March 8, 2013
I am not a very complicated creature
It’s often around this time of year when it becomes most clear to me that I am not a very complicated creature
. Basically, make the sun shine and all challenges seem conquerable. Today I dropped Harriet off at school and walked home without my hat on, there is more grass than snow on the ground, and we passed a woman who was walking down the street, sans mittens, reading a book. Even if I hadn’t spent the last week and a half much obsessed with the enormous lump upon my neck and riding an emotional roller coaster, I would still be finding this day to be one infused with hope and possibility. Even if I hadn’t spent the last week and a half much obsessed with the enormous lump upon my neck and riding an emotional roller coaster, I would still have found plenty to complain about during this time because these lingering winter weeks pre-spring are pretty brutal, and it would be around now, the no-hat day, when I start thinking that maybe everything is going to be survivable after all.
The thing about emotional roller coasters though is that they’re not very stable. I’ve had a couple of good days in the past week or so during which I’ve thought that I’ve got a handle on everything, only to find myself profoundly disappointed the next day when all outcomes seemed quite terrifying again. (Interestingly, these next days were always grey and dreary.) For anyone who has had a life in which things have happened, this will not be all that surprising, but as I tend to spend most of my time at home and contented, delighted with pouring tea from a red teapot, I’m not so used to twists and turns. I’m more than a little uncomfortable with the idea that today’s spring-time high is going to have to be come down from at some point. I am looking forward to having my husband on holiday next week and all the fun things we’re going to get up to, but then there is a biopsy in the middle of that week and I think that the wait for results will drive me out of my mind, spring or no spring. I am so afraid of that phone call.
But I am also looking forward to Thursday, the day after the biopsy, because I have a midwife’s appointment and near-constant kicks in the ribs make me quite confident that Baby is thriving. I want to go to the midwife’s, that wonderful place where all is so healthy and normal. I now find myself longing for the baby’s birth, in a way I never thought I would due to my slight aversion to newborn people. I am no longer dreading all the trauma and turmoil of birth and a new baby because it’s healthy, normal trauma and turmoil. I want to be out of my mind because it’s four a.m. and my nipples are chapped. Who ever would imagined that anything would bring me to this point. Twists and turns indeed; life is funny.
But in light of the sun’s shine, life also seems very good. Is it embarrassing to disclose how much I am enjoying reading On the Banks of Plum Creek with my family each evening, and how inspired I am by Charles and Caroline Ingalls’ courage? We will get through this, neck lumps, grasshopper plagues, chapped nipples and all. There are more sunny, wonderful days to be had.
January 2, 2013
My Christmas with Caitlin Moran
It is never Christmas properly for me unless I get to spend most of the day curled up on my mother’s sofa reading a book. This year’s book was Caitlin Moran’s Moranthology, which I received in hardback from my sister-in-law, which was only fair because I turned her onto How to Be a Woman last year. It’s a collection of Moran’s columns from the Times from over the years, interviews with characters from Paul McCartney to Lady Gaga, synopses of episodes of Sherlock and Downtown Abbey, celebrity gossip notes, and columns of wider social significance–on poverty, feminism, activism, and more. Moranthology is clearly more a collection of newspaper columns than a book proper, but for those of us who have fallen in love with Caitlin Moran, it makes a fabulous read.
The other book I got for Christmas was Astray by Emma Donoghue, from Stuart who was determined to buy me a book I hadn’t asked for, a surprise book. He went through my 2012 Books Read list, examined my shelves (to-be-read and otherwise), and had my Book City account checked to ensure I hadn’t bought the book and hidden it. As Harriet ended up telling me what all my other presents were (a cast-iron enamel pot and a tea towel), the book turned up to be my only surprise at all, and it was a lovely one.
I have also just realized that ten years ago, I never would have imagined that receiving a cast-iron enamel pot and a tea towel for Christmas would thrill me as it did, but it did! Though mostly because the tea towel is of the Barbara Pym variety. My husband is wonderful man indeed. And I guess a decade is a long time to change in.
December 17, 2012
Christmas Reads: The Christmas Birthday Story by Margaret Laurence
I hadn’t heard of The Christmas Birthday Story by Margaret Laurence until I read a collection of her letters A Very Large Soul in October. And I was intrigued by the sound of this book, “…a re-telling of the Nativity story, for use with small children. I wanted to tell it in such a way that small children would understand and be able to connect with it. I really wanted to emphasize the birth of the beloved child into a loving family.” For me, Christmas has always been about new life and family, and not any particular baby or family either, so I appreciated Laurence’s approach, particularly as she has religious knowledge to do it properly. Here is the Christmas story but without angels, God doesn’t get a mention. It’s a very human story of family, of travel, of a carpenter and his wife who are going to have a baby. The only thing otherwordly is that most peculiar star.
