by far, one of the best decisions I have ever made. My life has been remarkably changed since his arrival. He makes me smile daily and centres me in ways I would never have imagined.

From the pictures which I've received of Mattie and her litter mates, I suspect she'll be every bit as adorable as Murphy was as a pup. Charles Schultz had it right. Happiness is indeed a warm puppy.

In browsing around blogland earlier today, I stumbled on a list of simple life lessons gleaned from a dog's life. When I think of Murphy and look forward to the joy which Matilda will bring to my life, I am reminded of how true much of this is:

When loved ones come home, always run to greet them.
Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride.
Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure Ecstasy.
Take naps.
Stretch before rising.
Run, romp, and play daily.
Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.
On warm days, stop to lie on your back on the grass.
On hot days, drink lots of water and lie under a shady tree.
When you're happy, dance around and wag your entire body.
Delight in the simple joy of a long walk.
Be loyal.
Never pretend to be something you're not.
If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.
When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by, and nuzzle them gently.
ENJOY EVERY MOMENT OF EVERY DAY!

I have no doubt that I am in store for many licks, romps and marvelous moments with the arrival of Matilda. As I sit here writing, Murph's backside keeping my feet warm as he snores away on the end of the couch, I know what a good thing it is to have a dog in your life. I feel excited in the same way we anticipated Christmas morning as kids. More good things are coming, that I know for sure.

The Secret Scripture

2009-09-20T10:43:00.005-04:00

I love it when a something within the first paragraph or two of a story takes hold of me right from the start. I am caught up immediately wanting to dive in.

"Roseanne’s Testimony of Herself
(Patient Roscommon Regional Mental Hospital, 1957- )

The world begins anew with every birth, my father used to say. He forgot to say, with every death it ends. Or did not think he needed to. Because for a goodly part of his life he worked in a graveyard."

Sebastian Barry’s novel, The Secret Scripture is the story of Roseanne McNulty, a 100year old patient in a decaying Irish mental hospital which is slated to be torn down. Realizing her advanced age and the possibility she will not live much longer, she sets out to write a record of her life as clearly as she can recall it. While Roseanne remembers and secretly documents her history stashing pages in the floorboards of her room, Dr. William Grene is charged with the task of assessing each of the patients under his care to determine if they are fit for reintegration to society. Gently probing Roseanne for any detail which might help him understand why she was committed to Sligo Mental Hospital some 40 years previously, Dr. Grene gets nowhere. With an edict from the Department of Health looming, determined to do right by Roseanne, he tries to figure out who this seemingly frail aged beauty is and what happened to her.

This story unfolds in the form of journal entries from them both; Dr. Grene’s notebook where he frets over Roseanne, castigates and psychoanalyzes himself as much for his lack psychiatric prowess as his own dysfunctional personal life; and Roseanne’s spidery hand of blue biro written sheets of secret testimony - her life beginning as a young girl in County Sligo during a time of political upheaval and turmoil in Ireland’s history.

"Sligo made me and Sligo undid me, but then I should have given up much sooner than I did being made or undone by human towns, and looked to myself alone. The terror and hurt in my story happened because when I was young I thought others were the authors of my fortune or misfortune; I did not know that a person could hold up a wall made of imaginary bricks and mortar against the horrors and cruel, dark tricks of time that assail us, and be the author therefore of themselves."

To be the author of oneself. There is something strong and resilient in that and so I dove in.

Barry has written a lovely and stirring tale. His language is poetic and expressive. I found myself rereading sentences just to enjoy the beauty of the way he has phrased things. He’s a wonderfully gifted author. There’s no shortage of awards and accolades which have been bestowed on Barry for this book too. But for the reader, our reward is a moving poetically masterful narrative of love and betrayal and the power that religion and the politics of the day played in the lives of some in rural Ireland.

I was going to end my blog entry there. But one more thing is still needling at me.

I was struck at one point in reading The Secret Scripture that Dr. Grene appeared to be attributing too charitable an attitude to those who had a hand in Roseanne’s history, ascribing the perspective that they did what they believed their faith dictated them to do at the time. As a modern woman living in 2009, these actions seemed atrocious to me.

As a preface to this book, the author includes a reference to a quote from the preface of Maria Edgeworth’s book Castle Rackrent. I haven’t read this work, but am intrigued by what I have read about it. If what I understand is true, it was written in 1800, and is considered one of the first good examples of narration from a point of view contrary to the actual players in the story. In this case, a slave to a wealthy landowner and family.

“Of the numbers who study, or at least read history, how few derive any advantage from their labours!... Besides, there is much uncertainty even in the best authenticated ancient and modern histories; and that love of truth, which in some minds is innate and immutable, necessarily leads to a love of secret memoirs and private anecdotes.”

I wonder now, having just considered this preface, that perhaps perspective and point of view do factor in here in a more significant manner than I originally considered. My natural, albeit arrogant, inclination is to believe that some things are simply right and some wrong. Taking Barry’s careful prefaced selection here and Dr. Grene’s attitude into consideration, I see compassion and understanding - that each of us is often caught up in things bigger than ourselves. History is written and rewritten over time again and again from various points of view. I take away here that the best we can do in any given moment is to own our own stories and live as truly as we know how.

Change is gonna come!

2009-09-12T12:48:00.007-04:00

Change is eddying around me everywhere. Weirdly, I feel equally excited and daunted. September seems to bring about this kind of flux for me. This year, the changes have more impact to my day to day. On the horizon I can see some interesting things.

A joyful adjustment to the household as our new girl joins the fold ~ Puppies are wonderful, but tons of work. Sleep deprivation and some potential for damage from chewing are a given. The first six to eight months are the hardest. But looking at her picture (below), I know it will all be worth it in the end.

The resumption of writing classes ~ It is essential for me to keep the creative pump primed while I try hard to finalize my first draft by a February 1st deadline. It is not lost on me that having to be reasonably house bound while Little Miss is in training, is good for my writing routine. Having twisted the story’s plot and focus around, I find my writing is coming along well and elements are clicking into place. As anyone who has written anything knows, ideas can come tumbling out quickly. Sentences these days seem to be splashing out onto the page, like raindrops hitting the ground running all together. It’s a good feeling and one that I am relishing.

I am going to be moving in the coming year ~ it is all but officially decided. The time has come to buy my own place. Little ripples began occurring last year. (This is how things always come to me). A nibble of an idea. More rumbling. Some discussion with my gang for moral support. More mulling. And then usually a strangely coincidental sign or two to shove me along a path. I’ve been struggling with the notion that to buy, I was going to have to sacrifice lifestyle. I love my current neighbourhood and have lived here for many years. I could never afford to own a home here. That said, my flat needs some repair and our landlord is dragging her feet these days. Having spent weeks crunching numbers, I know what I can afford. Browsing MLS listings, I was beginning to think it was a condo (which smacks annoyingly of fishbowl to me) or a wee house on the outskirts or even suburbs of the city. I don’t mind Mississauga or Oakville. I enjoyed living there when I did, but I am essentially a city girl. I love the feel of the city, the options available to me for entertainment, transit, shopping and such. Toronto is a city of neighbourhoods, clean safe and livable. This is important to me. Feeling mired down by the give and take of what I have now versus what I can afford, I was beginning to wonder if I should rethink this decision. And then there they were… on my daily scrounge through real estate listings online, I found three really cute little houses just right for me. Homes in the city, near a park, close to all that I want. It is possible… and I am psyched.

September is a good take stock kind of month. For me, as the leaves begin to change, so is life as I have lived it these past few years. Quiet and familiar routines are about to be replaced by a different more hectic schedule of work, writing classes, daily training for the puppy and a stricter regime than the one Murphy and I follow. My pennies will get careful attention in the coming months as most extras go by the wayside as I continue to save for my new house. For a girl with a large latte factor, this is an adjustment. Trust me.

In taking a look at the coming year, there is a comforting symmetry to it all. My new puppy means sticking close to home for a while. My writing and saving for a house only benefit from this need. It’s cool how it all falls so neatly together. There is a harmony here. Just another sign to me that I’m on the right track. I have never been one to baulk at change. However difficult it can be, I have learned that there is usually some good to come out of it. If my gut is accurate, the changes of the coming year, although at times a challenge, will shepherd in a new season in my life. That is something to be excited about.

The Joy of Chocolate

2009-09-07T12:53:00.003-04:00

I am excited beyond belief!!!

I don't usually post twice in one day, but this deserved it's own space.

The countdown is officially on. 38 DAYS. Just over one month.

On October 15th, our wee family will grow, with the addition of a beautiful girl, a chocolate lab puppy. Having spent the day yesterday up in Arthur, Ontario at the breeders it is all arranged. She was born August 20th and only just opened her eyes 2 days ago. Although we couldn't touch her yet or take any pictures, she was as beautiful as can be with a little scrunched up face and little mewing sounds coming from her.

I am thrilled to bits and eagerly anticipating her arrival. I have lots to do to puppy proof the house again. Murphy, of course, has no clue what is up, but very shortly our lives will get a lot busier. He's about to become a big brother and in my view there's no boy better to teach our girl the ropes.

Am still mulling over names, which is the fun part. Looking for something meaningful to me. A unique name, beautiful and gentle. Trying out names from favourite books, authors, activists, saints, Irish poets and mythological women, German (we do have an iota of German in our background too don't forget) writers and thinkers. It's a big deal to get the right name. But I still have a few weeks.

No matter what we call her, she'll be a joy. Joy? Hmmm.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

2009-09-07T12:32:00.005-04:00

It’s a tough thing to write about a book when you cannot discuss the plot without fear of spoilers. Such is my dilemma in reviewing The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, by Swedish author, Stieg Larsson. Crime novels and thrillers, in the Robert Ludlum or Jeffrey Archer vein are not my usual reads. But I found this book more engaging than the lighter fare of other books in this genre. These characters are flawed and memorable and for this Canadian chick, a story set in both Stockholm and the fictitious town of Hedestad on the Swedish archipelago, was a refreshingly new environment to explore. Not much more can be said about this plot than that it involves an unfairly disgraced financial journalist who is hired freelance to write about the disappearance of the young niece of a prominent industrialist.

Not wanting to give anything away, you will just have to read it for yourself. But one thing is for sure, while enjoying this thoroughly engaging, and at times twisted thriller you will be in good company. People all over the world seem to be on the same page. While in Europe this summer, I saw several people, nose down lost in this book. As Spanish translations occupied commuters in Barcelona, a week or so later I noted stacks of this book in the Irish bookshops I visited in Clare. Upon returning home, during a usual book exchange with my Mom, both my youngest sister and Mom were raving about Larsson’s books. While I read The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo this week, two of my work colleagues were also lapping it up, one of whom had bought the book on her recent trip home to Norway (she is reading the Norwegian translation).

As an aspiring author, Larsson’s is a phenomenal accomplishment. As I understand it, he wrote The Millennium Trilogy, which includes The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The Girl Who Played with Fire and The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest, mostly for his own pleasure at night after work (which in and of itself is incredibly cool). He worked primarily as a journalist and political activist. When he died suddenly in 2004, he left the three finished manuscripts unpublished. They went on to be printed posthumously. While the surprising circumstances of his death and the subsequent squabbling over his estate are interesting, Larsson’s legacy is, from having read just one book, the excitement of a story told that keeps you on the edge of your seat and leaves you wanting more.

Tu ne cede malis sed contra audentior ito!

2009-09-04T17:01:00.004-04:00

It is time to face it.

Avoidance is not going to make it go away.

Having blatantly snubbed the topic for a while, its time to get back to the weightier focus of this blog. Anyone remotely perceptive would have noted the "ugh" entry in the Pounds section, which I made after my trip . I have had nothing short of a complete and utter setback in my efforts to lose weight. A trip to Europe for sure, but to be more accurate, any remotely enjoyable summer activity, does not appear to be conducive to my weight loss program. In fact, I had recently come to the depressing conclusion that I am not going to be able to sustain any real weight loss, unless I give up drinking, going to movies and out to dinner all together. As a social gal, with a standing date for pints every week with one set of friends or another, this bites. But after several weeks of yo-yoing up and down the scale, losing weight through the week, only to blow it on the weekend, I just gave up trying. I was even well on my way to convincing myself that living my life happily (which means socially too) is more important than anything else. I am so incredibly frustrated with myself. I hate that I have not been able to master this. I am successful and accomplished in so many parts of my life, why do I fail in this one area? Its irksome. Worse yet, my feelings flip flop back and forth on this issue incredibly.

One one hand, there is what I know intellectually. I am not defined by what I look like. I am wonderful just as I am. Although an emotionally healthy outlook, I don't think this helps encourage me to a physically healthier MB. I also believe that there is nothing I cannot do if I really try. And I know that it is simply not smart to carry excess weight. The long term negative affects on my quality of life will certainly be felt as I age. I hope, like most people, to live to a ripe old age: active, alert and reasonably self sufficient. Being heavy decreases my chances of doing so. I have been known to be a bit of a whirlwind at times, and consider myself a veritable force of nature in terms of accomplishing something I really want. With all this knowledge floating around in my head, does this mean, on some level, that I don't really want to lose this weight?

