October 16th, 2009
European Vacation
Of course, I married my husband for his dreamy accent, but also so I’d have a good excuse to take frequent European vacations. (And it is a European vacation, proof here.)
And it’s that time again, because we’re off to the British seaside– it’s October after all. We’re returning to my husband’s homeland so that his parents can meet their grandchild for the first time, and while they’re busy spoiling her and ignoring us, we’ll partake in English things we love and miss, like cream tea; cheap books, beer and chocolate; newspaper supplements; penguin biscuits; lamb shanks; round postboxes; crisps; good TV and radio. Oh, and the weather. We’ll pack the brollies.
I’ll be posting a few updates while I’m gone, as well as an eagerly-awaited interview, and regular posting will resume in a week.
April 5th, 2009
Mini-Break, with frost on
Ah, so we realized why we’d been able to get such a good deal on our spring weekend getaway– because where we were about to get away to could very well still be winter. The snow started falling not far up Highway 400, and we had to contend with roads variously icy or flooded as we made our way toward an old friend of mine to have lunch with her beautiful family. Definitely worth the peril though, as our reunion was glorious, her husband and baby were terrific, and they served a wonderful meal by the warmth of their wood stove. Also good was the jar of maple syrup we came away with, which they’d tapped from their trees.
From there, we proceeded to the resort where we were booked, got lost by the town of Windemere so I was very nearly late for my pre-natal massage at the resort spa. Because it was to be that kind of weekend, the spa I mean, not the tardiness (for we arrived in the nick of time). The bad weather was not afterwards a problem, for we had no desire to go outside. Not while there was a pool to be played in, and a delicious dinner to linger over. This morning I lazed in bed reading and laughing at Playing House by Patricia Pearson, then we were energized enough to make it to the hotel brunch, whose chief feature was a chocolate fountain, and the spread was thoroughly delicious, sumptuous and by today the sun was shining anyway. The snow was quickly melting as we left Muskoka behind us, brilliant skies and gorgeous rays along the road to home.
December 12th, 2008
What a lucky one am I
Last month I was invited as a blogger and a writer to participate in the 33rd Art Matters forum, an initiative of Their Excellencies the Right Honourable Michaëlle Jean, Governor General of Canada, and Mr. Jean-Daniel Lafond. The theme of the forum was “A Passion for Reading/Le désir de lire”, and I had to accept the invitation, naturally, as it was irresistible however terrifying. How fortunate that terror can be swallowed too, because these last two days I’ll remember for the rest of my life.
First, the forum. Even before I met my co-panelists, I suspected their conversation would make for something very special. I’ve attended plenty of forums and literary events in my time, but never heard people speak from these particular backgrounds, and all speaking together no less. The other panelists were Margaret Eaton, President of the non-profit adult literacy foundation ABC Canada; Geneviève Côté, Governor General’s Award-winning children’s book illustrator, author, and arts educator; and Miriam Cusson, whose work as general and artistic director of Le Salon du Livre du Grand Sudbury has helped to cultivate a thriving Francophone literary culture in that city.
The forum was so much fun. Each panelist was so vibrant, well-versed in her particular point of view, and each of our presentations so complementary. (I will post a copy of my presentation in the next few days). The atmosphere was exceptional, each of us with something to share, nothing to prove, and ever-supportive of one another. All marvelously presided over by our moderator, CBC Arts Reporter Jeanette Kelly. I learned so much from the others, and from the presentations by the Governor General and M. Lafond. The audience clearly felt the ambiance to be as warm as I did, no one shying away from sharing their own perspectives on passionate reading, and everyone had something important to contribute. I was honoured and proud to be a part of this extraordinary event.