“That child Jesus grew up to be a man, and he was strong and hard-working, like Joseph the carpenter. He was gentle and kind, like Mary his mother. And he was something else, too. He was a wise teacher and a friend to all people./ So we remember him always, and at Christmas time we celebrate his birthday…”
Long out of print, copies are hard to come by online, but I am glad I tracked one down for us. It’s a beautiful story, ideal for those of us who are not religious but want our children to understand our culture, why we celebrate at this time of year. Helen Lucas’s illustrations are dated, but my child has been raised on vintage picture books and hasn’t noticed.
December 10, 2012
Christmas Reads: Comfort and Joy by India Knight
I received this book for Christmas two years ago, the hardcover version, which is important to note because it features this gorgeous cover by Leanne Shapton. In a photo from that Christmas 2010, I am curled up on the couch with this novel and enormous glass of beer, which is pretty much an ideal way to spend any day. I reread Comfort and Joy this past weekend sans beer but with just as much pleasure. How nice to have a Christmas book for the adult set, and how nice too that the book stands up to a second time around.
It’s peculiarly structured, the continuing story of Clara Hutt who first appeared in Knight’s novel My Life on a Plate. Comfort and Joy takes place over the Christmases of 2009-2011, illustrating the pressure Clara feels each year to provide a perfect Christmas for her fractured family. The family becomes more fractured as the years go on–Clara’s second marriage ends, she worries about how it’s affecting her children. All the while she’s accommodating her eccentric extended family, several wacky friends, ex-husbands, and in-laws to create a 21st century perfect family Christmas. Not perfect as in magazine perfect–here there is no such veneer, and the table conversation is always unfailingly hilarious, however slightly offensive. Clara doesn’t mind being offensive, but she just wants everybody to have a good time, to feel a sense of belonging she herself missed growing up.
Comfort and Joy is light, smart and funny, and sure to delight anyone who’s enjoyed Knight’s other novels or her newspaper columns. A treasured volume in my Christmas library.
December 9, 2012
Very Good Days Have to Just Be Allowed to Happen
My holiday reading has started, and it’s so nice to be back with books on my own terms, reading solely for pleasure. I’ve read 2.25 books in the last four days, which is sort of lovely, yesterday in particular. And it occurs to me that you can’t really plan a good day. Certainly, you can collect them like they’re postcards (and oh, you should), but no amount of shrewd plotting can make a day truly magic.
I wouldn’t have even thought to request that yesterday’s weather be cold and dreary, or to think that there would be an up-side to Harriet waking up at 6:30 possessed by a demon. We had friends to brunch at 11:00 and we managed delicious and gluten-free, which is kind of amazing. Harriet was terrible, and by the end of the visit she was naked and throwing muffins across the kitchen in a rage. Thankfully I’d had enough rest and our friends had enough of a sense of humour that the whole thing was terribly hilarious. And as soon as they left, we threw Harriet into bed for that nap she was begging for and she stayed that way for three hours. (Harriet has stopped napping, for the most part. And now when naps arrive, they’re like a gift from the heavens.) I went to bed too and spent all afternoon rereading Comfort and Joy by India Knight. When Harriet got up, I still wasn’t finished, so I kept hiding from my family so I could get to the end, which was tricky because we live in a small apartment and the book kept making me laugh out-loud.
We were overjoyed to discover that Harriet’s nap had rendered her a human being again, and also that everyone in our family was equally inclined to not bother leaving the house. Except that we had to buy a Christmas tree, which was to have been the day’s main activity, but it was 6:00 by this point and dark outside. We went to get the tree anyway, carrying it home on our shoulder from the convenience store around the corner. Picked up Thai take-out to have before we hung the decorations up. We brought the tree home and unwrapped it to discover it was gorgeous, and so absolutely enormous that we’re going to be unable to remove it from the house after Christmas without causing major damage, but we’ll worry about that later. The whole house smells coniferous. And we decked our tree, rediscovering the fabulous decorations we’d forgotten we’d owned. And then Harriet was put to bed finally, the last of the pad-Thai eaten. And I settled in for the evening with Isabel Huggan’s You Never Know, which is so very wonderful.
The icing on the cake would have been not having to wake up every three hours all night long to pee, but that is too much for one woman to ask for. So I will content myself instead with the most accidentally perfect day.
December 4, 2012
Christmas Reads: The Jolly Christmas Postman
At the beginning of November, when I too was moaning about “the Christmas creep”, I forgot to bat an eye when I came across The Jolly Christmas Postman in the bookshop, and instead partook in an elaborate jig in my head and bought the book immediately. Because we’re big fans of the Ahlbergs at our house, and of the Jolly Postman in his original form, and the postal system in general. I saved the book until December 1 and we’ve been reading it steadily ever since. And how wonderful it is that this book isn’t riding the tails of its franchise, but instead is even better, richer than the original. We’re totally in love with it.
