February 18, 2022

The Blame Game

Every time I hear somebody exclaim at how our governments have failed us regarding Covid, I cringe. First, because it’s dawning on me that such ideas and others are playing right into dangerous alt-right tropes that are working away to undermine public trust in government and democracy, that so many passionate well-meaning people are being manipulated by forces they aren’t even aware of, and not just those poor people’s moms who’ve lost their minds to Fox News. But I also cringe because there’s not a single government the world over who has managed to get Covid just right. For a while, Jacinda Ardern was the exception to that rule, but even her small island nation managed to eventually be out-thwarted by the virus, out-thwarting being precisely what a virus is for.

Across Canada, we’ve seen public health officials celebrated and then denigrated for their handling of one wave or another, and provinces whose governments are spread across the political spectrum all have to eventually resort to drastic measures to contain Covid spread. It’s true that provinces with conservative governments have tended to do more poorly, though that could also be because there’s a lot of those at the moment. I wonder if anything would have been different at all if Covid had come around a few years ago during that brief period where half of Canada’s provincial leaders were women. (Not unrelated: I am looking forward to reading Kate Graham’s new book No Second Chances: Women and Political Power in Canada.)

The only people who are sure they have the answers right now are the people outside of power, because it’s easy to dictate choices when you don’t have to accept any responsibility for their consequences. Governing, on the other hand, is hard, especially when there really are no right or easy answers, when every decision brings wins and losses. The political spectrum is so reductive, every single ideology inadequate on its own to address the reality of our society’s challenges, and that’s never been more clear than when it come to Covid, where every government in the world has gotten it wrong and gotten it right some of the time (seriously, even Florida was right at least once, though I don’t think that Brazil ever was, the exception that proves the pudding), no matter their ideas about policy and what government should be.

It’s such an interesting moment, as I’ve written before, when nothing is certain—which is the very opposite of saying that things are hopeless.

Instead what I’m saying is that we need hope—along with creativity, and knowledge, and wisdom, and expertise, and understanding, and kindness, and patience, and so many more essential things—more than ever.

We need to stop blaming each other, and our leaders, even if (and maybe sometimes especially if) they’re not our faves—particularly since our rage appears to be being harvested for profit at the moment. There’s honestly never been a better time to be a person who has no real responsibility for anything, even if powerlessness isn’t fun. Because these days, power isn’t much fun either.

February 15, 2022

Gleanings

• “Awe challenges us to look beyond ourselves, but, in return, it offers new insights and a wiser perspective—one filled with a deeper sense of connection, meaning, and purpose.”
• She described “an atmosphere of complete and utter acceptance in his classroom. Students knew that they had a teacher who cared about them and would do everything he could to ensure their success.”
• I was lucky to travel to Ukraine in my 60s, lucky to meet far cousins, and to be greeted with bread and salt, with tiny glasses of moonshine flavoured with mountain herbs, and I am reading backwards to remember it all.
• As a potter, I can tell you that function gets in the way of my fun. The minute I start measuring asparagus stalks, I lose my groove.
• Every so often, I try to do responsible things like Plan Ahead to reap the rewards that should come with it like A Calm and Unfrazzled Week and I fail almost 100% of the time in the service of Something More Fun I Just Thought Of.
• Who knew in grade one that the alphabet we were learning would be everything?
• An occupation carries with it the feelings of the oppressed or those who view themselves as the oppressed. Is there a difference between the two? I wonder sometimes.
• The vast majority of my work happens slowly, with a brush-in-hand and a butt-in-chair that’s at odds with the algorithm’s thirst for drama.
• Now our tale is done, said E. to the small brown owl, and he closed the book.
• All I know in my many years of working at the library is that interactions are so much more likely to go well if I’m able to literally feel an open heart when I begin.
• In friendship, there’s so much room for exchange. Generous exchange. Friendship is a practice in curiosity, attention, lightness, vulnerability, caring, holding and letting go.
• I don’t know, nor is it my business to know, if they knew each other, or if they will ever see each other again, but I do know I got to be witness to a moment where they met each other eye to eye, face to face, knee to knee, human to human … spirit to spirit.
• And it’s weird to think of us maneuvering into this next stage of life, too because wasn’t it just last year we were partnering up and having babies and finishing degrees and making bad choices and recovering from too-late nights at the bar with too many tequila shots? Spoiler: it turns out it was much longer ago than that.
• May I now present to you my first book! Not a book I had envisioned or expected at all, and definitely not my original idea when I put the dream out there, but a book nonetheless and one that I made myself.

