Obscure CanLit Mama

Purple Duck Soup

2009-11-10T18:46:00.007-05:00

What a mess this house is. What a crumb-cluttered, toy-tossed, almost indescribable state of yuck. Here's a stuffed duck I found inside a pot inside a drawer. Duck soup. We suffered complete pandemonium after tonight's supper, for which there was no explanation. Both parents were too tired to rise from the table to staunch the inevitable tragedy-in-waiting. (Nothing too terrible happened). But, crikey, it was loud. You could have called it downright chaos. Anarchy.
After dish-washing, and lunch-packing, I corralled the older two children into helping me plan out new morning and evening responsibilities. Actually, there's nothing new about any of these, it's just new that we're writing it up and posting it on the wall under the saleable titles of: Happy Day AM!, and Happy Day PM! (Chores, duties, and other words of that ilk did not feel quite so inspiring. Hopefully this is not a case of Orwellian double-speak). Thanks to both Janis and Marnie for their helpful suggestions on organizing and motivating feet-dragging children. We'll see how this works, and for how long ...
::::
In other news, I'm discovering mixed emotions about my women's studies zine/blog project (read the previous post if this is the first you're hearing about it), though perhaps should not be taking its temperature minute-by-minute (curse you, internet, curse you!). Talk about a consciousness-raising project (sadly, it may only be raising my own ...). But I spent part of last night surfing for blogs by feminist mothers, and found ... so much anger and bitterness. Destruction rather than construction. I wonder whether this is the feminist that other women don't want to define themselves as, and whether the word now means something other than what it once did. And maybe I'm a complete naif for never noticing that. I've always rather blithely defined myself as a feminist, without bothering to explain: oh, but not that kind of feminist. But I guess I'm not that kind of feminist, really. I'm not a natural activist, that's for certain. I have an abhorrence toward violence of any kind, and rage causes me deep discomfort. I do recognize there are situations in which rage might be the only response. But I still don't like it. I don't like feeling angry myself or assigning blame. I'm wondering ... can change happen ... gracefully, gently, slowly? Can it be brought about by people asking: how can I make this better? What does better look like? How can I help?
:::
Please go and read the responses to the questionnaire that are coming in. I've posted them here. They're lovely and thought-provoking, and I thank everyone who's taken time to reply. You've got me thinking, too.

Moms Are Feminists Too

2009-11-09T13:58:00.007-05:00

Hi readers. Could I ask a favour, please? I'm working on a zine project for my women's studies class, and have launched a blog to complement it. Both relate to a recent post on how the personal feels political. The blog is called Moms Are Feminists Too. If you are a feminist and a mother, or even a mother who's thought a bit about feminism, would you consider visiting and responding to my opening questionnaire? It focuses on motherhood, identity, work, and feminism.
I haven't got any brilliant ideas, yet, for change, but basically want to create a forum to discuss how we can make this job of mothering more valued in our culture. Think of these two extreme characterizations of stay-home mothers: yummy mummies and welfare moms. Think of the negative baggage both of those images carry: on the one hand, we have the self-indugent hyper-privileged moms, and on the other, the lazy, uneducated moms. It's mean. And it's prevalent. (Can you think of a different prevailing characterization for motherhood today? If so, I want to know! My fuzzy-mummy brain can't conjure any up ...). (And, yes, I wrote that last sentence on purpose). Stay-at-home dads face similar problems, which makes me think the underlying issue is a general cultural disdain for childcare and children.
Because this is a school-related project, I can't promise it will have legs past the assignment's due date. But then again, maybe it will. Thanks in advance for your help and input!
:::
Note: you don't have agree with everything / anything I'm saying to add your voice to the mix.