On the other hand, there is what I feel emotionally about myself. My body image, my ego and how I cope with having failed myself in this regard. Breaking it down more specifically, the body image thing is a tough one. There are many things I love about the way I look. Being buxom and curvy is cool. Having plenty of wobbly bits, not so much. A more sensitive subject for me is how I feel when I realize that someone is responding to me purely based on how I look. It's unlikely that anyone who is an average size would really understand this, but being big does affect how people respond to you. I have been called fat. I have felt rejection because I'm chubby. I have felt people look right through me on their way to more classically beautiful women. This smarts. I can rationalize it and remind myself of how fabulous I am and how small these people are, but it doesn't help the fact that at the time, I feel a little bit bruised. When I realize that I have control over this situation; that I can change how I look, my frustration shifts from the insensitive person who may have hurt me to myself, knowing that I am hurting myself by not doing something proactive about my weight.

In the end, this is all up to me. Like every other success and each failure in my life, I own this. I still refuse to give up. Perhaps, all I need is a kick in the pants. Maybe I need to get some assistance (she says wincing at the notion of some trainer barking orders for one more set... sigh). Possibly, (shudder) I should consider light beer.

I'll figure it out. I'll give it another go, if for no other reason than that giving up on trying to lose weight, feels a lot like giving up on me. And that, is simply not an option!

Yield not to misfortunes, but advance all the more boldly against them!

The Thirteenth Tale

2009-08-31T07:30:00.001-04:00

While browsing any bookstore it would be rare for me not to buy something. More usual is the sight of me wandering around, arms laden with books or stopping to sit down and browse through the volumes I have gathered, trying to decide which ones to buy and which ones to leave for another day. I have only one rule. If I have picked up and carried a book around more than twice and left it behind, the next time I pick it up it goes home with me, regardless of what else I have with me. The Thirteenth Tale came to me this way.

What originally grabbed me each time I saw this book was a review on the back cover from an Edmonton journal which said this is “a book for people who both love books and know the importance of stories.” But Diane Setterfield wrote more than just that. She penned an eerie ghost story, a spooky tale about sisters and governesses and old houses, a twisting and mysterious story that keeps you on the edge wondering what will happen next. And she did this remarkably as a first time author. She blew me away.

This is a book I could not stop talking about having read it. I have leant my copy to several friends, all of whom raved about it. It is not the kind of story you can talk very much about without giving anything away. But I can say this, the feeling you are left with having read The Thirteenth Tale is like you have just spent time somewhere on the moors of England, in a dark old Victorian mansion, curled up by a fireplace with a cup of cocoa, while a very old lady told you a wonderfully creepy tale.

Middlemarch

2009-08-30T08:00:00.002-04:00

One of the things I set out to do at the beginning of the year was to read more and cut a wider swath through some of the classic books which I missed out on and have been meaning to read for many years. While I am delighted to have found modern gems like Annie Dillard and David Sedaris, the wonderful characters of George Eliot’s Middlemarch have, in one 800 plus paged volume wildly surpassed my expectations for the year.

Dorothea Brookes stands out amongst the many heroines of the books I’ve read over the years as a perfectly complex and endearing character. Middlemarch centers around three main characters: Dorothea Brookes - an idealistic wealthy young woman who marries a boring and elderly scholar for all the wrong reasons, Dr. Tertius Lydgate - a newcomer to Middlemarch with innovative modern ideas about medicine and an earnest desire to do good but who makes an unfortunate marriage which is nearly the ruin of him, and Nicholas Bulstrode a successful landowner and pompously pious town banker with a dark secret.

Virginia Woolf is supposed to have said of Middlemarch that it is one of the few English novels written for grown up people. With love, politics, evil doing and scandal, class struggles, characters whom you root for and those you loathe filling the pages of Middlemarch, I can see her point. As study in character development, George Eliot has given every aspiring writer a master class. More importantly though, for all readers, she has left us with a classic to be treasured.

I am a woman!

2009-08-29T14:50:00.002-04:00

There is a Buddhist notion that says if we are facing in the right direction, all we have to do is keep going. This thought has been buzzing round my head this past week. Perseverance and pacing have been the new mantra I’ve tried to embrace as I’ve been setting about ordering my writing and take stock of the work I’ve done in the past year. I’ve been plagued by the gnawing feeling that I’m not on the right track creatively, that my work is too trite and obvious and this has been splitting my focus.

I’ve commented before that I struggle with procrastination. I tend to work at all things in life through big blitzy spurts of energy, rather than a more steady dogged approach to tasks. This applies to my professional work, my little projects around home, my health regime, my writing and even, to a degree the way I read and clean house and bake and spend time with friends. It’s a feast or famine kind of thing, with little balance. I’m all wrapped up in work or taking solitary non-contact breaks from the world to write. I am staying up late into the wee hours to read a book or series of books for a few days. Each of these blitzes is followed in varying degrees by gaps away from these projects while my energy is focused elsewhere.

While I have taken great pride in the fact that when the pressure is on, I am the girl who can churn it out, I have come to realize that day to day life is not like that. More is achieved with a steadier pace. A little bit each day. A page or a paragraph well written each morning. A pound or two each month and so on. One thing at a time.

My friend Allison gave me a book a few years ago by Annie Dillard called A Writing Life. I return to this much loved and now weathered volume frequently for inspiration and encouragement. Dillard’s mastery alone being enough of a credential that any advice she may have for this would be writer is golden to me.

She says:

"The line of words is a hammer. You hammer against the walls of your house. You tap the walls, lightly, everywhere. After giving many years' attention to these things, you know what to listen for. Some of the walls are bearing walls; they have to stay, or everything will fall down. Other walls can go with impunity; you can hear the difference. Unfortunately, it is often a bearing wall that has to go. It cannot be helped. There is only one solution, which appalls you, but there it is. Knock it out. Duck.

Courage utterly opposes the bold hope that this is such fine stuff that the work needs it, or the world. Courage, exhausted, stands on bare reality: this writing weakens the work. You must demolish the work and start over… You can waste a year worrying about it, or you can get it over now. (Are you a woman, or a mouse?)"

I am a woman, I roar!!

And so I started again. Dillard comments, “why are people reading, if not in hope of beauty laid bare, life heightened and its deepest mystery probed?” Inspired by the experiences of love around me, of minor disappointments and reminded recently of the support and encouragement I have for me to write something good and very “me”, I salvaged my outline and with a different perspective, point my story in a new direction. It is a scary thing to work hard at something for a while and realize that you need to dissemble it. But, like a bandaid that needs to be torn off, once gone you forget about it soon enough. It didn't really hurt as much as you thought it would. And the same applies to my story, with new ideas plumping up plot lines like fresh air billowing curtains on a breezy day, I think I am pointed in the right direction, all I have to do is keep going.

Bernie

2009-08-19T00:24:00.002-04:00

It’s been a hell of a few weeks, both personally and professionally. Getting here to blog, or even to make the time to write more creatively has been quite a challenge. One thought was to comment on how all consuming and busy work has been lately. And this is irksome. Post holiday my attitude had successfully been adjusted with a renewed sense that the important things in life do not include fussing about work. Yet, a month or more after my return, back to my usual pace, I find myself focusing an inordinate amount of attention on my projects and implementations. Sure I’ve carved out a little me time and seen a few friends, but just last week I realized my trip and that relaxed vibe I brought home from Europe had all but fizzled. A more frazzled MB has been popping up from time to time.

I tried, a week or so ago, in a moment of frustration to tap back into some of the laid back, contented, priorities-in-the-right-place feeling I returned home with from Ireland. I recall that lasting less than a day and until yesterday, it seemed as far off as Spain to me. It is curious though how easy it is to shift one’s perspective, when the right chord is struck or something happens to snap your attention round.

Sadly, after a wonderful life and prolonged illness, my uncle and godfather, Bernie passed away a few days ago. He was my Dad’s brother; one of the youngest of his ten siblings. My Uncle Bernie was a good man. He was a kind and gentle man, with a big heart, a strong sense of family, community and giving back… and he is missed.

I know these things are tough. Coming from such a big family, yesterday’s was not the first, nor second, nor even the tenth funeral I’ve experienced. Still it is never easy and as I sat in the pew at church, amongst my family and the large group of friends gathered to pay their respects, I did feel sad. But despite the tears and loss felt by many there, I was moved by the palpable feeling of love in the room. Later at the wake, laughing with my cousins and reminiscing with old friends of the family I hadn’t seen in years, I felt it again. Stronger with each memory shared. Love. And I felt grateful.

The effect of the past few days seems to have shifted my perspective back on track. I realize it is common to take stock and recognize how short life is after losing someone. But why does it take these sorts of events? One thing is for sure, like my Dad gone before him, Bernie had rich and full life. Without question, he worked hard establishing and building up his successful business too. But in the end, it is the laughter, love and joy he shared with those in his life that really sticks out, for these are truly the marks of a life well lived.

Life itself is the proper binge

2009-07-31T10:31:00.003-04:00

I’m borrowing this quote from Julia Child, inspired by her on many fronts this week.

Monday night I saw a screening of the movie Julie and Julia, based on the book by Julie Powell about a young woman who sets herself the challenge to cook her way through all 524 recipes of Julia Child's classic cookbook “Mastering the Art of French Cooking”. I giggled my way through this book a few years ago when it came out, so I was curious to see how the movie would compare. Happily, they expanded the book’s premise for the movie to include a secondary story based on Julia’s book "My Life in France". In the movie, Meryl Streep is her usual brilliant self capturing the essence of Julia, neatly bedecked in 1950s and 60s style. Amy Adams plays doe eyed, young woman searching for herself nicely, and the movie works on many levels.

Coincidentally, I have had my own reasons to channel my inner Julia this week, as I’ve been prepping for a mini dinner party given for a few new friends. I don’t entertain as much as I used to, so my stress level increased slightly as the date drew closer. Things went off without a hitch and everyone enjoyed themselves. Murphy was his usual adorable self and, sitting back at one point last night surveying the room, I felt quite happy and content. With much laughter and a little philosophizing, wine flowing, a tasty veggie meal in tummies, and the beautifully decorated carrot cake (thank you George Brown’s Culinary School baking and cake decorating classes for the know-how), it was a very relaxed and delightful evening.

I like the notion of binging on life. Julia certainly seemed to have figured that out. With each “Bon Appetit” salute was an encouragement to enjoy, soak it up, to savour. What better way to live life than with an “all in” approach. For me, with an extra long holiday weekend opening up before me and relatively few obligations, I have every intention of going on a life bender, doing just what makes me most content. With my dishes already done from last night’s party (shocking eh?) and the sunshine trying hard to come out and play, there’s a big city out there to explore, movies to get to, friends to connect with and some wonderfully blissful quality time to be spent with the hammock in the backyard, glass of red wine to hand and book to get lost in!

Ideal Details

2009-07-19T17:52:00.012-04:00

I cannot walk through the suburbs in the solitude of the night without thinking that the night pleases us because it suppresses idle details, just as our memory does. (Jorge Luis Borges)

This Borges quote seems to sum up how I feel now when I am asked about my seemingly long ago trip to Europe. How is it that three glorious weeks of sun, sightseeing, sangria, reading, roaming, revelry and Guinness could seem so very long ago? Travel always has its few annoyances. A long wait for trains or sunburned shoulders, sleep deprivation or kinks in my neck and any other such idle details all dim from memory as what I recall are the wonderfully colourful mosaics, the hospitality of the Catalan folks we met, the tapas, the sangria, the Roman frescos and modern art of Miro, the smell of the ocean, and the beauty of Gaudi’s masterpieces.

I’ve been organizing my pictures from Spain and post a few of my favourites images here. Barcelona and Sitges were magnificent. Both places I’d happily visit again. I especially enjoyed Sitges. Quiet, quaint, cobbled stoned with pristine beaches and genteel folks. I was in heaven there.

Nowhere near the quiet and "new to me" feeling, but every bit as enjoyable was my week in Ireland. There is a reason why they call Clare "the Banner County". It has everything one could want: the beach at Lahinch, the jaw dropping Cliffs of Moher, castles and cows and lush green hills broken only by ancient stone walls carving roads into the countryside. Better than the spectacular scenery was of course the delight it was to spend so much time with my friends. When not at a wedding or pub sharing pints over a session, it was gabs at the kitchen table well into the early morning hours, catching up, philosophizing, reminiscing and planning our next big adventure. Is there truly any better way to share time?

Since arriving home in July, I’ve dove straight into a feverishly paced work schedule and what with one thing or another, blogging has been fairly far down the list. Happily, writing has not been. My time in Spain inspired me wonderfully and I’ve been penning a Catalan inspired tale. So surprised was I today to realize just how fast July is scooting by! As this is has been the first day in a while where I have had absolutely nothing to do, here I am catching up in blogdom.

The idleness of the day has given me time to think about my recent travels. I can close my eyes and smell the rain of Ireland easily enough. I can even imagine the heat of the sand on the beach in Sitges. I returned home enriched from my adventure having celebrated with those dear to me a big day in their lives, having shared giggles with my sisters and wandered on my own a few days, quite content to read and make the most of some creative time. I tend to come away reborn a bit after a good break. So on this my first real day off since my trip some weeks ago, I can revel in the memories of Spain and Ireland that my pictures evoke. Idle details and all, to me the entire experience was ideal.

All in the Family

2009-05-31T17:45:00.002-04:00

This past week I enjoyed reading Elizabeth Kelly’s debut novel – Apologize, Apologize! Immediately I was struck with the thought that this is exactly the kind of book I am trying to write myself. This is a romping, funny, complex family saga, peopled with a cast of unique and addictive characters.