There is so much detail here, right down to the postmarks (from such places as Banbury Cross and Wobbleton, and if you’re as entrenched in Mother Goose as we are, you too will find this delightful). Allusions to the lady with the alligator purse, a glimpse into Red Riding Hood’s playhouse, updates on our favourite characters (The 3 Bears have become a 4some, Baby Bear now a big brother!). And it’s not jus’t letters our Jolly Postman is delivering; along with Christmas cards, his envelopes contain a jigsaw puzzle, a board game, and an elaborate 3D card. A present full of presents indeed.
Oh, and I love the meta elements! “‘A book in a book!’ says the Gingerbread Boy./ “What a simply delicious surprise.”/ (But if he only knew he’s in one too–/That would really open his eyes.)’ The first two lines of which are basically my literary philosophy.
The Jolly Postman’s route ends up at the North Pole at a certain workshop where he’s dropping off a huge pile of children’s letters. And fortunately, because it’s dark, snowy and cold, he’s able to hitch a ride on Santa’s sleigh to get home.
December 2, 2012
It's December
It’s December, which means that we’re listening to Darlene Love on repeat, and trying to reconcile our secular selves with this religious holiday with a great deal of joy. (Christmas is about lighting the darkness. It is about the promise of new life. I like that.) It means that the tree isn’t up yet, too soon, but the halls are decked, and the Christmas books are unpacked into the pile that just keeps on growing. Over the next three weeks, I’ll be sharing some of them with you here. If I were so inclined I’d even put together a Christmas Book Advent Calendar–what a wonderful idea! Over at 49thShelf, we’re celebrating Canadian books with the Lit Wish List campaign, so many great ideas for giving and receiving. And the other Scaredy Squirrel Gingerbread Houses have put our efforts to shame, so much so that we’ve decided just to eat ours and forget about it and pretend this never happened.
In huge news though, I have a new hat.
September 3, 2012
Summerlong
I’ve been trying to think of a way to write this post through a bookish prism, but we’ve had a busy long weekend and I’m so satisfyingly spent. So I’ll give it to you straight instead: we’ve had the most delightful summer. A summer that began in May when the glorious weather arrived. We had an excellent week with our UK grandparents in town, which involved all kinds of local fun. Harriet turned 3 with the grandest dinosaur party in recent memory. Our new friend Lilia was born, and so we’ve had regular treks down to Queen & Gladstone all summer long to visit her. We’ve had weekend roadtrips in our Fiat 500, when the sun was always shining and the sky was so so blue. In June, we celebrated my birthday, 7 years of marriage, and Father’s Day in one super-festive week. The best day out every to Toronto Island at the beginning of July, Harriet finally big enough that we can skip a nap or two and embrace a day in all its fullness. We spent a fantastic weekend in Peterborough, having much fun with more grandparents, enjoying in particular running through sprinklers and watching boats in the locks. Our cottage week away, so purely good, with so much reading, swimming, shoelessness, and being tuned out from the world. The next weekend, Stuart and I took off on a road trip of our own to watch our good friends get married and to delight in being a couple.
Oh, there have been the Kensington Market Saturday mornings, fun at Dufferin Grove Park, street festivals of all kinds, Trinity Bellwoods goodness, swimming at Christie Pits, wading pool hijinks, numerous Book City errands, brunches, lunches and dinners out, and deliciousness courtesy of the new barbeque we bought back in May. Little time between visits to Sweet Fantasies for ice cream. The joy of dinner on our beautiful porch. Pizza with tomatoes and basil from the garden, farmers market fare, fresh berries, strawberry picking with friends back in June, baking pie even though it’s hot, never ever running out of freezies.
What a delightful summer it has been, cruising the city sans stroller, that little hand in mine, and no longer having to worry about such things as diapers, baby-food, and sleeplessness. No drama, angst or fretting, well, except for when Harriet was terrible, but we don’t even worry about this so much. The weather has been glorious. It’s true, a few days that were ridiculously hot, but more days that were absolutely perfect. I’ve never seen so much blue sky. I was only ever bored at a playground a handful of times. We have had the most splendid company.
Harriet starts playschool this week, which makes this the first real September we’ve experienced in years. It also marks a real shift, out of the house first thing in the morning, and time for me to work while the sun is up, which is tremendously exciting. And while I am of quite mixed emotions about Harriet starting school, I find myself less troubled by the end of summer than I normally am. I am not sure why, except that perhaps we’ve just spent it so well.
We went to the CNE yesterday, a new tradition we started last year. It was a fantastic day, though we were so tired by the end that we could barely walk home from the subway station. And I like our new tradition, an occasion that makes the end of the summer something to look forward to. Or perhaps I just like having something to look forward to. Perpetually. I would make a terrible Buddhist.
Because while I know that living in the moment is what we should all be aspiring to, sometimes I wonder what’s so wrong with looking forward. Moments pass so quick, time doesn’t stop, so why not just give in to that, and there is always something wonderful coming up next anyway. And I wonder if the real trick is just to keep something wonderful coming up next anyway. But then that’s a trick that’s probably easiest to pull off in the summer.