Social Event of the Season

2009-11-07T13:55:00.005-05:00

This makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside ... to come across, in dear old Blogland, a post about a story I wrote. The blogger is Rebecca Rosenblum, who read at the New Quarterly launch several weeks ago, and whom I'd heard last year, too. She's a young writer with a unique voice and vision. You won't feel like you're reading something ordinary or done-before when you read her. Her first collection of stories is called Once, and I've got a link to her blog Rose-coloured among the CanLit blogs listed on the right. (The book itself is still on my to-read list ...).
:::
In other news, have you been to the social event of the season yet? You know, the swarms of people lining up outside in the cold for hours on end to get ... tickets to a U2 concert? ... into the newest hot hot hot dance club? ... the best ice cream ever invented? Would that it were so. Because at the end of this line-up is a brightly lit room packed with screaming babies and toddlers who had no idea that the climax of all this patient waiting would be a smiling nurse jabbing them with a needle. Whoo-hoo! Let me tell you, the fun never ends at the H1N1 clinics. I was reflecting on how waiting in a long line has a couple of effects, not necessarily good ones. Firstly, it makes you really want whatever you're lined up for. It feels like there's a shortage, and dammit, you're going to get this THING that everyone else wants too--or else! Which, secondly, makes you really resent those queue jumpers slipping semi-apologetically (or not) into the lineup ahead of you. Thankfully, I was able to pull myself back and analyze these negative impulses, and go, hey, I'm not going to do this. I'm not going to coddle my mean-spirit, instead I'm going to be grateful, because the sun is shining, it's quite mild, the kids are behaving, no one's pushing or yelling, and the women working the clinic are super-friendly. Life's too short to wallow. And as we were walking back to our car (hours later, car parked miles away, CJ screaming apoplectically because he wanted to stand on the stroller WHEEL and Could Not Understand Why mean mommy wouldn't let him), along romped the cutest wee puppy, off her leash and squirmy and delightful, and we all got down and petted her and let her lick us and leap all over us, and everything felt much much better. Maybe Apple-Apple will get her wish after all. Maybe a dog is in our family's future. Okay, distant future. But maybe.
:::
Oh, and in case you're wondering, the above photo is a random shot of our kitchen floor. CJ's fave new play area. He drags out every pot and pan in the house, grunting "heaby, heaby" (heavy). I just opened a drawer to discover a flattened purple stuffed duck in a frying pan, underneath a glass lid. Must get a photo of that.

Exhibit Number One

2009-11-06T08:43:00.002-05:00

Yesterday evening, I went to class and participated in a faux consciousness raising group, while Kevin fed the kids the shepherd's pie I'd made for supper (a big bust; never add leftover squash assuming it will blend in with the gravy under the mashed potatoes), and took them to a photography exhibit at Kitchener's Rotunda Gallery. He promised them ice cream, and ice cream was found. Albus went with a cut on his eye due to post-supper horsing about. The exhibit is by a friend, Karl Kessler, and the photos are of people who work in vanishing trades, and are accompanied by short interviews.
:::
Spent this morning working. I'm in the early stages of a new project, and the whole search at present is for tone. What baffles me is that the tone for this blog comes so naturally ... why can't that translate to absolutely everything I write? For the current project, I'm seeking a casual and entertaining tone, like a chat with a good girl friend. Not sure whether or not that summarizes this blog's tone. No, I think this is more stream-of-consciousness. Whether or not it's consciousness-raising is up for debate, or more likely beside the point.
:::
PD day ... upcoming afternoon projects include: naptime; walking around the neighbourhood to hand out birthday invitations; and a trip uptown to buy a few essentials. I've heard that there's an Uptown Treasure Hunt or somesuch on right now. Anyone know anything about that?

Nice Lid, Kid

2009-11-05T14:05:00.010-05:00

Someone likes getting his hair brushed. But is he going to declare us the meanest parents ever, somewhere down the road, for dressing his gorgeous toddler self in a pink sleeper? And photographing him wearing it? And posting said photograph online? After this photo was taken, he asked to "see! see!" and when shown, he stabbed with his finger at the little person on the tiny screen and yelled out his own name, for the first time ever, to the insane delight of his entire family, who happened to be gathered 'round for bedtime snack (Kevin's least favourite "meal" of the day).
:::
My friend Tricia has joined a challenge to read 100 books this month--children's books. That got me thinking that it might be interesting to keep track of what I've read on a given day ... say, yesterday. I know that I read a lot every day, but it's not the reading I used to do when I would sit down and devour a book for hours at a time. It's endless little bits that add up to ... not sure, really. Broader knowledge? Or shallower knowledge? Less about more?
:::
So, here's what I read on Wednesday, though not in any particular order ...
Front section (news) of the Globe and Mail newspaper (on actual newsprint--we get it delivered). Online first-person piece by Diana Athill, from the National Post's website. A blog about the Bookstravaganza reading I attended on Monday. Caught up on the Globe and Mail's online book blog. An interview with Annabel Lyon on the Toronto Star's website. A bunch of emails. Facebook content provided by Facebook friends (thanks, friends!). Dooce. Several assigned articles in a textbook called Open Boundaries, which, truth be told, glazed my eyeballs. The obituary of a famous anthropologist in the Globe and Mail. Something from Nothing (a children's book), and Pancakes! Pancakes! (another children's book). Part of Attack of the Giant Mutant Snow Goons, or somesuch, a Calvin & Hobbes comic book. Several recipes. A couple of my own stories, for editing purposes. My women's studies essay, for proofing purposes. Various sheets of paper carried home in the bags of my school-going children.
There may be more that I'm forgetting now.

If you're looking for a wee bit of entertainment this morning ...

2009-11-04T09:54:00.003-05:00

Read this first-person account by Diana Athill, as published in the National Post. It's got flavour. (She and Alice Munro were the writers Kevin and I went to Toronto to see a couple of weeks ago).