February 14, 2022

Free Love, by Tessa Hadley

Free Love was in the air—I’d heard about the book’s release in the UK, and anticipated a delay before it becoming available in Canada, but there it was, on sale February 1, and so I ordered it. Before the book arrived, another friend was already posting about it on Instagram with a rave review, and then the day I finally started reading, another friend sent along an email telling me that it was one of the best books they’d read lately and that I really must pick it up, and I do so love being told what to do when I’m doing it already.

Tessa Hadley is newish to me. I’ve read her novels The Past and Late in the Day in the last few years, and really enjoyed them, and have been looking for other copies of her books in bookshops ever since, but they’re not widely available here in Canada. It’s also true that while I enjoyed both books, they didn’t leave overwhelming impressions on me and I can’t remember much about either one except that they had atmosphere. And I think that’s actually the point.

Because Free Love too is an atmospheric novel, a book full of tension and interiority instead of wildly swinging plot. And even when the plot does swing with housewife Phyllis abandoning her suburban life to pursue a relationship with the bohemian son of a family friend, or even before that when fate conspires to bring this unlikely couple together in the first place, kissing beside a garden pond on the hunt for an errant sandal, the earth barely shakes and life continues on, seasons changing, floors requiring sweeping, dinners making. Everything is changed, but also nothing at all—but then about two thirds of the way through there comes a revelation that blows everything apart, and has me texting the friend who’s read it already “OMG I JUST GOT TO THE PLOT TWIST!”

But it’s not in fact the plot twist that matters at all really, instead the rhythms and patterns of daily life, both before and after, that Hadley manages to capture so beautifully, the way that life goes on, and on—if you’re lucky—no matter your choices. Every moment itself is a narrative leap.

February 10, 2022

Making Magic Real

Shawna Lemay wrote a post once about doing secret good deeds, and I think about this often, trying to commit my own fair share. These secret deeds which give the world its substance, magic and possibility.

One night I crept into my children’s room to be the tooth fairy. In the morning, the amount of money the fairy had left was DOUBLED… because the little sister on the bottom bunk had been sneakily awake and discovered the truth of being grown up, which is that magic is where we make it…

And it was two years ago now, when the pandemic was still a baby and everything was AWFUL that magic arrived on our doorstep with a chocolate delivery from The Easter Bunny.

Like, the ACTUAL Easter Bunny, or something, because I certainly knew nothing about it, and was so bowled over that somebody had taken the time to make magic happen for our family. What a world we live in where such a thing can happen.

But then last year the Easter Bunny came again. Still a mystery.

And today, Bunny shows up for Valentine’s because Easter comes late this year and it’s just too long to wait…and we still have NO IDEA where this goodness is coming from, though we have our suspicions, but everyone we’ve ever asked claims they know nothing about it.

Keep doing secret good deeds, my friends. Go out there and make magic happen. You can be the reason that someone out there believes in miracles. You have more power than you think.

February 9, 2022

Blog School: BOOST

I’ve been teaching Blog School Courses online for more than two years now, and never knew exactly how to respond when people who’d completed my courses expressed interest in a “Part Two” version of my FIND YOUR BLOGGING SPARK course (which I also teach in a guided version called MAKE THE LEAP). Because my most fundamental tenant of blogging is that the writer has to make her own way, be bold and dare to blaze a path instead of trailing in somebody else’s footsteps.

But sometimes every blogger can benefit from a good creative boost, which is why I’m putting BOOST together, a “Part Two” kind of, as in we’ll get to work together again, but really this time you’ll be making your own way and I’ll be on the sidelines cheering you on.

Cost will be $400.