Another overwhelming aspect of my experience was the opportunity to spend the next two nights as a guest at Rideau Hall. I was so fortunate to be joined by my five panel co-participants, who were exceptionally good company and made the experience a lot of fun. Our rooms were magnificent, decorated with brilliant Canadian art, furnished beautifully, outfitted for everything a guest could possibly require, and oh, the comfort. I’ve never in my life been to anyplace so nice, and I’m not sure when I’ll have such an experience again. We were treated so well, a particular highlight being our breakfast on the veranda– a glassed in porch with the sun shining in and the snow-covered grounds of Rideau Hall on show. I could have lingered there forever, the conversation with these women so exciting and inspiring. Rideau Hall is impeccably run by a staff whose object seems to be their guests’ comfort, even if that guest is ordinary me.
And then there was the presentation of the Governor General’s Literary Awards last evening, which the five of us were so fortunate to attend. The atmosphere at Rideau Hall was electric as the guests arrived, well-dressed men and women who appeared in their element, and then the writers, artists and publishers dressed in the nicest clothes they’d ever put on in their lives. All ecstatic to be in attendance. The Governor General made a tremendous impression, the artists’ acceptance speeches were so moving and inspiring, and when all rose to sing our national anthem at the end of the event, I’ll confess to crying a little bit. The evening had been so moving, and I was once again proud and honored to be a part of it. It made me think of any cries of elitism, which should be shot down by the simple fact they let me in. And that once a year, at the very very least, we do celebrate our country’s literature in such style. That these artists have it affirmed that what they do matters, and I can only imagine how satisfying that must be after the struggle and sacrifice required to succeed in the arts at all.
I am not sure I even suspected how truly marvelous days could be (and we all know that I do collect good days like postcards). My respect for Michaëlle Jean knows no bounds, I think, and I am awed by her intelligence, her demeanour and elegance– class personified. I have met some lovely people I hope to know for a while, and made fabulous memories. And now to be home again, where the staff aren’t so agreeable but it’s where I belong. What a lucky one am I.
October 16th, 2008
Oh, but do forgive?
Oh, but do forgive my slow progress in coming back to life. I spent a good week in a magical land, and since returning home I’ve been everywhere and nowhere, and often not where I am supposed to be. Getting over a cold, very tired, excuses, etc. blah blah, previous Liberal government– you know how it is. More interestingly, check out a special IFOA Readers Reading at Seen Reading this week. And I aim to be more interesting soon.
October 4th, 2008
En Vacance!
We are going out to Alberta; weather’s good there in the fall.
Back in a week!
August 17th, 2008
Day Trippers
We took a day-trip to Elora yesterday, leaving the city behind to escape into many countrysides. The sun shone from its rise until its setting, and we had a wonderful patio lunch on the banks of the river. Lots of browsing in the shops and some triumphant finds (though there wasn’t a bookstore in sight. How can that be?). We bought blueberries and pickles from the farmer’s market. We climbed down into the gorge and waded in the river, and then sat on a rock and watched the rapids. I am so lucky to spend my time with a man who understands it is important to spend afternoons in green parks reading (although he felt this more than usual yesterday, as he was in the middle of The Killing Circle). We had a brilliant dinner at the Elora Mill, and drove back into the city, arriving home just as sun was set.
July 28th, 2008
This is a photograph
As in Atwood’s poem, “This is a photograph of me”: “The photograph was taken the day after I drowned./ I am in the lake, in the center of the picture, just under the surface…” Except that I didn’t drown, and I am just left of centre, but this is a photograph of me and I am in the lake, with Stuart. We’ve been away all weekend with our friends Bronwyn and Alex, who were kind enough to share their cottage and the BMW to take us there. And the weekend was such an adventure!
We saw two frogs, three hummingbirds, a snake(!), and lots of minnows. The cottage was cottage-perfect, full of thirty years of fantastic family history. The weather was sometimes good, and often terrible. This meant a massive thunderstorm knocked out our power and so we had to live as our ancestors did, conserving freezer-door openings in order not to hasten the ice cream’s melting. Luckily we had a bbq at our disposal, and the beer stayed cold, and after the storm the sun came out, and we went swimming and canoeing. As the sun went down, we made do with candlelight, and played Apples to Apples late into the evening, and then went outside to be ravished with stars.