Looking for The Golden Mean

2009-11-03T22:55:00.003-05:00

Before and after. I'm surprised every time I see her with that gap. She looks so different, and it reminds me that she's growing up. Once again, I pulled the tooth. She is crazy brave; or else has superior pain tolerance; or both. Because, seriously, she made not a peep during the removal, except when piping up to offer suggestions and advice.
:::
I'm working on some writing news, but it's not quite ready to unveil yet. Don't get too excited. It's nothing to do with the Nica stories, or any fiction or poetry or literary writing at all, actually. Not my usual writing news, she says, and thusly leaves her reader in suspense ...
Meantime, I'm looking forward to a couple of writing mornings this week, and wondering where they will take me. And I actually managed to finish chapter one of Annabel Lyon's The Golden Mean, which would hardly be considered a feat (it's an amazing book, so far), except that I succeeded in reading it while babysitting this morning (parents of said babysat child: please don't dock my pay). My usually cheerful threesome of Tuesday children went all Tuesday-ish on me last week, and there was much grumpiness and butting of heads, so I decided to stay right on top of the situation today. But soon discovered that just sitting quietly on the couch or rocking chair in the same room, being available to jump in when the tone changed from convivial to bossy, was enough supervision. So I added the book to the mix. It turned out to be a good morning. Read this book, too! Then we can chat about it, perhaps over coffee, while our children boss each other around. Just a thought.

Recipes: Carrot Soup and non-Carrot Granola

2009-11-02T12:35:00.006-05:00

On Halloween, the kids and I went out to Herrle's Farm Market to buy pumpkins for carving, and discovered that it was their last day open for the season, and not only were there free cookies, danishes and butter tarts for customers (hello, heaven), but many items were on sale, too. So, among other purchases, including some delectable pickled sugar snap peas, we hauled home a huge bag of carrots. Usually, the kids eat so many carrots raw that they're all devoured before I can cook with them. So, carrots became the theme of my Day of the Dead meal: carrot soup to start, and carrot cake to finish. The soup recipe is worth posting. Smooth, sweet, mild, and optionally vegan.

Ginger Carrot Soup
Peel and trim 2 lbs of carrots (or more, whatever looks good in your pot), add 4 cups water (or more, depending on how many carrots you're using). Bring to a boil, simmer till soft. Reserve.
In a separate soup pot, saute 1-2 chopped onions, 2 cloves chopped garlic, 2 tbls grated ginger (or 1 tsp ground ginger) with 1 tbls butter or oil. Add additional seasonings: 1 and 1/2 tsp salt, plus 1/4 tsp each of the following: cumin; ground fennel; cinnamon; allspice; dried mint. (Add more or less of each according on your family's tastebuds). Saute till onions are soft. Remove from heat. Stir in 3-4 tbls fresh lemon juice.
Now, pour/ladel in the cooked carrots and their cooking water. Puree everything together (I used last year's Christmas gift: a handheld submersible food processing device that I stick directly into the cooking pot, hugely cutting down on the mess, and which I highly recommend.)
You can also add a cup of toasted cashews to the mix, though I didn't.
(Adapted from The New Moosewood Cookbook.)
:::
A couple of months ago, a friend requested my granola recipe. She said my granola, as pictured on this blog, looked delicious, but hers always turned out raw-ish and sat heavily in the belly all morning. That was a small aha moment for me, because, truth be told, my granola looked pretty on the blog, but that most recent batch had effected a similar response in the gut. So I couldn't, in good conscience, post the recipe. Till now! Last weekend, I had great success with a modified granola recipe, which even Apple-Apple will eat. It's crunchy and sweet, almost cookie-ish, and flavoured with maple syrup.

Really Good Granola
Combine in a pan on the stove: 1/2 cup water, 1 cup oil, 1 cup maple syrup and/or honey, in whatever combination you like, 2 tsp vanilla, and 1 tbls salt (or a good deal less salt, if you prefer). Simmer till the ingredients are all melted together.
Meanwhile, in a separate large mixing bowl combine: 2 cups whole wheat flour, 6 cups rolled oats, 1 cup coconut, 1 cup wheat germ, and 1 cup flax and sunflower seeds in combination. (The coconut is definitely optional).
Now, add the warm blended liquids to the dry ingredients, mix thoroughly, and spread in a thin layer on two greased cookie trays. Bake at 250 degrees till dry and crunchy. This could take up to two hours, but check every half hour or so to stir and test, till it reaches your preferred texture.
You can add dried fruit and nuts afterward; but my kids prefer it very plain. Store in covered containers. This will last awhile ... but hopefully not too long; the whole goal is to make food that disappears!
(Adapted from the More-With-Less Cookbook).