The Flannigans are a Dostoyevsky like family whose story is told by Collie, the only sane member of the family and eldest son of an anti-establishment mother (“Ma collected Marxists like others collected Tupperware”), Charlie, his charming bacchanalian leaning father, his irresponsible rogue young brother Bingo, and his Uncle Tom Flannigan, the pigeon racing chef of the family who, when he wasn’t on his monthly weeklong drinking binge with his buddy Swayze, peppered his nephews with spelling questions and his own brand of Irish philosophy. Atop the maelstrom of the Fantastic Flannigans, was Collie’s maternal grandfather, media mogul, Peregrine Lowell, otherwise known as the Falcon. Collie, the spitting image of his grandfather, sane and careful, recounts his early memories of the antics of his wildly outrageous family. “Sometimes," he says, "I think my real life's purpose is to refute the clichéd notion that you can't actually die of embarrassment." When disaster strikes, as all things Flannigan, it’s momentous. Reeling from the life altering events he has experienced, Collie struggles and falters as he attempts to find himself in the wake of all that has occurred.

This is a book about family, about siblings. The cover says the Flannigans are a family who puts the personality in disorder. Big characters that inveigle their way into your heart, you are charmed by them, soften to them, chuckle with them and if you are like me, find yourself rooting for them. Setting the book down to write about it, I found myself remembering my father’s monstrous clan of 10 siblings. The loud, the proud, the lost, the nosey, the kind, the successful, the baby, the boss. We all take on roles in our family lives. I have always felt I lucked out big time being born into the mammoth clan that I was. This has certainly defined me and, in one way or another, all of us. These relationships make us who we are and when we are ready, set us on our way. My family is no where near as dramatically shenanigan prone as the Fantastic Flannigans. But, like Collie, wherever I go, I am one of them. For me, that is warm comfort on a cool day.

Saints and Sweet Blonds

2009-05-23T19:32:00.012-04:00

There’s no question that my life is markedly different since the arrival of Murphy. From the very moment I carried him home, last of the litter and the cutest wiggliest bundle of white fur you can imagine, Murphy began to reshape my existence, reset my priorities and re-jig my day to day schedule. Besides taking a nibble out of my pocket book in the first year with training, vet bills and dog walking services, he also ate his way through various couches and shoes, cell phones and reading glasses, fancy desserts made for dinner party guests, dining room chair legs and baseboards. More importantly than permanently taking over my house though, Murphy has forever stolen my heart. Sweet and very affectionate, goofy, utterly devoted, quiet with a big head made of concrete and a heart of gold, Murphy is a quite literally, one of the best decisions I ever made and a constant source of joy. He’s quite a dog. One who I realize now, had fairly big paws to fill.

As a young girl growing up, we had a giant dog named Sir Galahad. Taddy, as we kids called him, was the stuff of legends. A St. Bernard, weighing in at over 110 lb, when Galahad wasn’t jumping the fence in our backyard to tree nervous construction workers in the new subdivision where we lived, or leaning my young and precocious twin brother and sister against the wall to hold them in place til my Mom arrived, he spent his time as our pillow, playmate, punching bag and partner in crime. A true saint, he put up with five wild munchkins who showed their love by tugging on his tail, riding him, pulling his leash and hugging him way too tightly around this monstrous jowly neck. He returned our love with wet slobbery licks as he quietly endured all the affection. A month’s worth of blog entries would not be enough space to tell the tales of Sir Galahad of Hollowtree Crescent, but few childhood reminiscences are had in my family without some reference to our big boy.

I think of Galahad more often now than I did before I got Murphy. Although different breeds, sometimes I’d swear Murph is channeling Taddy. This is especially so when I see him around young kids or seniors. Not four yet, Murphy is still mostly puppy. He’s excited to be out and about and tugs on the leash when he’s up for a romp. But however pumped he is to be out walking, he sits like a good boy and endures pats on the head and the odd poke from kids who want to say hi. No matter how much he wants to walk, he obediently waits while my retired neighbours fill me in on their latest news and happily flops down at my feet as we settle into our usual Saturday morning coffee ritual. Most weekends in the good weather, we sit outside Starbucks reading the paper and enjoying some people watching. Dog central, there is plenty to distract, but Murphy unphased sighs patiently as I finish my coffee, taking in the view of those who saunter by. Even this morning, as a woman with two yappy pugs and a toy terrier tied up her dogs beside us, Murphy just looked up at me. When one of the dogs jumped up on the top of the table to see where his owner had gone, Murphy turned his head to look at the dog then looked at me, with a “will you check him out” look on his face.

Smiling, I patted Murphy and gave him a scratch in his favourite spot behind his ears. That’s what I like about big dogs, like Murph and Taddy. No need to bark and howl to get your attention. No nipping or growling. Comfortable enough in their 90 plus pounds of slobbery fur to know you love them, head in your lap or snoozing at your feet, they are dignified and quiet patience personified…. until at least, you pull out the treats!

Frost free May day

2009-05-18T19:41:00.003-04:00

It’s Victoria Day in Canada. A holiday here for me and I spent the day, after a rather busy social weekend, cleaning up. Long long overdue for a spring time air out and spruce up, I tackled the kitchen today. I live in a real cute main floor unit in a two story walk up. While my place oozes with charm and character, it lacks some of the more mainstream conveniences like a dishwasher and frost free fridge. I’m not complaining. But given my abhorrence of all things domestic (except baking – yummm pie) this means some household tasks take longer chez MB than they would for another. It takes a Herculean effort to get me to do dishes and I need to get good and fed up with chipping away the icy buildup in my freezer just to stow a pint of Haagen Dasz before I even contemplate the defrost. Today was the day. My toes still smarting from an ugly incident with an iceberg flying out the freezer at an unfortunately rapid speed, I figured I’d best roll up my pj bottoms (why do I always end up with large puddles of cold water all over the kitchen tiles?) and get to it.

I started with a general clean out. An old hard orange or two in the crisper and some carrots sprouting roots into the bin and a few long forgotten fuzzy containers of curry or stew or maybe it was leek and potato soup at the back of the fridge discarded, I turned the dial to off last night and hoped for a slow melt. 12 hours later, retrieval of no less than 8 given up for lost Tupperware containers, several therapeutic whacks at a monstrous ice wall inside my freezer and I’m done. Fridge is sparkling clean and there’s loads of room for leftovers and ice cubes and made ahead meals.

As I sit here, sipping a nice cup of Earl Grey, wearing wooly socks to warm up my still freezing toes, I wonder why I generally leave these things to the last possible moment. I am a card carrying procrastinator. At work, in school, with my writing and most certainly relating to all manner of mundane household chores, as much as I can get away with it, I put off, stall, avoid, defer and drag my feet. To my credit, I deliver the goods professionally. I get stuff done at work and I’ve learned how to time it right to allow me enough wiggle room to ensure I do a really good job. My assignments for class get done the night before and I’m so used to writing in big blitzy chunks of time as opposed to a slow and steady pace that I have convinced myself I do my best work under pressure.

In reality, I know a frosty freezer is no big deal. I am as happy as ever to eat up the last of the Ben & Jerry’s rather than carve out a spot in the frost for a few scoops of Cherry Garcia. A workaround, it might be called at the office. But it occurs to me, there are people in this world who make grocery shopping lists ahead of time, who vacuum and dust every weekend, who don’t have to sniff the milk in their fridge or who never run out of toilet paper. It’s here that I usually chime in with my life before chores mantra. Superiorly I’d rant about how time spent with those we love, doing that we love is far more important than ensuring we have a dust bunny free home. But what if, just a thought now, it’s possible to change. I’m an open minded person. I’d like to think I’m capable of growth. Maybe as a start I’ll lay my clothes out tonight before I go to work. Of course that will mean I’d have to wade through a pile of unfolded laundry on the chair in my bedroom. And if I’m going to go wading, I might as well fold. And if I’m going to fold, I might as well iron the shirts. Jeesh. I think I’ll take Murph for a walk instead. And while I’m out, there’s a Baskin Robbins up the street. All this talk has got me craving some ice cream. After all, I’ve got room now for a quart now.

Zombies, Gargoyles and Certain Girls

2009-05-16T15:53:00.007-04:00

Nineteen weeks into my year I’m finding that the lofty goals I set for myself in January have shifted somewhat. To anyone who knows me well, this is no surprise. Without question, I am still committed to losing weight and at present am holding fast at 12 lbs. Not quite where I want to be, but I am nonetheless pleased by that. I know it is not the ideal way to go, but with four weeks today until I leave for Spain, I’ve put myself on a relatively strict regimen to see if I can’t nudge that number up a bit more before I depart. I need very much to live my life fully and while good health is important to me, I don’t ever do well with a lot of restrictions and rules. I’m back to the basics which have always worked well in moderation. Fruit veggies water and walking increased, booze chocolate and bread decreased. God it sounds horrid even as I write it here. Sigh. Well we’ll give it a go. Four weeks will go by in a heartbeat.

What continues to frustrate me is the lack of time I carve out to read as much as I want to. Writing and reading seem to go hand in hand for me. So when I am reading a lot, I tend to be prolific creatively too. Until very recently, I was dragging myself to the laptop struggling through a dry spell in my writing. My trip up north to the cabin last week knocked something loose and I’m back in the groove, images and words pouring out of me. My projects are taking shape nicely and I’m writing up a storm. In sync, I’ve polished off two books this week, after having stretched my reading of Pride & Prejudice and Zombies out for two weeks (which is a ridiculous thing considering how light it is), I’ve also reread Gargoyle by Andrew Davidson and Certain Girls by Jennifer Weiner.

Briefly, I found the zombie take on P&P a bit dull at times. Without question it is a great idea for a book. Elizabeth Bennett as a Buffy the Vampire Slayeresque killer of zombies overtaking the countryside got boring fairly fast as the book wore on. True to the plot of Pride & Prejudice, Bingley, Wickham Darcy and the Bennetts all maneuver their lives and loves amidst a scourge of “unmentionables” that must be put down for the safety of all. I suspect I would have liked the story more if there was more blatant blood, guts and drama, but the attempt to remain consistent with a Victorian style of writing while describing zombie mayhem fell flat for me. This book is getting good reviews. I suspect that mine are not the norm when it comes to impressions of this book. I may take a stab at it (har har har) at a later date, but for now, I am happy to see it finished.

Gargoyle is a captivating novel by first time Canadian author, Andrew Davidson. Basically this is a love story. Lying in a burn ward after having driven his car off a cliff, while coked up and drunk, a now hideously scarred and suicidal pornographer is visited by a schizophrenic sculptor who claims to have been his lover in a former life dating back to medieval Germany. Skeptical at first, he slowly becomes involved with this woman and agrees to let her take care of him as he recovers. Intoxicating and addictive is my best description for this book. I loved it from the first very powerful scene of the car crash, all the way to the end.

I just finished happily gobbling up Jennifer Weiner’s latest book, Certain Girls. I like this author. I feel I can relate to her. I’ve read a few of her other books, the first one being Good in Bed. Her latest book picks up the same characters and story from where Good in Bed left off. Good in Bed is the story of a plump gal named Cannie Shapiro, who is mortified when her ex boyfriend, a freelance writer, pens a story in a major magazine about how fat girls are good in bed, using their relationship as the basis for the story. Embarrassed and still not quite over him, with the stress of a dysfunctional family of her own to contend with, Cannie blunders into a regrettable last fling with her ex which results in an unplanned pregnancy. Overwhelmed, hurt and at the end of her rope, Cannie quits her job and focuses on herself, her blossoming weight and baby to be. Written with warmth and humour, Jennifer Weiner created a character flawed and human and incredibly relatable. Her first book ends with the birth of her daughter. Certain Girls picks up Cannie and her daughter Joy, 13 years later, as Joy finds out about her father and the circumstances of her birth. It’s a mother and daughter story. I have been known to be a book snob from time to time. I read widely and cut a good wide swath through various genres. Chick lit, has been something I have read from time to time when I want something light. What I like about these stories from Weiner is that her characters aren’t perfect and don’t in any way figure everything out by the end of the book. She rings true and, for me, that is when reading is most enjoyable.

Wanderlust

2009-05-15T12:31:00.002-04:00

It’s less than one month til I head off for Spain and Ireland. If I didn’t have so much work to do before I leave I am sure I would need to be peeled off the ceiling daily from the excitement and anticipation. I’m counting the days. I have taken a much needed day to myself today extending our Victoria Day long weekend from three to four days. Done surveying my spring / summer wardrobe, I think I have everything I need for my trip. I’m totally stoked. In vacation mode already, I find thoughts of the trip permeating everything I do. I can’t help myself from working my holiday into idle conversation with just about everyone I encounter. Even getting a pedicure this morning, I caught myself musing to the aesthetician about what colour I should choose for my travels next month.

And why shouldn’t I be excited?? For 11 glorious days I’ll be wandering around the Barcelona area, with at least one planned side trip to Sitges, a pretty seaside town boasting no less than 9 beaches, quiet cobbled streets, old buildings and markets to explore. I’m flying out of Girona after my time in Spain to Ireland. It’s like taking two back to back completely different holidays. Ireland will be a wholly other experience. Welcoming warm hospitality, mad fun, gossipy companionable pints with friends and a wonderful wedding celebration are in store for me when I land in Clare for the next 7 days. Ireland is one of those places that feeds my soul. It’s peaceful and lush. I have a romping good time every visit. I leave a wee piece of my heart there every time I go, swapping it for a passel of fond memories.

I know it will go by in a flash, as all good experiences do. But I have every intention of savoring the whole thing from top to bottom, soaking up the Catalan culture in Barcelona and falling in with my locals in Clare. Travel is a relatively new thing for me. I only started venturing out into the world after my marriage ended. These past 8 years I have been bitten repeatedly by wanderlust bug. Planning each trip renews a fever in me to explore more and more of the world. Germany next fall for Oktoberfest, India the year after, New Zealand, Argentina, Rome. My list keeps growing.

