The Good Mothers

Image in the public domain and therefore no attribution required

Thanks and gratitude to my biological mother, Irene, who singlehandedly, when it came to all the work of raising children, (two sets of twins and one single), and the work around the house, did it all because she was of that generation. It’s exhausting just trying to imagine how she fed us, clothed us, socialized us and put up with her five children of such varying ages on a daily basis.

To my eldest sister, Heather, who died in 1991, and whose warmth to a younger sister, 13 years younger, was communicated to me in the way she’d stroke the top of my head sometimes when I entered a room. She did quite a few mom things that my mother didn’t such as choosing the most dainty, pearl stud earrings when she took me to get my ears pierced at 13 and taking me “downtown” on a special shopping/lunch outing when I was seven and she was 20.

To my best friend’s mother, Toni (Tomoko),  when I was growing up who felt in some ways like a second mother and who exposed me to Japanese-Canadian culture and made me aware of, interested in, and respectful  of the experience of  “the other” and to help me recognize that quiet strength in adversity builds even greater strength.

To women who have felt to me like my emotional mothers. My friend Anne who has always treated me like a queen, even bringing me tea in bed while staying at one of her many beautiful abodes over the years (and to her husband, Bob, who  is our sommelier and cook during my visits).

To Pauline on Salt Spring, who has the mothering qualities of providing a listening ear, culinary prowess, and humour that can always lighten me when I’m feeling bereft.

To Marjorie, also on Salt Spring, who for 18 months let me occupy the cabin that her grandfather built more than 40 years ago helping me fulfill a dream of living in a cabin near the ocean, and who was always a comfort on sunny afternoons during conversations in her back solarium, her cat Duchess never far away.  

To my former psychiatrist, Leila, who tried through example to help me to mother myself and how showing acceptance can come through something as simple as a beautiful smile from one human being to another.

To all the women I have met in my life, become friends with, and those who I am still friends with because women have been the foremost characters in my life, each sharing their unique qualities of caring, then and now.

And to even a few men, who were loving examples of how familial titles aren’t really relevant when it comes to being able to show loving kindness towards another and letting them know that they’re very special.

After a funeral

I could not bring myself to feel enough to cry over your ending here.

Why would I?

You have moved into your element.

Christian beliefs actualized.

A joy too big to describe.

In on the secret.

Maybe it is us you now shed tears for

in that place where

you are always dressed in red

cheeks hurt from smiling so much

celestial wings wrapping you with the love

we can only imagine, the kind

you’d sought ever since your father left and

you’d steeled yourself against

heartbreak arriving in that same way again on any chilly spring morning.

None of that earthly business left now.

No need for words where spirit plays.

Comfort before worries have a chance to surface,

making you wish you’d accepted,

unconditionally,

that of course everything was always going to be alright

In life.

In death.

Meditation on a suburban concert

She went to a concert last night.

The older man carried the evening through clarinet, alto sax, and the sweet precision of the notes from his flute.

The piano player banged the keyboard, added trills like too many adjectives in a poem, and betrayed the musicality of all but a few pieces.

The bass player seemed afraid of the audience.

There was a furry-haired little boy whose enthusiasm could not be contained by his exasperated parents and she wondered why they didn’t just give in, appreciate, not stifle, his joy.

The older woman beside her hummed along, slapping at her left thigh,

keeping time to the Woman from Ipanema and Autumn Leaves.

Behind her, the shaggy-haired eight or nine-year old unwrapped his candy, the one his mother must have slipped him, as if he was slowly peeling a Band-Aid off a bad cut.

In spite of all that,

thanks to her meditation classes,

she managed to incorporate every sound, welcome it all,

accept what was,

breathing in, breathing out.

She closed her eyes and let it swirl,

the organized melodies from the stage,

the messy soundscape all around and even

the small win for what she deemed her own emotional progress.

Walking with ghosts and angels

Painting by Jacky Hosford

As part of LitFest New West, an exhibit is up at Anvil Centre that paired writers of short text with artists who were to interpret the short text or poem.

I was paired with Jacky Hosford, a New Westminster resident originally from the U.K. Through layers and frames she painted her interpretation of what I wrote below. I like the way she’s put the frames into the painting to hint at it being a window into the past, and into the future.