We made an obligatory cheese factory stop, and bought a bag of curds and then went in and bought another. We spent plenty of time reading (and I writing!), and, of course, eating. Obligatory watermelon too, and we all pretended not to be terrified when the storm came, when the hail fell from the sky like wrath unfurled. We cheered when the sun came, and cursed it when it left. We also took 85 pictures, because we have a new camera at our house (exciting!). I gave up a lifelong passion for frog-catching because Stuart said it was cruel. We bathed in bug spray, and braved cold water, sang “Boom didi yada”. The power came back on this afternoon.
June 17th, 2008
The whole thing
We went to Ottawa this weekend, which was brilliant all around (cousins, markets, barbeques), but I was particularly appreciative of a good ten hours spent train journeying, which of course makes for good reading. I did Fever and Prodigal Summer, and also CNQ. This is my second issue of the magazine– I raved about Issue 72 back in December. This issue lived right on up to my heightened expections: so much learning in one package seems a miracle. So much to challenge me, whether to understand, to be enlightened, or even to disagree. If you’ve got an interest in Canadian literary matters and you’re not reading CNQ, you’re missing out on something extraordinary. Serves as an example of what a magazine can truly be. It sounds like I’m overstating, but I’m really not. Robyn Sarah’s “Delivered to Chance” and David A. Kent on Margaret Avison were my favourite bits, but really (shhh…) I liked the whole thing.
June 12th, 2008
Forgetting to bring a camera
I’ve got a train journey coming up this weekend, and I can’t decide what novels to take. Of course I’ve got a mess of magazines waiting– this week Walrus, London Review of Books, and Canadian Notes and Queries all arrived in the post. I’ll also soon have my mitts upon the New Yorker Summer Fiction Issue. But still, I feel a train trip takes a novel, and that periodicals won’t suffice. Mostly because no journey is complete without a novel irrevocably linked to it.
To and from California in Feb. was Arlington Park and Anagrams. To and from Montreal in Sept. was A Short History of Tractors… and Atonement. The last time I went to Ottawa, I read Sweetness in the Belly. Town House en route to England last June, and Bliss on the way back. Etc. etc. You see what I mean?
It would be like forgetting to bring a camera.
February 22nd, 2008
When whole cities fit into books
I’ve recounted already how we spent our last vacation day scrambling around San Francisco in search of a used Tales of the City. The novel of San Francisco, according to our guidebook, and I just had to have it. A piece of San Francisco to take home with me.
I usually have little interest in reading about a place whilst I’m in it, but once I’m far away and homesick, novels and stories can be the next best thing to being there (which is why I now love Haruki Murakami). And I knew San Francisco homesickness would be long-lasting, so I wanted the remedy on-hand. I was also excited to purchase a book from the Gay Lit section (though such a label seems a bit reductive so far– is a book considered Gay Lit because there are gay people in it?) because it made me feel open-minded in that way gay people probably find inordinately irritating.
As a reward for accompanying me on my scramble, I let Stuart read the book first. He quickly forgave me for scramblage, loved the book, and said its lightness might be a nice way to follow The Poisonwood Bible. And now I’m halfway through, prepared to read the rest this evening in a hot bath (which is interesting because I’ve just learned from a wise source of a connection between this book and The Serial, which I read in another bathtub six years ago, but I digress).
The story is light indeed, and it’s a perfect book for a bathtub, but it’s delightfully entertaining and how brilliant that it establishes a map of the city in my mind.”Valencia Street, with its union halls and Mexican restaurants and motorcycle repair shops, was an oddly squalid setting for the gates of heaven.” Absolutely! Although for me heaven was bookshops, not steam baths, but alas. I’ve sat in Washington Square too, and I can see Coit Tower, and Marina, and the Castro, and even the Safeway on Market, where we bought rice-a-roni the San Francisco treat (not half bad, by the way). Polk and Hyde, The Mission, from the Tenderloin to Nob Hill.
That a whole city disappeared from my horizon can live on in my mind is really nothing short of a tremendous thing.