What you get:

• A one hour one-on-one call with me where we talk about your blogging goals and develop strategies to meet them.
• Written feedback from me on one post per week running for five weeks (Feb 28-April 1)
• A group of supportive and inspiring writers to learn from and respond to via a Google Group Forum
• Optional spotlight on the Blog School Blog and my social media to introduce your work to a wider audience

February 9, 2022

Notes on what is (hopefully) the final weeks of a plague

In the last week, I’ve booked airline tickets and concert tickets, though I’m still not ready to write any of these dates on the calendar. And even the dates that are on our calendar—for engagements much less monumental and crowded—are written faintly in pencil. We keep talking about jinxes. The last time we were supposed to fly to England was March 16 2020, and everybody knows what happened after that. I am sure I’m not alone in imagining the very act of imagining the future might be something of a risky endeavour.

*

I’ve been thinking about freedom, about what freedom means. How empty rhetoric really can be, The possibility that freedom really could be another word for nothing left to lose, because these seem to be sorts of people who’ve been employing the term a lot lately. Thinking about what freedom is once its been thoroughly drained of meaning. The idea of anything being “for freedom,” in particular an 18-wheeler truck parked obstinately in a city block whose driver is quite certain he has the right to demand a democratically elected government be overthrown. I’m remembering a comment by Elamin Abdelmahmoud on the Party Lines Podcast last year in response to the idea that Albertans have a particular affinity for freedom as opposed to the rest of Canada, and Abdelmahmoud dared to disagree, because surely all of us like freedom, every single one of us.

*

(I also think that freedom is a buzzword standing in for something darker, something sinister. That woman who writes cookbooks about glowing said she couldn’t stop crying as those trucks drove across the country, and that finally the world was waking up, and I just don’t trust anybody who’s pining for a revolution because, well, I’ve studied the twentieth century and revolutions never really worked out well for anyone except scary men with weird beards and people who run prison camps. For people who seem to spend so much time worrying about creeping totalitarianism, I am surprised these dots aren’t being connected.)

*

It seems like a weird time to be pitching a fit about Covid restrictions. See my first line about airline tickets and concert tickets. Even if vaccine requirements were your sticking point, if the trajectory we’re currently on continues, these are likely to be lifted as well, which will be a sweet relief, I tell you, because being screamed at about kindness and inclusion by people who refused to be vaccinated in a global health crisis really might just be the end of me, and the sooner I can never think about this ever again, the better.

*

I like everybody better when I don’t have access to a ticker-tape of their every waking thought.

*

For the last five days, an average of around 50,000 people been vaccinated in Ontario every day, a total of more than 700,000 people across the country. (You can find all those numbers here!) I don’t share these numbers in the spirit of “there’s more of us than them” (although I think this is probably the case) because I think that us-ing and them-ing is a terrible trap.

We’re all us, even if we disagree, and figuring how to make that work is how you build community, strengthen society. (Holding a city hostage with your very large truck is not how we make that work, however, in case anybody was wondering.)

The idea that some people’s interests matter more than others is such a dangerous one. (The idea that any of us are morally superior to those who disagree with us is just as bad.)

*
I continue to be strongly resistant to the use of the term “folks.” I mean, I hate it. It’s awful. And it doesn’t matter to me if it’s a right-wing populist saying folks or anyone else who’s saying folks. I don’t like the word “folks” because it’s not supposed to mean “people”, it’s supposed to mean “my kind of people.”

I am really really trying to be someone who says, “It takes all sorts,” and actually means it.

Especially since I think this is fundamentally true.