Executive Director, Arts Council New West: Stephen O Shea, Poet Aidan Chafe and LitFest Chair Janice Bannister

I had a really good time at LitFest this year. I was on the planning committee so after all those meetings since September, it was good to see what transpired in real time when the weekend finally arrived.

 

 

 

Nasreen Pejvack, J.J. Lee, and Janet Kvammen

With the kick off at the library via the PopThis!Podcast  paired with J.J. Lee through to the Read Aloud event, I felt perhaps for the first time in the five years since I’ve lived back here, the real strength of community that flourishes in New West and that gets talked about on social media by local residents.

New West residents do a good job of branding themselves, I’ll give them that, thanks to small local businesses with great social media such as Steel and Oak, 100 Braid Street studios, Banana Lab, Tenth to the Fraser and others. And I think City Council and many other residents have a really progressive approach to things.

There is a lot going on here when it comes to words and writing and the people involved. I especially loved the In Your Words event that is put together by Alan Girling and takes place at New Westminster Public Library on a monthly basis.

Kyle McKillop reads Patrick Lane

It’s really great to hear others share their favourite authors and poets, highlighting some of those authors’ books and then giving their perspective by reading the authors’ words and sharing some background about the writers’ lives. The Lit Fest version shared Evelyn Lau, Patrick Lane, Thomas Hardy and a travel writer, Jan Morris. I’d never head of Jan Morris so right after the event was over, I went upstairs and checked out one of her books. It’s called Contact: A Book of Encounters about the people who she’s had the pleasure of connecting with during travels.

And I dropped by the New West Writer’s Group Critique session which was interesting as people shared their feedback on some writing pieces.  The Read Aloud Event was great with fantastic readings by Aislinn Hunter, Nasreen Pejvack, Catherine Owen and Carleigh Baker.  And it was interesting to hear the winners of the Short Fiction contest that got sponsored by local lawyer Dale Darychuk, Q.C.

New West Writers Group and their monthly feedback sessions

Poet Kevin Spenst and Shauna Kaendo doing performance piece to his love poems at Anvil Centre.

Carleigh Baker who read from her new book Bad Endings.

Anna Camporese, playwright Elaine Avila and me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here’s what I wrote:

Walking with Ghosts and Angels

When you return to the small city where you were born, you can’t help but walk with ghosts and angels.

As the radius of your routes expand, you carry in memory everyone who has ever accompanied you.

Landmarked meeting places.

Dad. There. Plaid shirt and black lunch kit full of tuna fish sandwiches made dutifully by mom.

That vacant lot you weren’t supposed to set foot in as a kid and that old woman, Snookie, [was she lonely?] who lived above that garage across the street.

Backyard forts. Baseball diamonds. Lacrosse boxes. Willow trees.

First crush on lifeguard at Kiwanis pool.

Even strangers. Their faces stick.

You carry their hearts on your sleeve as if you’re leading an invisible parade.

Over there. Your grandparents’ backyard and their cement birdbath.

A purple plum tree, its marbled gifts dropped in late summer.

The cobwebbed wooden shed where your Grass is Greener Syndrome first arose as if Grass is Greener might actually be a place that you’d find if only you were better at reading maps.

Now, walking through the cemetery on the hill, you’ve left this era behind, retreated — perhaps to the 1950s — ignoring what the world has become.

Convincing yourself species aren’t disappearing and you’re not afraid of what’s coming down the pipe: oil, the Big One, and even a lack of imagination.

Not the most uplifting ending but written quickly and in line with how I’ve been feeling, about how many people the world over surely have been feeling given the state of international affairs at this point in time.

Write for 5: The Rorschach of Writing Exercises

Card 10 By Hermann Rorschach (died 1922) – http://www.pasarelrorschach.com/en/inkblots.htm, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3594383

Hi Kids,

All three or four of you!

Well that was fun while it lasted. I’m speaking about Write for 5. Apparently it was mostly fun for me. It seemed like a good idea. It did increase my social media followers. Whoopee! I had high hopes about participation but I guess I’d have to have a following of thousands for participation on the scale that would make it a really interesting exercise with interactions.