After much consultation we decided on a pretty summery pink this morning for my pre-holiday toes. I have 29 more days to figure out what colour goes best with Barcelona. Maybe a burnt red or perhaps a deep plum. I should likely get my butt out the door and get on with my afternoon. But instead, I’ll sit back here and envision myself sitting at a café off Las Ramblas, sipping wine and watching the world, Catalan style, wander by.

Spinning

2009-05-11T14:35:00.006-04:00

At work last week we had a critical issue with one of our systems arise that impacted many, many people. My team rallied, and has been working a ton of hours to resolve things and restore normalcy. We are just about there. In the breathing space we have now to look at what occurred and assess what went wrong, what we did well and what needs attention, I was chatting with some colleagues about different personalities and how they behave in crisis mode.

I was reminded of the quotation from Maya Angelou, which I now understand to be a sort of litmus test for personality types. “You can tell a lot about a person by the way they handle three things: a rainy day, lost luggage and tangled Christmas tree lights.”

Amid a relatively few blamers and panicky folks, I’m happy to have observed that most people just shrugged their shoulders, rolled up their sleeves and got to work. Yes, things were tense and tough for a few days, but most people coped well and worked collaboratively. However, in and amongst these productive and positive sorts was one or two who spun madly, spouting whatever bits of information or misinformation they had to hand, whipping folks up into frenzy. Why? What is served by that? And how on earth could this possibly help?

Calmness in the face of a crisis is an acquired skill, I think. We all want life to chug along well. When things go wrong, it’s stressful. But the fire, aim, ready kind of response does nothing to move one closer to a resolution. It is counterproductive and gets in the way of fixing a problem. I do understand the motivation at play here and just in general when one overreacts. It’s worry. Worry about one’s position. Worry about fallout. Worry about cost. Worry about how others will cope. Sometimes selfish and admittedly often not so selfish, but worry nonetheless. Worry is one of those utterly useless emotions we all feel from time to time. But as ineffective and worthless as it is, even minor worry can often morph into something quite destructive.

Thinking again of Maya Angelou’s observation, do worry and stress help in her scenarios? Doesn’t a rainy day smell sweet and sound wonderful? Is getting wet such a bad thing? Is lost luggage of any kind really the end of the world? Couldn’t we make due without these items? Does panic or aggression help the baggage to appear? Would patience not sort out the Christmas tree lights? Do we need lights?

I am by no means a calm person. I have my stress monkey days and can spin with the best of them. But here, in this situation, I’ve been afforded a certain perspective and example on how much easier it is to take things one step at a time. No panicked whirling dervish. Rather, a determined, patient and relatively composed approach. It’s so much easier this way. And perhaps, the spinning should be left to the dance floor.

You spin me right round, baby right round like a record, baby right round round round...

Embarrassment of Riches

2009-05-04T13:12:00.004-04:00

Spring is without a doubt my favourite time of year. It’s hopeful. It smells wonderful as the grass is cut for the first time, the flowers start to bloom and the pavement is wet from warmer rains. Spring is an abundant feeling kind of season.

Each morning on our walk, I make sure to turn down this particular street in my neighbourhood I think of as the magnolia road. For the past weeks I’ve been watching the buds on this gigantic magnolia tree plump up. Aided by the warm sunshine we had this weekend they exploded into beautiful pink and white blossoms. I knew it would be spectacular in full bloom and after a long wait through the year, the tree didn’t disappoint. Soon the blooms will fall off and this old gnarly tree will spend the rest of the warm season gracefully green. I imagine it resting after all its effort to produce such splendor. I have read somewhere that the bark of the magnolia is said to have anti-anxiety properties. From my perspective, this feels true. Taking in the extraordinary beauty of this tree certainly has a calming effect on me.

This past weekend, my friend Niamh cooked up a wonderful surprise for my sister and me. An invitation for a girl’s night out of gossipy pints was really a ruse to get us together to welcome our friend GearÓid, in town visiting from Ireland. Sitting in the pub, catching up on the news from Clare, it was as if we’d just gabbed last week. It has been almost two years since I’d seen my traveling pal and within seconds we fell back into our normal banter. Quickly falling into reminiscences of trips taken together, gaffes, old jokes and family stories we happily gabbed anticipating a few good sessions in the coming week as a preview for our trip to Ireland in June. It was a wonderful evening and technically speaking, an early morning too.

There are places in this world where I am comfortable, but none more so than in the company of my family and friends. Blessed beyond measure with friends I have known for many years, I have always taken a more the merrier approach to hanging out with my friends. I love that my closest buds layer in together with my siblings and that I have far away pals whom I can pick up with as easily as my oldest friends whom I see weekly for brunch or a pint. A couch on Sherwood or Battenburg, the kitchen on Postridge, our high top table at McFlys or the Starbucks on Bayview all provide their own version of contentment and security. I get how lucky I am and I’m grateful for these people who love me. They share my life and enrich it like the magnolia does my morning walks. My friends are each unique and special to me, whether a new bud, a wonderful surprise that comes out to play every year or strong beautiful branches who’s presence supports and who’s beauty inspires me.

I’ve always been the kind of person who makes friends easily wherever I go. I think this is so because I have been lucky enough to have these wonderful people in my life already. So to those far away and those down the street, here is my favourite friendship song.

Book Quiz

2009-04-09T16:12:00.003-04:00

Hi folks,
I am shamelessly stealing this quiz from another blog , which I read frequently. Thanks Amanda! It's an interesting view of how we look at books and what we like. Kind of a getting to know you sort of thing, from a bookish perspective.

Hardback, trade paperback or mass market paperback?
I prefer trade paperbacks. They are easy to tote around. I rarely buy mass market paperback (unless I pick them up from a used bookstore). Given my impatient nature, I will often buy a book in hardcover, if it’s something I just can’t wait to read.

Barnes & Noble or Borders?
For Canadians (or Torontonians) how about Chapters-Indigo, Coles, Pages, WBB or TYPE?
I’m utterly torn here because while I love the selection of Chapters-Indigo and WBB, I prefer to buy from independent booksellers. They are getting fewer and fewer and I find this very sad.

Bookmark or dog-ear?
I use a bookmark most of the time or just remember the page I am on. I have taken to flagging sections with post-its if I want to write about the book later.

Alphabetize by author or alphabetize by title or random?
Random by size and shape, but grouped loosely by genre. I could never be an alphabetizing kind of girl. Too orderly.

Keep, throw away, or sell?
Keep keep keep. Lend and sometimes never get back but NEVER throw away. I have sold books before, but not my norm.

Keep dust jacket or toss it?
I love dust jackets.

Read with dust jacket or remove it?
I always read with the jacket on. It makes a good bookmark.

Short story or novel?
Novels for sure. I have only just started reading shorts. David Sedaris and Alice Munro have won me over.

Harry Potter or Lemony Snicket?
Sacrilege to say it I know, but I’m not a big fan of Harry Potter. Lemony Snicket? That was a movie right? Kidding. Not my thing.

Stop reading when tired or at chapter breaks?
Stop at chapter breaks for sure. And I read well beyond tired most nights.

"It was a dark and stormy night" or "Once upon a time"?
The darker and stormier the better. Harbinger of all things eerie, spooking and unknown. At least it’s not a fairytale. Yawn.

Buy or borrow?
Both. But I like to buy books most of all. I can think of nothing better than a good browse in a bookshop and books are my one indulgence that I never ever censor.

New or used?
Again, books are books, so I buy both. I like the smell of old books and it’s like a treasure hunt when I find something I really wanted in a used book store.

Buying choice: book reviews, recommendations, or browse?
I would say I buy books mostly on recommendation and by browsing. Reviews are taken into consideration. I keep a list of books and authors on my blackberry. The names come from all different places.

Tidy ending or cliffhanger?
Both, but things don’t necessarily have to tie up neatly in a bow. I don’t mind open ended questions.

Morning reading, afternoon reading, or nighttime reading?
Weekdays it is evening reading. After dinner til sometimes well into the night. Weekends are a free for all. I have been known to read all day long and into the night if I have a book I am enjoying. But I can read anytime, anywhere, and do.

Stand-alone or series?
Both. Equally.

Favorite series?
Heaven Tree Trilogy. I also enjoyed the Jasper Fforde Thursday Next series and Twilight books.

Favorite children's book?
Pickle Chiffon Pie

Favorite YA book?
Secret Garden and the Narnia series

Favorite book of which nobody else has heard?
The Marriage of Megotta, by Edith Pargeter

Favorite books read last year?
Julie and Julia, Eat Pray Love, Twilight, Shake Hands with the Devil

Favorite books of all time?
The Maytrees, Love in the Time of Cholera, Pride & Prejudice, Captain Corelli’s Mandolin

What are you reading right now?
Pride and Prejudice and Zombies
Getting to Maybe

What are you reading next?
The Partisan’s Daughter by Louis de Bernieres

Favorite book to recommend to an eleven-year-old?
Harriet the Spy or Inkheart

Favorite book to reread?
Pillars of the Earth

Do you ever smell books?
Yep.

Do you ever read Primary source documents?
Yes, when I am doing research for my own writing and most certainly when I was in school.

I am now happily off for a 4 day long Easter weekend. Very much looking forward to some downtime, reading, writing and catching up with my peeps.

Attack of the Killer Shoulds

2009-04-07T08:59:00.006-04:00

There are few words in the English language I dislike more than the word should. Should is a get you in trouble kind of word. Should is loaded. It has expectation, judgment, opinion. I bristle at the idea of being told what to do. I like to live my life on my own terms. I fully expect to enjoy the bounty of my good decisions and know I own the consequences of the bad ones. I believe in karma, good and bad. I didn’t always feel this way. Yesterday was a reminder to me of how far I have yet to go. For despite what I just said, knowing all that I do, from time to time I get a case of the shoulds. I climb on my high horse and venture off into the righteous land of should. And to be frank, this is a fairytale that never ends well.

I have always been a person of strong opinions. I’m not shy and freely express myself, my feelings about things that come to pass, things that irritate me and inspire me, social and political comments. All good, I think. Its part of why I started blogging. My opinions about things I see, books I’ve read, and my own life at times quirky and other times mundane are all the subject of commentary with friends and family and frequently fodder here in blogdom. The thing is, feeling things strongly and communicating openly is one thing, not knowing when to shut up is quite another. Such can sometimes be the case with me, when I get a bee under my bonnet. I don’t like these types of clichéd expressions normally. But, in this instance, it seems so appropriate. For while I cannot recall ever wearing a bonnet, were I to do so, my latest case of shoulds felt quite like having something irritating and troublesome buzzing in and around my head. Unable to free myself of this irksome issue, I kept batting at it madly with phrases like should just grow up, should do this, should get real, should quit it, should give their head a shake… should should should. Swatting away verbally with no resolution, it never occurred to me until much later, that rather than fussing as I did, had I just quieted down and relaxed, I might have found a better solution or perhaps even come to a peaceful compromise.

The thing about shoulds is that they are so one sided. One can never really understand how another person feels and what motivates their actions. Irritated and feeling self righteous last night I came home in quite a funk. Walking Murphy in the snow (yes… its back for a last gasp), I tried to calm myself. I felt bad about some of the things I had said and tried to figure myself out. I remembered a book someone gave me and sought it out when I returned home. I’ve given this book as a gift to a number of people over the years. Tucked into the pages of Ruiz’ The Four Agreements, are four simple ideas that would have saved me from myself earlier in the day. Four basic agreements to make with oneself. In a single conversation I blasted past all four of them, but nonetheless I’m glad to be reminded of them again. Here they are:
No. 1 – Be Impeccable With Your Word – In other words, don’t gossip or spread poison with what you say. Words have power. And with apologies for the Star Wars analogy, use your power for good.
No. 2 – Never Make Assumptions – The thing is you never really know what the other person is thinking. To assume you do is arrogant and most of the time, we get it wrong anyway.
No. 3 – Don’t Take Things Personally – Again it is arrogant to think that everything is about you. More importantly, when people do or say things hurtful to you, it is really more about them than you. Realize this and stop trying to control the outcome.
No. 4 – Always Do Your Best – Even when your best is not very good at present, try. Don’t give up. Make an effort. Show up and contribute.

I think I’ve overcome my case of the shoulds for the present. I realize now that the only shoulds that would have made any sense at all is to realize early on that I should just butt out. I should know by now that each of us has our own way and finds it in our own time. And that is perfectly OK.

One more wholly unrelated point - I finished Flann O'Brien's At Swim-Two-Birds and remain unconvinced that it is anything more than a dated, dry, mildly amusing take on a young man with a vivid imagination. I didn't like it. Have moved on to lighter fare. I picked up Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. (Think Elizabeth Bennett as a Buffy the Vampire Slayerish, sword weilding zombie killer, distracted by expectations to marry well while trying to figure out the brooding and haughty Darcy - utterly hilarious and best of all, comes complete with illustrations!!!) More on this later.

Flann Flatulence and 46

2009-03-24T07:42:00.005-04:00

Busy weekend and even busier week ahead with more birthdays feted and the countdown to a pending implementation for a project I’ve been working on for several months coming due on March 30th. Still, a quick note to hold us over til things settle down.

