August 9, 2022
Gleanings
- Instinctively, I started referring to the city of my birth by its Ukrainian name, Kharkiv, rather than Kharkov. The vowel change might seem insignificant, but it marked a shift in my thinking. I could no longer bring myself to say “Kharkov” aloud without confronting the stench of imperialism, violence, destruction and forced occupation. I have stopped telling people I am from Russia, because not only is it disingenuous, but it embraces an oversimplified understanding of history.
- As I orient myself, today, I hope to find new and continuing ways to conjure and appreciate experiences, both ordinary and extraordinary, that make possible profound connection with others. I want to be open, always, to that swirl and whirl of delight in what is, that grounds us in what’s happening with joy, trust, light, and lightness.
- How often life can feel this way, like there’s so much to do, could do, should do, could have, should have, could experience, should experience … that has us grasping at scarcity and urgency and fear and the elusive satisfaction that will be found somewhere out there.
- Last year we were away for two months traveling and I longed for this place of blue sky, and mountains, and wide open spaces. I dreamed about this place when we were gone.
- As I have learned more about grief and what helps people move through it, I have realized that the compulsion I felt starting very soon after Owen’s death to write about it was probably an intuitive reaching towards what in therapeutic jargon is sometimes called “meaning making.”
- It’s a reminder isn’t it? A reminder to find some balance between the sludge and the sparkle. A reminder to peek out of the (often unavoidably) muddy bits when and if you can. A reminder that there are beautiful bits tucked all around us, just waiting to be welcomed into each day, if we only take the time to notice them.
- A million years ago when I first left home and moved to Toronto I met a woman, a potter. She had her own studio. I wasn’t yet twenty and she might have been twenty-four, twenty-six, something ancient…. I remember she was ancient.
- books don’t go stale. Books can wait for you to (re)discover them, in your own right time.
- But my favorite kind of souvenir, no surprise, is the one that doesn’t get put on a shelf or forgotten about immediately upon its homecoming. The best souvenirs settle themselves right into the way of things—souvenir objects that transition themselves into everyday objects.
- A heat wave book if I ever read one. You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty by Akwaeke Emezi is a book that colourfully conjures sun, sweat, and that shimmer in the air on a hot, hot day. Oh, yes, and a little splash of blood, too.