Perhaps many people either didn’t see the point or didn’t want to waste their imagination or time on what they consider a trivial exercise as I reflect on how wrong they are about that assessment.

Oh well. I learned stuff about how the imagination works, or at least how mine does. Basically, I’d look at these images for just a short time and it wouldn’t take very long before an idea, a connection or a storyline came to me and if I just carried on from the time I chose the image (yes, I did have that advantage) to the time I wrote about it, the writing required almost no effort. It was like the Rorschach test of writing.

From picking the photo to reading the small pieces to choosing a book from my bookshelf and even popping those in the mail, and then thinking about the person opening the package in their mailbox, it was a nice little five week diversion.

In terms of effort expended, as you can imagine, the reward versus effort quotient was a little lopsided.

So, I guess I’ll just go back to as I was. Thanks very much to those who took the time to play along. You know who you are. Much appreciated.

Enjoy your own creative projects, whatever they might be, as we on the West Coast still await spring, the kind of spring we used to know and love.

Oh, and by the way, what do YOU see in the card? I see a Thai king in a headdress and a luscious red robe with two green parrots on his shoulder. (Is she kidding?) Analyze that!

Write for 5: Week Five

Both these images are from CC0 – Creative Commons Zero. Public Domain.

Hi Kids,

Thanks for dropping by. Again. How was your week? Decent enough, I hope.

I’ve been meaning to ask you what type of photos you might find it easier to write to, so if you have any suggestions about that, you know where the “Leave a rely” box is. Look down. Way down.

Your suggestions could be along the lines of: “I like faces more than scenes,” or “I can’t write about white people,” or “Sexier, dammit”  or “Is that a man purse? That better not be a man purse!” or “I hate kids. No kids!” Things like that.

If you have a friend who writes (or just has a good imagination) and you’d like to share this with them, that would be great. You don’t have to think of yourself as a “writer” to do this.

Guidelines

If you’ve participated before, you know the routine.  If not, here are the guidelines.

  • ·         I post a photo (or two) here at 8am on Saturday morning.
  • ·         You look at the photo(s) above this blog post.
  • ·         You take as much time as you need up to Sunday at 11pm the deadline.
  • ·         When you’re ready to write, set the timer for five minutes.
  •           When you’re done, post your results in the “Leave a Reply” box below.

Come back to the blog on Monday to see which piece of writing  I chose to give this week’s book and print to.

If you want to read something about where the imagination occurs in the brain. Try this article in Science in 2013.

I look forward to reading whatever our grey matter in all its wonder and weirdness conjures up this week.  Go!

PS: If you felt like leaving a comment on someone else’s piece, I’m sure they’d like that.

Write for 5 to win a book on writing

Hi Kids,

So four weeks of Write for 5 have now flown by.

It would be so awesome if I could motivate a few more writers anywhere in the world to participate.

So far I’ve mailed off four packages. Those have gone to Toronto, Uruguay, Vancouver and Atlanta, Georgia. Last week I shipped off a photographic print that I bought a few years ago that I loved but I never had anywhere to hang it. I communicated with the recipient and it seemed like last week’s writing book wasn’t the kind of book that he would probably get around to reading, so I looked around and based on his blog, I picked a photographic print for him.

Of course, I should have taken a photo of that before I sent it off to Atlanta, Georgia, but I forgot. Maybe he’ll send me a photo when it arrives and then I’ll be reminded of who the print was created by. I know it was a young photographer based in Delta, B.C.

I’ve decided that I can only send one book per person once at this point given the limited number of participants so that means your chances of getting this fantastic little book are pretty high if you’ve yet to be chosen.

This week’s book prize is called, The Situation and the Story by Vivian Gornick. And you’ll also receive the above print.

For those of you who have been playing along. You know the routine. I post 2 images at 8:00 am on Saturday morning and you have until Sunday at 11:00 pm to Write for 5. I want to experience the uniqueness of your imagination in five minutes.

On Monday, March 27, I’ll choose the small piece that spoke to me in some way.
This might be the easiest contest you’ll ever enter.

Are you in?  See you back here bright and early on Saturday, or whenever you get around to it over the weekend. Have a good one.