Am slogging my way through Flann O’Brien’s At Swim-Two-Birds and sorry to say I’ve come upon the first book this year that I’m not really enjoying. It’s OK. Funny in bits but in an old, dated kind of humour. I’ve not come yet to any real understanding of why this book regularly sits on the list of 100 best novels ever written. Sure O’Brien is witty and deft at mockery but it could be this is too just dry for my liking. Nonetheless we’ll finish ‘er up so I can move on to something I enjoy more.

It wouldn’t be right if I didn’t acknowledge the Marchies… those wonderful folk in my life who, like me celebrate birthdays this month.

Greta
Paul
Kieran
Gearoid
Connor

Niamh

It basically works out to a piece of cake every 5 days. Not too shabby. Some of you have found the fountain of youth, others younger and feeling older and some not too pushed either way. Much love to you all. At 46 this month myself, I can honestly say life gets better as I go along. To realize now that a lot of what one fusses about in your youth can be left aside and that living presently and contentedly in each moment is key to peace of mind is a wonderful feeling.

Zen stuff aside, there’s another great reason to celebrate birthdays (in our family at least) the search for and giving of the perfect birthday card. While all were fab, this year’s winner hands down goes to go to Chris Connor and Laura.

Front of card - As we grow older, things start to fail, our hearing diminishes. Luckily, nature in her wisdom compensates…..

Open card to sound of person letting rip a loud smelly fart….

Inside card…by making our farts louder!

Summed up best, regardless of your age, fart jokes just never get old.

Lá Fhéile Pádraig Sona Duit

2009-03-17T08:22:00.005-04:00

Happy St. Patrick's Day
My Irish is almost non existant, but that's my best attempt at it in the title. In honour of my Irish heritage, first and most importantly, my best wishes.

May God grant you always
A sunbeam to warm you
A moonbeam to charm you
A sheltering Angel
So nothing can harm you
Laughter to cheer you
Faithful friends near you
And whenever you pray
Heaven to hear you.

Now being the generous sort that I am, a gift or two for you(and one for me). Without fail, my favourite band is U2. Masters of reinvention, a social conscience, collaborators, citizens of the world and fabulously gifted artists all of them. Here, my favourite U2 song, recently released featuring Mary J Blige.

For those of you who have never been lucky enough to visit Ireland, you really should go. Its a wonderful place. In the meantime, a taste of the country for you.

Now, a gift for me. An Irish classic. A book that frequently sits on the list of best novel's ever written, Flann O'Brien's At Swim-Two-Birds. On the back cover of the copy I bought is a quote from Dylan Thomas. "This is just the book to give your sister if she's a loud, dirty, boozy girl". Now how could I resist.

If I could send you all a virtual pint of Guinness I would, but we all know Guinness doesn't travel well. In the meantime, take the best of the Irish with you today, good humour, generosity of spirit and the ability to enjoy life to the fullest.

Peace.
MB

Me Talk Pretty One Day

2009-03-16T09:11:00.004-04:00

I often do myself in before I even begin a book. This year’s selection was specifically chosen to include many authors and books which I felt, for one reason or another, I had missed out on til now. Expectations are high and frankly, although it may not seem so from the reviews I’ve given so far, I don’t wow easily with authors. I’m picky. I read a lot and have a short attention span. I’m critical and busy, so if a book doesn’t grab me early on, I move on to something else.

One of the things I’ve missed in this year's reading project has been the habit I’ve had for years of reading more than one book at a time. Usually, I have some non-fiction on the go, a classic and something lighter. I also read a fair bit of poetry and philosophy or other muse worthy selections. This split focus has made me feel in past as though I don’t read enough of what I love most – the fiction. So, I decided to try more of a one thing at a time approach.

Imagine my delight to find David Sedaris. He’s an essayist in the sardonic, irreverent, self deprecating sort of way. Like Alice Monro's (who is also on my list this year), his gems are short. Also like Alice, but in completely different ways, he’s wonderfully gifted and utterly unforgettable. I’ll get into his stuff in a second, but here’s the happy bonus to finding Sedaris. Because each essay is a story unto itself, I can move to another longer book if I choose. Like poetry, he is something I can pick up – get a quick fix of hilarity or inspiration and don’t feel so bad when I have to put the book down. Yes. That’s right. I am one of those sorry souls who miss my book when I am forced to leave it to engage in “life”. If I’m really enjoying a book, I want to finish it, see what comes next. I’ve never really gotten into short stories or essays before. That is about to change.

So now to Mr. Sedaris. I just know we are going to become good friends. Well his books and I will anyway. That said I will run out immediately to buy tickets the next time he’s in town to read his work. He’s as good in person as he is on the page I am told.

Me Talk Pretty One Day is an uproarious snort out loud funny selection of stories about David and the oddball characters that make up his life. Transported from New York to Raleigh North Carolina, there’s a fish out of water kind of feel to many of the earlier essays. His take on the speech therapist, Agent Sampson, assigned to help him get rid of his lisp while he steadfastly refuses to use the letter s is brilliant. Moving from grade school, to university where he mingles with avant garde artsies who create their pieces out of garbage while jonesing for a fix is the perfect set up for his later stories about David back in New York, working a succession of odd jobs, until he meets his boyfriend Hugh. The best stuff though, is from the period where David moves with Hugh to rural France for a while. Living in Paris, trying to learn the language and fit in, was comic gold. Throughout the book, David’s family figures prominently in his stories. Recounting his sister Amy wearing a fat suit to Christmas in response to her father’s obsession about weight and beauty had near tears streaming down my face on the subway. These few referenced snippets of Sedaris I’ve mentioned here don’t come close to describing the wildly entertaining read you’ll have when you pick up Me Talk Pretty One Day. His other books, Barrel Fever and Naked are already waiting for me on my bookshelf. But what are you waiting for? Go. Go now. Read him!

Lost Boys and Kittys

2009-03-11T19:15:00.003-04:00

What is it with some people and age?!! This month, as I celebrate birthdays galore, aging and how people handle it has become a common topic for discussion. Some of my circle are having landmark birthdays with big celebrations. Others, like me, will mark our special day with the usual dinners or pints out, some cake and ice cream, annual well wishes and a reminder of how lucky we are to be loved and another year older. I’m an embrace your age kind of person; an own your number kinda gal. I would never lie about my age, I’m proud of it. While I fully subscribe to the notion that age is merely a state of mind, there are limits.

Exhibit A – The Lost Boy

Recently, I have spent some problematic time around a man who has failed to grow up. Chronologically past 40, this guy resolutely behaves like he’s somewhere in the early 20 range. It’s obvious from the whining he’s subjected many of us in the office to that his was a sheltered and rather boring teen age. He didn’t go to college or university and thereby likely missed some of the inherent experiences that mark one's move from trouble seeking adolescent to responsible adult. Making up for these rites of passage now, he fails to understand that by the time you are over 40, with a life full of responsibilities which include a newborn child, a job, parents who need assistance in their aging years, all night binges that render you useless the next day seem rather self indulgent. His griping about the arguments had with ‘the wife’ over his desire to spend a chunk of his paycheck on a weekend in Vegas as opposed to stuff for the house garners little support for anyone in his situation, except ‘the wife’, who has to put up with his shit. Every time, I am in his presence all I can think of is that seen from Moonstruck where Cher slaps Nicholas Cage in the face. “Snap outta it!” I feel like yelling at him.

Exhibit B – Hello Kitty

Walking Murphy each morning I pass the usual set of characters each day. I live in one of the more affluent parts of Toronto, having moved to my place more for it's proximity to the hospital I was working at than any financial compatibility with my neighbours. What I like about the area is it's lovely old houses, wide and abundantly treed streets and a main drag which boasts an excellent selection of places to get coffee, bookstores and restaurants. What I hate is the sense of privilege that radiates from some of the more conservative folk. In amongst all that, are the weirdly tacky residents of the neighbourhood.

The female counterpart to my overgrown teenage work colleague is a group of women I call the Hello Kittys. This morning I ran into one such feline. 50ish and dressed head to toe in designer, tween inspired, fuchsia and purple walking gear, sporting unseasonable lavender earmuffs on this mild and muddy morning I could hardly miss her as she approached. Ms. Kitty and her pink leashed white fluff ball bounded towards Murph and me, all atwitter and perky. Little girl falsetto calling out to Sparky to stay out of the muck, (like that’s possible on a March day in Toronto), Ms. Kitty stopped to chat as our dogs sniffed at one another. Murphy, being his usual social self, stopped for a bit of play and I was stuck making pleasantries. Up close, I noted that although the coral lipstick (who wears makeup walking the dog at 7:15am???) didn’t quite match the pink of her jumpsuit it certainly showed off the tan she had from an obvious recent trip down south. With absolutely nothing in common to make small talk about, I commented on the milder weather (yes, the bitch made me break my New Year’s resolution) and bid her a good walk. It was only on turning around to tug Murph along our way that I caught a glimpse of her from behind. Blazoned on her saggy rear, book-ended by hearts, was the word JUICY.

It’s not lost on me that some of these youthful types may have the last laugh. For steamed as I am at having to cover for my colleague, he nonetheless got his day off nursing his hangover while playing Warcraft in his basement. As for Ms. Kitty, I ain't got nothing. For while I may admire her disregard of all societal conventions governing fashion for the middle aged, on a morning such as this, try as I might, I cannot envision for a second a universe where I would cover my arse with anything other than a perfectly fitting pair of jeans. A juicy ass? Maybe not. But neither was it fuchsia.

Memories of My Melancholy Whores

2009-03-08T23:09:00.003-04:00

If I had to narrow it down, I would say that Latin authors are my thing. Neruda’s poetry is a staple in my life and Allende and Vargas volumes are old friends who now take residence on my bookshelves with a newly arrived Roberto Bolano alongside my treasured, much loved and dog eared copies of Garcia Marquez classics. All have transported me to places and times far away. Some have invoked rage or indignation others brought me warmth or hope. Universally, I am awed by the talent of these artists and inspired by their ability to communicate, provoke and entertain me.

Reading as much as I do, I’m loathe to admit to just one, but Gabriel Garcia Marquez consistently tops my list of favourite authors. His Love in the Time of Cholera remains one of the best things I’ve read. It was a no brainer then to add his short story, Memories of My Melancholy Whores to my list for this year’s books.

The story goes like this: on his 90th birthday, a bachelor decides to treat himself to a night of wild lovemaking with a virgin. Having done so hundreds of times before, he contacts a local madam to help him with the arrangements. The young girl given to him for the evening, exhausted from her day’s work in a local button factory, falls asleep. He, so enchanted by her as she lays there beside him in bed, finds himself falling in love for the first time in his life.

Beautiful and sad (which is classic Marquez), somewhat disturbing and at times funny, Memories of My Melancholy Whores is an odd and haunting love story. Gabo’s written a wonderful little companion to the classics for which is has been so deservingly awarded and praised. As I knew I would, I loved this book!

The Maytrees

2009-03-08T11:21:00.004-04:00

“Love so sprang at her, she honestly thought no one had ever looked into it. Where was it in literature? Someone would have written something. She must not have recognized it. Time to read everything again.”

I love a good love story. It’s a universal theme in our lives. To find love, keep love, overcome love gone wrong and try again. Hopeless romantic that I am, I suspect many others also find that a thoughtful author’s well written love story can evoke feelings like those of past loves and warm our hearts to our own present and future love. In Annie Dillard’s masterful hands, the love between Maytree and Lou pulsates off the page. You can feel their heartache, their joy, their anxiety and bewilderment. Provincetown and their community isn’t just a backdrop for the story, it is as much a character living along side them as Revedere the old moneyed, eccentric and many times married grand lady of the town or bohemian Deary, who’s actions scandalize the community and rock the foundation of Maytree and Lou for years.

Stirring, and thoroughly affecting, The Maytrees is a story that goes by too quickly and which you want to read time and time again, to experience this love once more, enduring and profound.

Catch up

2009-03-05T09:20:00.004-05:00

A lot has been going on these past three weeks, and then again, nothing at all. Mostly, it’s just been my usual life and only laziness has prevented a blog post before now. I'll never be one who beats myself up for what I should have done. So no lamenting and woe is meing over not having posted before now. But, to quickly get back on track, a catch up is certainly in order. I can summarize my weeks away from blogdom as being busied with:

Seeing the last of my Oscar nominated movies
Trying to decide on whether to cut my hair or grow it
Getting a pedicure
Walking Murphy in booger freezing, ice cream headachey cold weather
Marveling at the lengths I will go to avoid doing dishes
Doing dishes
Watching the Oscars – Yeah Slumdog and Sean Penn (wonderful acceptance speech Sean!)
Making deals with the little spider who has taken up residence in the window sill of my bathroom – you climb up to the ceiling and I’ll try not to drown you when I shower
Booking my holiday to Barcelona and Ireland – Yah baby!!!!
Having the phone hung up in my ear (NOT my fault)
Inhaling all manner of Spanish travel literature
Drinking Guinness
Planning secret parties
Fending off weirdness in the workplace
Cheering for the Leafs
Writing
Rewriting
Pounding my fists in frustration
Writing more
Seeking inspiration in the form of Annie Dillard
Commiserating
Did I mention the trip to Barcelona???
Knitting (30 or so inches now, Marc)
Brunching
Saying good bye to a well respected colleague
Losing weight, gaining some back, but mostly losing
Getting notes in the mail
Giving up swearing for Lent (Effing bloody hard, I would add!)
Potlucking it
Drinking someone under the table – Ah foolish mortals!
Buying books – at last count over 10 anyway – yikes
Watching Weeds on Showcase – who knew drug dealers were so entertaining?
Welcoming a new addition to my family
Writing an outline for a piece I’m submitting to a summer writing program
Separating whites from darks
Buying Coldplay tickets
Baking cookies
Wowing ‘em
Sending silly text messages
Trying to be there for someone who really needed me to listen
…and of course
Reading

See. It’s no wonder I didn’t have time to post anything here (big grin).