February 8, 2022

Gleanings

• The trauma plot, Sehgal writes, “presents us with locks and keys.” But humans are not doors to be unlocked with full understanding waiting just beyond the threshold.
• My fear with the Bernina is less setting the machine on fire (though it has crossed my mind!) and more general “breakage” paranoia. Still, I do like the idea of taking care of this new family member.
• The top came out lumpy, so I poured over a citrus-scented glaze and sprinkled on rose petals and lemon zest and decided it looks delicious enough. This is what actually happened and it’s also a metaphor for my winter survival tactics.
• If you’ve felt that inner impulse inspiring you to pick up a pen and write, then I believe you have a vocation, or a calling, if you will, to write.
• *Funny that every time I typed surfing in this post I would type surfacing instead. That works too.
• And after at least a year of feeling like my art wasn’t moving in a direction that made me happy, I decided to shush those voices that told me to ignore the whispers of enchantment.
• Some are a wake-up call, some are thought-provoking, some are humorous, some are poignant, and most are bold truths.
• I love Amy Krouse Rosenthal’s books Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life and Textbook Amy Krouse Rosenthal. If you’ve read them, you undoubtedly love them, too. And if you haven’t I don’t want to spoil them for you because they are under the category “books that delight and uplift.”
• In friendship, we walk the questions together. We feel less alone.
• Rightsizing doesn’t mean downsizing your living space or your closets or even your body. It means making choices that align with your needs, values and vision for yourself, rather than chasing after the elusive ‘more’ or ‘when I have …[enough free time], [more money], [more space], [a better job]’…fill in the blanks, you get the idea.
• Despite all of this chaos in the human world, nature simply goes about its business creating, growing, making new leaves, making new plants out of nothing and just generally being miraculous.
• I want to be stronger, yes, but just as soft.

February 7, 2022

The Cure For Sleep, by Tanya Shadrick

“How I began to spend my time that season would enlarge my life in a way I would only understand later, looking back. At the water’s edge that very first day when I stepped out from the hidden and habitual along with my clothes, I couldn’t know that even a middle-aged mother swimming laps in a small town can send ripples through the universe. But it did.”

Tanya Shadrick’s memoir The Cure For Sleep: Memoir of a Late-Waking Life is a story of becoming, of wonder, awe and possibility. It’s a story of life after death, of creative fulfillment after motherhood, of fierce determination, and the triumph of artistic expression and human connection. Triumph that comes against the odds, for Shadrick grew up accustomed to hiding on the margins, shy and uncomfortable with her place in the world, the working class daughter of a broken marriage, rejected by her father, growing up in the shadow of her mother’s difficult second marriage. Shadrick makes it out of her hometown, however, attending university, where she falls in love with a boy who’s as comfortable retired from society as she is, and they make a life together whose foundation is books and ideas, questions and conversation. And then soon after the birth of their first child, a medical emergency after complications, Shadrick comes as close to dying as one can while still being able to tell the tale, and a vision in this moment causes her to re-imagine her place in the world, to find a way to live more boldly and grow through connection with others.

Shadrick writes about early motherhood as an expedition in a way that delightfully recalls Maria Mutch’s memoir Know the Night, challenging notions of maternal instinct as these were feelings she had to conjure by practice. After having told the story of her “First Life,” she begins to live her second one differently, venturing out to meet other mothers and finding connection there, the inverse of such a tiresome cliche, and together these women support one another and find new ways to make a village. Shadrick eventually leaves the security of her administrative job at the university she attended to begin collecting stories of people living out their last days in hospices. She also starts swimming during the hours she can find for herself, which proves most inspiring, and she eventually becomes an artist in residence at the swimming pool, writing what she calls “laps of longhand.” All these experiences leading Shadrick to become known by a woman called Lynne Roper, whose notes and diaries, after Roper’s death, are edited into a volume called Wild Woman Swimming, longlisted for the Wainwright Book Prize in 2019.

How does one build a life? How does one become an artist?

(And most pressing: what does one wear for such an occasion? Shadrick would recommended a headscarf and an apron.)

If you’ve ever been a human, you’ll intuit that Shadrick’s path is not straightforward. That her success does not extinguish her pain and longing that resulted from her father’s rejection. That her long and beautiful marriage does not continue without the complication of Shadrick falling in love with somebody else. That achieving one’s goals does not always (or ever?) deliver happily ever after, and a wife, a woman, a mother, is forever becoming, which is the best possible outcome, even if it means that such a thing as satisfaction is always out of reach.