Have two book reviews to write… The Maytrees by Annie Dillard and Memories of My Melancholy Whores by my favourite author, Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I’ll post these separately as both books deserve their own space, unsullied by my silliness. Am currently reading David Sedaris’ hilarious Me Talk Pretty One Day.

As for the weightier portion of this year’s project, as of today I’ve lost 7.6 lbs. Hard won and I’m pleased with that. Zigzagging a bit, but nonetheless moving slowing down the scale is how best to describe my weight loss to date. March is a terrifically social month for me, rivaling Christmas in events and dinners. We may zig more than zag, but the most important thing for me always is to be happy with myself and enjoy my life fully.

So, there you go. Caught up completely. Thrilled to bits to be planning my trip. Fam and friends around to celebrate no less than 7 birthdays this month, plus St. Paddy’s Day. Work chugging happily along and wonderfully, spring is just around the corner. What could be better?!!

The Beauty Myth

2009-02-12T17:22:00.002-05:00

I am nothing if not resilient. It’s actually, I think, one of my best qualities. That is not to say that I don’t also have many annoying and quirky things about my personality too. But, the ability to bounce back, to keep on going is most certainly a shining star in the constellation of my characteristics. Wallowing, getting mired down in a rut doesn’t suit me. Perhaps it’s the short attention span, who knows. As I strive to lose weight this is an advantage. No matter how far back I fall, I refuse to accept that I cannot drop these pounds. My last lapse pissed me off royally. I worked hard for those 6 lbs. To undo that effort in a week of socializing was more than irritating. Back on track and eerily exactly on schedule for my one pound per week goal, I have again arrived at the 6lbs I achieved a few weeks ago. I know this process will have its ups and downs. I am trying here to affect some lasting change, not just drop some weight to fit into a dress or bathing suit.

I’ve been talking with many people these past weeks about weight and body image. Motivation to lose weight is a personal thing. For me, this has nothing at all to do with how I look to myself or others, but more about how I feel about me.

Beauty, as a measure of one’s worth is an interesting concept. It is natural, I think, to be drawn to beautiful people and things. Vibrantly coloured paintings, puppies, sunsets, water lilies are all very attractive. Yet, notions of the physical beauty of people confound me. I get that some of this is carnal. I am not immune to ripped abs, a killer smile or nice round butt. But, the idea that one form of beauty is superior to another is surely flawed. Further, that one person can be considered beautiful merely by the way they look seems ridiculous.

I long ago made peace with my body in terms of what it will and won’t look like. My curly hair will always be a bit wild. My skin will never be golden or tanned, rather pale. My hips will always be curvy. I will never be tall and I will always have short fingers. Nonetheless, from my point of view, I think I am attractive and cannot imagine that image of myself changing.

Too much attention is paid I believe to the outer image of a person, missing entirely the importance of things like character, intelligence and heart. What lies within us, as Emerson said, is the stuff that matters. And in contemplating that, I come to the real motivator for my losing weight. I must do this simply because I promised myself I would. Because pushing myself to achieve something that is difficult is important for me as a person. My rubenesque body will not be whittled down into a skinny shadow of itself. (God forbid I would lose my rack!) Rather, I hope it to be trimmed slightly to a healthier version of the same old me. Still curvy, still short and still beautiful.

Review & Preview

2009-02-11T15:43:00.005-05:00

Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress

“This fellow Balzac is a wizard.”

And in truth, so is Dai Sijie. His charming coming of age story of two city boys sent to the mountains for re-education during China’s Cultural Revolution was thoroughly delightful. The narrator and his pal Luo are stuck in a tiny village away from everything dear to them because their parents are deemed “enemies of the state”. Sent to toil in the rocky village on Phoenix Mountain, the boys long for home, despairing they will never be released back to civilization. A chance meeting with the young daughter of a local tailor and their friendship with this “Little Seamstress”, stirs feelings in the boys they have never experienced as both are drawn to her beauty and charm. Stumbling upon a hidden stash of contraband western literature exposes the boys to ideas about love, honour, and philosophical points of view never imagined. As Luo acts out and reads Balzac to the Little Seamstress as a means to seduce her, the narrator’s own confidence grows; inspired by the books he reads which include classics by Flaubert, Dumas, Dickens and others.

Funny and appealing, Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress is a good read.

The Maytrees

Annie Dillard is a wonderfully talented artist. Opening up The Maytrees the other night, I was immediately struck by the mastery of this author. My absolute favourite kind of book to read – this story is full of beautifully evocative words, emotionally rich and colourfully painted scenes to sense and feel. It’s already proving difficult for me to slow my pace a bit and savour this treat. Dillard has written a moving story about the love shared between Toby Maytree and Lou Bigelow and I am hooked.

Fantabulous!

2009-02-05T15:55:00.002-05:00

What a bloody awesome day!

Wrote and passed my Project Management Certification exam! All hail the new PMP Queen.
Made the last payment on my longstanding loan and am now debt free - gimme an OH YAH!!!
Weighed in and have knocked 3.4 more lbs off my total, undoing a good chunk of last week's damage.

Wonderful, splendid, rapturously magnificent day.

UGH

2009-01-31T08:43:00.003-05:00

Well it was bound to happen. I guess I can take some scant comfort in the fact that it’s early in the year, with time to recoup my losses. Life has officially gotten in the way of my projects and this past week has been a tough one. Studying for my project management certification, preparing for a key presentation at work, a birthday party and 2 nights out with friends for gossipy pints have undone most of the progress I made in weight loss.

To break down the last eight days in Bridget Jones speak:

Pints of Guinness drank – 8, but more likely 9
Cheesy breakfast burritos eaten while gabbing about politics and religion – 1
Glasses of lovely Australian Shiraz – 3
Hours spent analyzing and formatting data into spectacular colourful presentation slides – 30
Pieces of chocolate birthday cake consumed – 1
Nights spent socializing instead of studying – 3
On scale of one to ten stress level over pending exam this coming week – 12
Books read for pleasure – 0.5
Pounds regained – 5!!!

Audible sigh.

In the good news category, I have little time to do much else but study these next few days, so the chances of my doing more damage to project pudge are low. And, if the truth be told, despite stressing over my exam and working my ass off to wow my client at work I had a wonderfully entertaining few nights out and enjoyed celebrating my niece Maeve’s birthday.

So book reviews and posts may be a bit sparse this next week, but come Thursday we’ll be back to our prolific selves. All things in balance is I guess the best way to look at this past week. For, in the end, all I can do is persevere. Despite this setback, life is afterall pretty damn good.

Slowly but slowly...

2009-01-22T07:52:00.001-05:00

Another good week.... 6lbs now.

Let the fur fly

2009-01-21T14:02:00.009-05:00

Fur is back and I’m mad as hell.

I get it. It's cold out. Really cold. Fingertip freezing, toe numbing, cold outside. But seriously, fur?

Lately in my comings and goings, I have noticed more people wearing fur hats and coats, fur lined gloves and jackets. Just this morning on my way to work, I saw two different women wearing fur coats on the subway. Shaking my head as I got off the train, there in line for coffee was another woman in a Davey Crocketesque hat, complete with the tail. Oblivious to the grotesque animal carcass she was sporting on her head, she took her time deciding between the blueberry muffin and the lemon danish.

What is going on in this world when we think that wearing fur is an acceptable fashion statement? Why are the lives of these animals, killed for garments, of less value than ours? Here are some things to consider:

Simply put, wearing fur is inhumane. There is no such thing as humane slaughter. Animals killed, for whatever the reason suffer excruciating pain in the same way a human being would in those same circumstances.

Think about it, if you were hung upside down, skinned alive, plucked or gutted, on a scale of 1 to 10, how much pain would you feel?

Did you know that to make a 40 inch fur coat it takes about:
200 chinchilla
20 foxes
40 raccoons
35 rabbits
16 coyotes
15 wolves
16 bobcats
8 seals

Trapping maims and kills. Animals caught in barbaric steel traps often suffer extreme blood loss, struggling to get free will gnaw off a limb, and are often killed by animal predators. Traps often accidentally trap unintended animals such as dogs, cats and birds.

The animal kingdom self regulates. The fur industry uses overpopulation as a justification to continue their insensate hunting, trapping and killing of animals. In reality, trapping often disrupts wildlife populations, killing healthy animals needed to keep the species strong and stranding babies who need to fend for themselves.

Fur farms mean pain and poison. The majority of fur produced comes from animals bred on fur farms. Like many other factory farms, these animals are kept in overcrowded conditions. Stress caused by the inhumane way in which the animals are caged causes them to self mutilate. Because these farmers are solely concerned about the quality of the pelts, the killing methods used include poison, genital electrocution and breaking the necks of these animals.

Would you wear the pelt of your dog? Despite what the fur industry says, in some countries fur from cats and dogs is used, and labeling is falsified so as not to offend its North American and European consumers. While the lives of our companion animals are no less precious than that of any other living being, if thinking of fur garments in this context helps to make wearing and buying fur less appealing, it’s something to consider.

Anti-fur and animal rights organizations ask you to think of it this way: every fur coat, lining, or piece of trim represents the intense suffering of animals, whether they were trapped, ranched, or even unborn. This cruelty will end only when the public refuses to buy or wear fur.

For more information, click www.peta.org/actioncenter/clothing.asp or http://www.furisdead.com/

“One day the absurdity of the almost universal human belief in the slavery of other animals will be palpable. We shall then have discovered our souls and become worthier of sharing this planet with them."

Martin Luther King, Jr.

Who knew?

2009-01-20T19:12:00.009-05:00

On this historic day, I'm hard pressed to comment on anything more significant than the inauguration of President Barack Obama. Watching his speech today, I was particularly struck by his comments about the responsibility of the "have nations" to the rest of the world.

"To the people of poor nations, we pledge to work alongside you to make your farms flourish and let clean waters flow; to nourish starved bodies and feed hungry minds.
And to those nations like ours that enjoy relative plenty, we say we can no longer afford indifference to suffering outside our borders; nor can we consume the worlds resources without regard to effect.

For the world has changed, and we must change with it."

Regardless of the expectations and difficulties that lay ahead, today, in the world, a good thing happened. I look hopefully to what the future holds. And, if this feeling is not sufficient to buoy one's spirits, I was pleased to find out that evidently, Barack Obama is Irish!

See for yourself:

No one as Irish as Barack OBama

O'Leary, O'Reilly, O'Hare and O'Hara

There's no one as Irish as Barack O'Bama

You don't believe me, I hear you say But Barack's as Irish, as was JFK

His granddaddy's daddy came from Moneygall

A small Irish village, well known to you all

Toor a loo, toor a loo, toor a loo, toor a lama

There's no one as Irish As Barack O'Bama

He's as Irish as bacon and cabbage and stew

He's Hawaiian he's Kenyan American too

He’s in the white house, He took his chance

Now let’s see Barack do Riverdance

Toor a loo, toor a loo, toor a loo, toor a lama

There's no one as Irish As Barack O'Bama

From Kerry and cork to old Donegal

Let’s hear it for Barack from old moneygall

From the lakes if Killarney to old Connemara

There’s no one as Irish as Barack O’Bama

O'Leary, O'Reilly, O'Hare and O'Hara

There's no one as Irish as Barack O'Bama

From the old blarney stone to the great hill of Tara

There's no one as Irish as Barack O'Bama

2008 the white house is green,

their cheering in Mayo and in Skibereen.

The Irish in Kenya, and in Yokahama,

Are cheering for President Barack O’Bama

O'Leary, O'Reilly, O'Hare and O'Hara

There's no one as Irish as Barack O'Bama

The Hockey Moms gone, and so is McCain

They are cheering in Texas and in Borrisokane,

In Moneygall town, the greatest of drama,

for our Famous president Barack o Bama

Toor a loo, toor a loo, toor a loo, toor a lama

There's no one as Irish As Barack O'Bama

The great Stephen Neill, a great man of God,

He proved that Barack was from the Auld Sod

They came by bus and they came by car,

to celebrate Barack in Ollie Hayes’s Bar

O'Leary, O'Reilly, O'Hare and O'Hara

There's no one as Irish as Barack O'Bama

By
Hardy Drew

Review & Preview

2009-01-16T14:48:00.006-05:00

The Devil and Miss Prym

If you thought that you could get away with it, with no one ever being the wiser, would you:

Lie about your age?
Cheat on your diet, an exam in school or your taxes?
Help yourself to a snack from the bulk bin?
Turn the annoyingly loud ringer down on your work colleague’s cell phone?
Cheat on your partner or spouse?
Pocket money dropped in the street by a passerby?
Fudge the credentials on your resumé?
Repeat juicy and devastatingly embarrassing gossip about the breakdown of a competitor’s marriage?
Cash in a winning lottery ticket that does not belong to you?

What if you thought that your actions were for a greater good? Given the same circumstances, could you:

Kidnap an abused dog from a neighbour’s yard?
Move your loved one’s name to the top of a transplant list?
Have killed Hitler?

Temptation. At times easy to resist, sometimes achingly alluring. Some temptations give you pause, make you wonder “what if”, some are deftly rebuffed. Regardless of the enticement, it usually boils down to a matter of morality. A moral person can find the strength to resist evil in its many forms, where an immoral person cannot. Right? Or is it that simple? The struggle of humankind to be good or evil is the topic of Paulo Coelho’s book, The Devil and Miss Prym. This thought provoking, even if at times somewhat obvious tale was a reasonably enjoyable read. Coelho has written a series of books, each with a particular theme – wisdom, virtue, temptation and so on. While I am usually interested in philosophizing over the responsibility of choice, the impact of fate and importance of perspective in one’s life, something about the simplicity with which this story was told made it less compelling a read. Predictable is the word that comes to mind. Predictable, and not all that tempting.

Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress

Next on my list is Dai Sijie’s bestseller, Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress. This is a book that was tailor made for my list. The whole point of this year’s project was to find time to read books which I have been missing out on. I bought this book a few years ago and it has been gathering dust on my shelves for a while. Much anticipated at the time and yet passed over for other volumes, I am hoping to enjoy this week’s book a lot. Balzac is the story of two city boys exiled to a mountain village during China’s Cultural Revolution. There in the remote setting, they meet the daughter of the local tailor and come into a treasure – a set of Chinese translations of forbidden western classic literature. A book about the pleasure and adventures of books, this is my kind of story!

Like a rock

2009-01-15T16:00:00.002-05:00

As a young girl I have fond memories of visiting my grandparents at their cottage in Elliot Lake, Ontario. Driving up north, we always knew we were getting close when the highway on either side became framed by the solid rock through which the road had been carved. Imposing walls of granite sprouted up for mile after mile as we drove into the Canadian Shield. Rocky and remote, it seemed to me that my grandparent’s cottage was in frontier land – relatively untouched and undeveloped. Yet, here in this rustic environment, my grandfather had created a small oasis. A place to relax, spend time reading and enjoying time with my Grandma, surrounded by wilderness.

Grandpa was a creative and artistic man. He carved beautiful figurines of wood. I remember horses and dolphins. Snappily dressed at all times, he was a gourmet cook, an avid reader, a music lover and a great letter writer. It seems odd now to think of him in such a rustic environment. I recall finding an old mason jar filled with beautiful shiny stones on a bookshelf one day. Asking him about it, he showed me his rock tumbler. He would take old stones and rocks he’d find while out walking and polish them up in his tumbler to expose their inner beauty. I was astonished. Being young, I had no idea how that tumbler worked, but it fascinated me. Rough grey dirty stones went in and shiny blue veined or purplish or orange spotted beauties came out. It seemed magical.

Since first spying that rock tumbler, I have been fascinated by rocks. Like people, each stone is unique, each rock a journey in itself. A story. Playing on the beach at our family cottage years later, we used to collect stones and bits of beach glass to paint or glue together into little rock people. We’d play with our creations for hours. Naming our rocks and giving them little back stories. We would cover our dull stones with red sparkles or blue painted happy faces, making the rocks pretty, oblivious to the natural beauty within the stone itself.

As an adult, in my travels I have frequently picked up a rock as I’ve roamed and taken it home with me. Stones I found while walking by the Seine in Paris, rest on my bookshelves amongst others I collected in Galway Bay and the red limestone inukshuk of stones given me by Mom. Each one a reminder of something special in my life.

I’d like to think that when I’m gone, I will leave the world a better place. That I will have brought joy to some, comfort to others, enriched rather than tainted those I touched. But maybe the best I can hope for is to be remembered like my rocks… solid and well traveled, somewhat worn around the edges, steadfast, beautiful on the inside and utterly unique.

Gimme an OH YAH!

2009-01-15T07:45:00.005-05:00

I'll write something more eloquent later, but with this week's tally in, I've now lost a total of 5.2 lbs.

WOO HOO.

Despite feeling like crap with this damn cold, I managed to stay on program and even squeeze in a workout or two!

Germs

2009-01-13T21:25:00.007-05:00

Germs. They’re everywhere. In the air we breathe, on the things we touch. Omnipresent little micro organisms, ready to multiply. Germs are infectious, they spread. Without question, from where I sit today sniffling and coughing, germs are bad news. As I continue to nurse my cold, with nothing better to do than blow my nose, too headachy to read for very long, assured by friends and family that “something” is going around, I wondered where I picked up this cold. There’s no real way to be sure. The germs just landed here with me, said “she looks like a soft place to land” and took root.

I was still thinking about my germs when I started to browse my bookshelves to decide which book from my list will come next. (One good thing about being off sick, I have plenty of time to read – in short spurts – sigh). Pulling a few books to look through, I noticed a copy of Mitch Albom’s Five People You Meet in Heaven. This is a story of a man who died. Arriving in heaven, he meets five people who were; unbeknownst to him, significant to his life and the path it took. I was struck by the simplicity and beauty of this story when I read it years ago. I finished the book feeling a renewed determination to live with intention, meaning. It was like a little seed was planted in my brain. A germ of an idea.

As someone who writes stories, a germ of an idea is the first wonderful step. That golden nugget. You rub it, fluff its pillow, hoping it will get comfy and decide to stay for awhile. Maybe invite a few friends in, have a drink, swap stories and get to know each other. My kind of germ. I know that medically, there are both good and bad microbes. Some germs, like some ideas, do good work for us. Keep us healthy. They cleanse us, heal us, and become part of us. I’ve always known that words have that power. I think that’s what draws me most to books. The power to move. The power to wound. The power to inspire. The power to challenge. The power to affect. The power to change.

I know there are a plethora of daunting ideas and worries floating around us each day. Little nay-saying missiles launched by people consumed with regret or insecurity, intent on their own agendas. You can let them burn a hole through your good humour or slather yourself in ideological sunscreen, letting in only the positive rays.

Toodles for now... I've got a pillow to fluff.

Now is the winter of our discontent....

2009-01-11T11:34:00.007-05:00

I am the Xanthippe of patients. I admit it. When sick, I turn into a grumpy, whiney, ill tempered bitch. It started on Friday. By yesterday morning I had a full fledged head cold with all the inherently delightful symptoms - nose running like a tap, achy limbs, cough, rapid fire sneezing. Pissed off and put out, I spent the better part of yesterday hibernating, moving my blankets and Kleenex box back and forth from couch to bed, dozing, drinking tea and feeling sorry for myself. Groaning this morning at the thought of leaving my warm bed to walk Murphy in the cold, I had myself worked up into quite the funk by the time I had parka and boots on. Let’s make this quick, I thought.

Tugging Murph along as he tried to burrow gleefully into the snow banks, I grunted the odd hello to a fellow walker en route. Despite the clear blue sky and picturesque snow-covered trees lining our street, irritated by the snot dripping from my nose I turned back early to head home. Cutting through the back of our building, I let Murphy off the leash to romp some in the back field before we went it. Quiet and bright, this is one of my favourite places to be early in the morning. Last night’s snowfall having covered most of the recent tracks, we had a clean slate here, just us two. Murph happily lying in the middle of the field chewing on a stick, I noticed the shimmer coming off the snow around him, like diamond sandpaper. Sparkles everywhere. It was a perfect moment. Then I sneezed. Then coughed. Then unsuccessfully tried to sniffle up the snot before it ran any further. And, just like that, the diamonds disappeared.

Back home, pj’s back on and waiting for the kettle to boil, I looked down at Murphy. He didn’t care that I cut his walk short. He happily laid there on the kitchen floor gnawing his rawhide, content. He was happy in the snow banks, he was happy with his stick, he is happy here on the kitchen floor. It occurred to me then how right that is.

I hate whiney people. I really do. Whinging, pissing, moaning, morose, joy vampires. I loathe them. I’d like to think that most of the time, I am not like that. But in truth, I could come up with quite a list of silly things I’ve whined about recently. Just off the top of my head, I know I have bitched that:
· I don’t have enough to do at work
· My winter skin can’t get enough moisturizer
· I don’t see my friends enough
· Its too hot in my apartment
· I am too busy at work
· I can’t afford a vacation
· Its cold outside
· I didn’t like the movie I saw last week
· My writing is shite
· I am not drinking enough water
· The bus was late
· I have no time for myself
· I can’t decide between visiting Spain and Italy this summer
· I am peeing too much from drinking all this water
· The bus was early
· The neighbours are loud
· I’m not writing enough
· I’m whining too much
I’ll stop there. It’s enough to make a girl sick!

Now, political and social commentary I love. Essayists enthrall me. A lively respectful debate, and I’m your girl. As a news junkie, there are no shortage of stories around if all I really wanted was a good bitch session. Yet for each tale of greed or corruption, a turn of the page changes bad to good. Yesterday I read an article about the healing power of the mind. A man, Mr. Wright, given a drug he thought to be a cure for his cancer riddled body, experienced miraculous shrinkage in his tumors almost overnight. Noting in a medical journal that the drug he had taken was considered flawed, his condition began to worsen. Given a placebo, believing it a strengthened and improved strain of the previous drug, Mr. Wright rebounded again with startling rapidity. In this article, the mind of Mr. Wright was in itself the miracle.

While I'm no Ms. Wright (sorry I couldn't resist), I recognize that I have more control over my congestion induced distemper than I do most other things in my life. And so, headache notwithstanding, I’ll rally for now and decide to limit the winter of my discontent to a healthier 36 hour timeslot. Diamonds, that's your cue!

Review & Preview

2009-01-09T11:47:00.006-05:00

I’m sad to see Paddy Clarke take up residence on my bookshelf. I have enjoyed spending time with him. He reminded me some of my nephew, Connor. Curious, full of beans, a smarty pants with a bottomless imagination, Paddy Clarke is a memorable character. Roddy Doyle’s at times tender and often hilarious snapshot of life in rural Ireland, the banter of young boys all rough and tumble was a joy. Sad, silly, authentic and irreverent, Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha is a book I would easily recommend.

A Novel of Temptation

This week’s book is Paul Coelho’s “The Devil and Miss Prym”. A modern day parable about greed, humanity and the struggle between good and evil. I read the Alchemist some time ago and very much enjoyed it. Coelho’s famous for his allegoric story telling, a genre which appeals to me. Besides, who can resist a tale of the devil and bars of gold!

It would be absolutely, totally and in all other ways, inconceivable!

2009-01-08T12:26:00.005-05:00

I have no idea how it happened, but as far as I can tell and with very little effort on my part, I lost a pound this week. Granted, I didn’t overdo it in the eating department. And, I walked my usual routes each day with Murph. But, other than increasing the amount of water I drank to the recommended 6 or so glasses each day, I put no effort at all towards losing weight. I know it will take a lot more effort than this to slim down 50 lbs. But for today, I’ll assume that water I drank flushed away a pound and take that pound with glee. Consider it a New Year’s gift from the cosmos.

The universe speaks to me from time to time. I know how that sounds, but it’s true. It nudges me, sends me signs, and encourages me. Silly metaphors aside, I do believe that when you make decisions in life that are right for you, especially tough ones, the path you have chosen opens up a bit, clearing the way so you can proceed. The key is to hurry your way down the path while you can. This morning, having just weighed myself and buoyed by my much unearned success, I found tucked under a black cammie in my dresser, my black bathing suit. Wanting to go swimming as part of my new exercise plan, I had searched high and low this past weekend for the only suit I have that doesn’t make me feel like a complete chub. Today, having inconceivably achieved some small measure of success in losing weight, the universe spoke. It dropped my bathing suit right in plain view and said, get your wobbly butt to the pool and do some laps.

Procrastination has been a constant companion of mine. It’s been comfortably residing in my world with its cousin Justification for years. I have convinced myself that I work best under pressure, leaving things to the last possible second. And, to my credit I do get stuff done. Deep down though, I know that an inglorious, slow and steady pace is much more effective than my dramatic, rush to the finish line approach. It’s not sexy but it works. Obviously, getting healthy is not something you can leave to the last second in life, jamming in good eating habits and workouts at the end. Would that it were so.

Reading books that interest and challenge me is not a hardship. I am thoroughly (40 pages from the end of Paddy Clarke) enjoying myself in that regard. But committing to change a lifetime of habits of obesity, seriously earnestly really trying to reshape my body, and improve my overall health, that is hard. Really, really, hard. Way harder than actually living life fat. Procrastination is getting excited now, as she sees I might be coming to visit for a while. But she’s wrong. Not today. Today, because the path is clear, I’m heading down the road less traveled. I’m going for a swim.

Happiness is....

2009-01-07T09:41:00.005-05:00

At the risk of breaking my one and only New Year's resolution, I noted that when I got to the office today, many had opted to work from home. Hmmmm. I wonder why that could be. Hahaha. I'm in and I've a fairly long shopping list of things I need to get done, both creatively and otherwise, so for now, and as a mechanism to say something about me, here's a list.

I recently saw part of an interview Lenny Kravitz gave when last in Canada. Asked what inspires him musically, he said "Love". In that spirit, here is a list of things that make me happy... what I love:

Murphy's head on my lap

Toile

The Canadian flag

Serena Ryder's song Weak in the Knees

Having a pedicure

Being by the water

All things chocolate

Lint rollers

Optimism

Mechanical pencils

Southern Accent on Markham St.

When Mom called me Meesa

Guinness

The colour of my bedroom

A fresh page to write on

Earl Grey tea

Connor's giggle

Knitting

Gremlins who leave notes for me

Watching Murph jump off the end of a dock into the lake

Mr. Strunk and Mr. White

Time spent gabbing on Marc and Marco's couch

Pictures of my father

Mexican blue glass

That I give a damn

Ironing

My monstrous clan

Playing guess the animal

Days spent in my pj's

The Caring & Sharing program

Curly hair

Listening to Greg sing

Differing points of view

My tattoos

Pages on Queen St.