I ordered The Cure For Sleep from the UK after following Shadrick for some time on Instagram (swimming connections, I think) and coming to appreciate her artistic vision, and the memoir was everything I’d hoped it would be. Rich and literary, complex and thought-provoking, challenging and absorbing at once.

February 3, 2022

Ted Lasso and the Internet

The other day I stumbled onto a Reddit thread. I don’t usually visit Reddit, but I was searching for information about a gift card fundraiser my Member of Provincial Parliament was running for local families who’d lost their homes in a fire, and someone had posted the flyer on Reddit, others following up on how the fundraiser sounded like a scam (which it’s not, since I’d been emailing my MPP directly about it) and it just occurred to me how everybody on the internet always knows everything all the time, especially when they don’t, and maybe this is the very worst thing about the internet altogether (which is saying a lot).

This idea underlined during the brief moments I’ve spent—before I sensibly manage to pull myself away—reading comments on posts about obnoxious right wing protests, how little chance those commenting (on either side!) are giving themselves or those who disagree with them to listen and learn, to think and consider. How nobody is curious, and how those who support the protests are prone to knee jerk defensiveness, which results in things being irrevocably stuck.

I’m thinking too about how years of writing on the internet has reprogrammed my brain so that I’m consistently taking up the pose of expert, how I can barely know anything without considering turning those ideas into a listicle of life hacks.

And how even movements that began with best intentions—like women owning their authority and using “Dr” in their Twitter profile if they possess such a title, but how that’s led to a whole bunch of “Doctors” peddling misinformation about vaccination. (I’m looking at you, Member of Parliament for Haldimand—Norfolk.)

How nobody is asking questions, unless they’re “just asking questions,” and we know what that’s all about.

How nobody is ever asking questions that they don’t (think they) know the answers to already.

Which brings me to Ted Lasso. (Do all journeys eventually arrive at this place?)…

(Read the rest of my post at my Blog School blog…)

February 1, 2022

Gleanings

• Making meaning of this pandemic is a very human response, but maybe it can also become a bit of an addiction, another way to control, and build an identity around how you’re doing it right while so many are doing it wrong.
• Reading does it again, gets me through, keeps me going, makes everything so very good, especially when I get to share it with someone amazing.
• We reach out, we spend time with each other, we ask questions, we lift each other up; and THEN we create. And the sharing of this creation empowers others to create. We give so we can give, so we can give.
• They shouldn’t let just anyone drive on our street.
• Maybe what I’m really trying to get at with this post is that we still need the tactile, the movement of pen or pencil over paper, we need the brush daubing and sliding through that paint, we need to get our hands a bit dirty or spill a bit of ink.
• Then I dug out this old picture of myself with a group of friends taken 40+ years ago, I don’t know the exact year. Did we know how beautiful we were then? And what if we knew then what we know now? Would we have made different choices? Would we have appreciated ourselves more, compared ourselves to others less?
• A bedcover, yes, but also a record of how I felt about the floods, the rivers, the state I find myself in as an aging woman, attentive to my own heart-beat.
• Isn’t it amazing to consider all of the millions of moments, decisions and details of not only our lives, but of previous generations, that have led us to sitting together, sipping tea and sharing stories on this very day?
• “What exactly is the cloud and how does it work?” I asked. And he admitted that he wasn’t quite certain himself.
• Tookie’s journey would have been enough for a story, but add in the bookstore haunting, her intriguing fellow employees and their stories, the vital role of books, and of course the appearance of the Pandemic and months of panic and isolation, as well as the explosive political moment of Black Lives Matter, and this book is bursting with deep ideas to explore.
• She’s right that grief is lonely, and that in the face of it, our words often fail us. She’s also right that “no matter how anarchic and wretched the grief may be, a poet will have gotten there first.”
• How do we know when it’s too late? I guess that’s what I’m wondering. I’m wondering what I can do right now, and how, and with whom.
• She could have skipped the event, but no one would have known why. She could have stood on a podium and ranted, but I expect she would have been largely ignored. Instead, she threw the prime minister a powerful glare that sent a clear message.
• Between one thing and another, I never made it to the cinema in the Fall, and now that they’re shut again, it’s all I want to do.