Being vegetarian

The smell of lavender

Knowing peace is possible

Getting lost in a good book

Red headed men

That I am Autie MB

Baking pies

Finding the right words

My cozy little abode

Sunday morning crossword puzzles

The change of seasons

Pickle chiffon pie and giants who come in different sizes

Laura in the gardening wagon

Hydrangeas

Girls with twinkle toes

Life is grand indeed.

Eureka

2009-01-06T15:00:00.001-05:00

It’s Epiphany today. Growing up, Epiphany was a big deal. As kids, we used to dress up as the “four” kings (my youngest brother Chris not born yet) and bring gifts to the Baby Jesus in our nativity scene. Walking Murph this morning in the snow covered streets of Leaside; I noticed that many of my neighbours celebrate this feast day by dismantling the Christmas decorations, as trees were piled up all along the curbsides. Visits from the Wise Men notwithstanding, getting rid of the needle dropping, fire hazardish branches in time for garbage pick up was the priority.

Waking up as I walked, my brain cranked through the things I have to do today, I decided on what I was going to wear, and mentally reviewed my day’s agenda. Finally, I got round to more philosophical thoughts and wondered about epiphanies. Have I had any recently? When was the last time I thought Eureka! I get it! I realized immediately I wouldn’t ever say Eureka. I don’t have Oprahesque ah-hah moments. More likely, if I did, I’d say something like Holy Fuck! I can be a bit of a potty mouth at times.

The Irish are great cursers. Not in the I curse you and all your ancestors manner, but in the balls out, creatively punctuating everyday conversation kind of way. I like that. Its real, its authentic, its not meant to be offensive. I understand that James Joyce’s Ulysses is a book famous for its use of profanity. We’ll see about that when I get to this book on my list.

What I enjoy most about books is simply that I love words. Interesting turns of phrase, evocative emotional descriptions and a well placed f-bomb all delight me equally. In Paddy Clarke, the boys take new words they hear in class, and randomly insert them in daily life. Ignoramus. Substandard. Trellis. A frequent Friday night game involves the ring leader demanding each member of Paddy’s gang give themselves a nickname for the week. The dirtier the word, the better. Fuck was the best word. The most dangerous word. For a 10 year old boy in rural Ireland, that’s likely true. For a female in 2009, it’s still somewhat of a social taboo. We have codes of conduct at work and censorship in many forms of media. I don’t like the idea that something is verboten. I bristle at the thought of being told what to do. I’ve realized as I’ve gotten older, that direct, clear, straight up communication works best for me. Sometimes that means an intelligent well reasoned argument and sometimes, as said Mark Twain is to have said, I have found solace in profanity unexcelled even by prayer.

Eureka!

Once you choose hope, anything's possible. (Christopher Reeve)

2009-01-05T13:13:00.002-05:00

Getting off the subway this morning at Dundas Station, there were several paramedics examining a man laying on his back on the platform, near the ticket booth. The police and TTC security were there sheltering the man from prying eyes and encouraging commuters to keep moving. As I walked past, I heard one of the paramedics ask the man “were you trying to kill yourself”. This surprised me. He looked ok. Unhurt, awake, sober.

I’m a hopeful person. I rebound easily to the ups and few downs that life has thrown me and try to be positive about life, living presently, looking forward not back. I have no idea what was going on with this man on the subway floor this morning, but he got me thinking about hope. With my recent bout of Obamamania waning, as I read the headlines this weekend of the bombing in Gaza, the doomsday economic predictions for 2009 and the panic which ensued at the indications of another tsunami off Indonesia’s coast, hope seemed farthest from my mind. And yet, there as if to salve the hurts of the world, tucked on the back of one section of the Globe I found Ian Brown’s monthly installment of his correspondence with L’Arche founder, Jean Vanier.

I love reading letters. As a communication method, in this day of instant messaging and skype, letters are nearly extinct. But reading letters seem to me wonderfully permanent, more thoughtful and intimate. Brown and Vanier discuss many things, not the least of which is Brown’s parenting of a disabled son and Vanier’s life work building communities for the disabled around the world. What struck me about this weekend’s installment was the simplicity of Vanier’s words. Brown was asking about pacifism and the notion of a just war in this day and age. Vanier’s message is simple. Peace is the answer. Intentional, consistent, loving welcome of the difference amongst each of us is the road to peace.

Some might find this thinking naive. I find it encouraging. And so I hope.
I hope the man from the subway is ok.
I hope the fighting stops in Gaza.
I hope I can resist chocolate.
I hope to make a living as a writer.
I hope my sisters give up smoking.
I hope the economic crisis stabilizes without too much hardship for those on the edge.
I hope to romp and laugh and play more.
I hope the Leafs win the Stanley Cup.
I hope to learn a new language.
I hope for peace.
It's possible.

Tell me more Marley, but speak comfort to me.

2009-01-04T18:30:00.011-05:00

Its been a puttering sort of day as I relax for one more, prior to heading back to work tomorrow. Christmas is finally over. Being abit of a Scrooge, I have to admit a certain relief as the Christmas hubbub ends. I love spending time with my friends and family, but luckily, I do that all year round. The stress, the crowds, the annual goodwill towards men effort, the materialism are all things I can do without. That said, these past few weeks have been enjoyable. I happily supped and laughed with the family (garnering myself a new nickname - heretofore I shall be called Darth Vegan), enjoyed good chat and many drinks with friends, made snow angels, baked, read and took frequent long walks with Murphy. Oh, and saw my usual blitz of year end movies. 2 excellent flicks and 2 disappointments. 50-50 (hah!)

Benjamin Button and Slumdog Millionaire are both being well received and likely candidates come award season. A curious and unique story(I didn't read the Hemingway book on which its based), I found Benjamin Button a beautiful homage to a life spent loving and paths crossing. I can't say much more about Slumdog Millionaire that hasn't already been written. Its a must see in my book. Funny (that autograph scene - SNORT!), endearing and hopeful. Utterly enjoyable.

Opposite to these two movie going experiences, I was reminded of CBC columnist, Heather Mallick's New Year's entry (http://www.heathermallick.ca/cbc.ca-columns/new-years-resolutions-how-i-suffer.html) as I was coming out of Quantum of Solace. Bond movies are usually good for a light cinematic romp. But despite its horrific reviews, I still plunked down my cash and with only the Scene membership points to show for it, came away un-enthralled, unimpressed and understandably bored. Mallick's first resolution this New Year was to learn from her Mamma Mia experience. You know its going to be bad. Don't put yourself through it.

I don't make resolutions at the beginning of the year. But, only because its too good not to, I'm stealing another one from Ms. Mallick. My one and only New Year's resolution is to stop discussing the weather. It's boring. I'm not boring.... and frankly there are much better things to talk about. Unfortunately, one of these things is not my last movie of the year, Marley and Me. Now, I read this book and loved it. Someone gave me a copy a few weeks after I got Murphy. He looked identical to the dog on the cover of the book (that's Murph in the inset - isn't he cute!!).

As a new dog owner, I inhaled the book, laughing and crying my way through it. I love a book that can evoke both. Thing is, as it goes for most books I've enjoyed, the movies just don't deliver. (Insert cringing emoticon at the thought of what they did to my beloved Garcia Marquez classic, Love in the Time of Cholera.) Owen Wilson simply doesn't have the acting depth to handle some of the more emotional scenes in Marley and Me, and Jennifer Aniston... well, she just annoys me. Talentless. (Sorry Jen, nothing personal).

So from my point of view, in movieland this year, Bond bites, Benji's a beauty and Marley ain't no Slumdog.

Bring on The Wrestler!

"Childhood is that wonderful time when all you need to do to lose weight is to take a bath."

2009-01-03T10:51:00.007-05:00

I wonder what it would be like to be thin. Well not thin, but not fat. Average size. Normal. A size 10 or an 8. Yes, an 8 would be just right. At a 22, an 8 seems unreachable. I suffer at the 22. I am a confident person - quite happy and accomplished, sexy and funny. And yet, the 22 me yearns for that 8’s body; that 8’s confidence, the carefree easy "I don’t have to worry what people really think of me" 8’s way of looking at life. An 8 me would jog and wear sleeveless dresses. An 8 me would know I don’t have to try so hard to be smart and sexy because as an 8, things would come naturally to me.

The 22 me knows this is a load of shit. The 22 me is positive she’s smarter and more evolved. The 22 me is funnier, wiser, and abit sadder. So, the 22 me, as shallow as it is, aches for her 22 stomach and thighs to melt away, to shrink down, fizzle into nothingness, or at least into eightishness. The 22 me tires of focusing all her attention on her pretty toes and gorgeous brown curly hair, skipping over the curves and all the wobbly bits in the middle. The 22 me would love to slip into that perfect size 8 dress, slide on a gorgeous pair of sling back high heels and waltz out the door to no one in particular, never giving a thought to how she looks, because she knows deep down she is just as damn beautiful on the outside as she is inside.

I wrote that passage last year as an assignment for one of my writing classes. It seems to sum up where I'm at these days. The how I do it (as long as its healthily) is less important to me than actually achieving this 50 lb. goal. I know 50 won't get me into an 8, but from where I sit today, it would allow me to see its possibility and put me back on the other side of 200. A place I haven't visited in a long long while. I am focusing on the food angle right now, until I can set myself up with a place to work out this week. Activity is the key and I'm fairly lazy in that regard, but determined. If only I could find a way to work out and read at the same time.

Which brings me to my new friend, Paddy Clarke. I take back now what I said earlier about not liking writing from a child's perspective. This is a delight. A gem. I haven't been to Raheny (in Co. Dublin), but in my imagination, the sights and smells of my many trips to Ireland fill in the gaps.

There's a funny passage early in the book where Paddy decides to make communion hosts from regular bread, flattening it down and leaving it on the windowsill to harden. Later, he wonders if its a sin to be even making the hosts. Undaunted, and despite the bits of mould that have grown on his "hosts" he still administers communion to his little brother, Sinbad.

I'm a leper! Wobble wobble wobble.

Irish Mischief

2009-01-02T11:09:00.007-05:00

Paddy Clark Ha Ha Ha (Roddy Doyle)

I wanted to start with something engaging, funny and reasonably light. The book is the story of a 10 year old boy in 1960's Ireland and the events that surround his life. Doyle's best known for his trilogy, The Commitments, Snapper and The Van.

Normally, I don't enjoy books written from a child's point of view. I prefer a more adult sense of humour. I started reading Paddy Clarke on my way out to Mississauga yesterday for New Year's dinner with my family. Coming from an Irish background myself and having spent some time in Ireland, the vernacular and turn of phrase Doyle uses as Paddy and his friends get into mischief is familiar to me and smirkworthy. Enjoyable so far. Doyle's certainly a master of dialogue. I like a man who gives good chat!

Am off to the movies and then to the market. Toodles.

Oh jeesh! The List

2009-01-01T12:39:00.001-05:00

I almost forgot... the list. Yikes... Well I said I'm new at this, right?!!!

The Books
Wuthering Heights, Bronte
Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, Eggers
The Age of Reason, Sartre
She’s Come Undone, Lamb
Farewell to Arms, Hemingway
The Golden Notebook, Lessing
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Smith
Madame Bovary, Flaubert
Master Pip, Jones
Me Talk Pretty Some Day, Sedaris
March, Brooks
The Elegance of the Hedgehoge, Burbary
Memoirs of My Melancholy Whores, Garcia Marquez
The Bell Jar, Plath
The Maytrees, Dillard
Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha, Doyle
Colony of Unrequited Dreams, Johnston
Country Girls, O’Brien
Ulysses, Joyce
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Twain
The Stone Angel, Laurence
Great Expectations, Dickens
A Room of One’s Own, Woolf
Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage, Munro
A Passage to India, Forster
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Pirsig
On the Road, Keroac
A Fine Balance, Mistry
Paradise Lost, Milton
At Swim Two Birds, Flann O’Brien
Things Fall Apart, Achebe
Middlemarch, Eliot
Lovely Bones, Sebold
Late Nights on Air, Hay
Given Day, Lehane

Pretty good selection, eh??

So here goes: 50 in 50! Breathe in and begin...

2009-01-01T12:10:00.001-05:00

Hello world. MB here. I'll save the intros for later as this first post will be uncharacteristically brief. Not wanting to procrastinate any longer, today's the day. Diving straight in with little knowledge of blogdom, but having spent most of my adult life writing and chronicling in one form or another, I felt it was time to get out there. To muse, write, philosophize, rant, babble, ponder, gab, and well, just simply communicate.

At almost 46 (leaning towards 50 as the header goes) and realizing the passage of time, I've hatched a plan for the coming year. A project of sorts. A challenge for myself. So here's the subplot. Its fairly simple and the rules are straight forward enough. 50 books, 50 pounds in 50 weeks. Give or take. Ideas, stories, knowledge and points of view in..... bulk, weight, heft out. A book and a pound a week.

I've amassed a list of 35 definite reads for the year. A sampling of modern, classic and curious reads. The remaining 15 I'll figure out as as I go. I've got no gimmacky weight loss plan, just a sincere desire to do that thing which I have, til now, thought I could not do.

With an at times cripplingly short attention span, a love of chocolate, a wide social circle of foodies and wine drinking buddies, a love of words and books and ideas, a job at times fun and challenging and otherwise maddeningly invasive and an adorable but active 85 lb lab named Murphy who keeps me on the go, it should be an interesting year, if nothing else.

And so.... here goes!