Day of the Dead

2009-11-02T09:58:00.003-05:00

Yesterday, we celebrated/marked el Dia de los Muertos, or Day of the Dead. Kevin was thinking a lot about his dad, who died of cancer two years ago, on Halloween. Last year, we drove to his mom's farm near Kingston after trick-or-treating, exactly as we'd done the previous year; but this year, Kevin worked on Halloween, and we couldn't make the pilgrimage. So, instead, Kevin made a Day of the Dead shrine to honour those family members who've passed on. The kids and I were anxious about the candles burning down the house (sorry, Kev, I seem to have passed along the worry gene that doesn't afflict you, and certainly didn't afflict your dad, either!). I spent the Day of the Dead cooking up a feast. Albus played street hockey all afternoon, Fooey played indoors, Apple-Apple ploughed through the rest of the fifth Harry Potter book whilst wiggling a loose tooth (now out), and CJ napped.

::::

I'm alone with CJ again this morning, and we are playing upstairs. If we get downstairs, and if he doesn't strongly object to my typing, I will add some recipes ...

Trick or Treating

2009-11-01T14:14:00.004-05:00

Witch pumpkin. Alien pumpkin. Cute-as-a-button pumpkin, with stars (though Fooey says it's pretty scary; that's a bow on its forehead).
CJ. Not impressed by Albus's costume (Darth Maul from Star Wars).
Anakin from Star Wars. Darth Maul from Star Wars. Pumpkin. "Just a plane."
Anakin after dark.

Happy Halloween!

2009-10-31T15:41:00.001-04:00

Halloween Skate, October 30, 2009

2009-10-31T11:36:00.002-04:00

The Personal

2009-10-30T13:09:00.004-04:00

Spending the morning alone with CJ is taking me back a few years, to the first year-and-a-bit I spent alone at home with my first-born (his younger sister arrived not quite eighteen months after him, at which point, life became considerably more chaotic). The house was so quiet. I used to turn on the radio, or the television, for company. We were living in a new city and knew no one. I didn't feel lonely. I was 26 years old, and utterly thrilled by motherhood, captivated by this newfound, instant purpose to my life. I am thinking about this not only because my feelings have changed in ways profound and subtle over the last eight years, but also because we have been discussing the implications of stay-at-home mothering in my women's studies class. For most of the students, fresh out of high school, this is purely theoretical. For me, it feels deeply personal. That slogan "the personal is the political" is suddenly relevant. At times during last night's lecture I felt hurt and upset, as when the professor said rather casually something along these lines: most of you aren't planning to get your degrees so you can stay at home and bake cookies and raise children, are you? Her point being: at this stage in your lives, all of you fresh-faced, ambitious first-years, you're harbouring bigger plans, right? But that's me. That's me in a nutshell. I am the woman with the master's degree at home with my children baking cookies. My professor was essentially sympathetic to the quandaries and choices families have to make, husband and wife together, in order to raise children in a society that hasn't really figured out how to support young families: is daycare the answer? Early childhood education? Paternity leaves and benefits? Why is there this unspoken concept of "the mommy track"? Her answer to all of these: it's the patriarchy, stupid (I paraphrase).

I can't do this topic justice in one blog post, so herewith, I present a few random thoughts. First, I refuse to think of this (at least) decade spent primarily with my children as lost time, or a waste of my talents and abilities. There was nothing I wanted more than to stay home with my babies. Nothing. No amount of subsidized daycare could have driven me back to work, when I had the option, financially speaking, to stay home. I asked Kevin whether he felt a horrible pang upon returning to work, leaving his babies at home. He couldn't remember. He is, however, a very active involved father, and I know his feelings toward our children are just as strong as mine. But the truth is, had he wanted (and been able) to stay home, I would have fought him to get to stay home instead. I didn't want to leave my babies and go back to work. On the other hand, what Betty Friedan was addressing in The Feminine Mystique, "the problem that has no name," that puzzling, weary, unspoken malaise experienced by many stay-at-home mothers (in the 1960s, and now) is a real phenomenon. It's a feeling of spiritual lack, unfed by middle-class wealth and comfort; and of personal, often secret, longing. The feeling of being unfulfilled. And guilty, too, becase our children are supposed to fulfill us, somehow--I would argue that still remains the overwhelming trope.

I would like to counter this with a baking-your-cookies-and-eating-them-too philosophy: my own, which is unfolding even now. We live our lives in stages. I'm not a big believer in being able to do--or trying to do--everything all at once. If I am fortunate, my life will stretch long enough to be lived in quite different ways at different times. (Though this is not without compromise). I am coming to the end of the young-child stage, the every day, every minute, pre-verbal, breastfeeding, diapering, lost sleep stage. Of course, my children will continue to need me, but not at this same level of simple intensity. The problems become more complex, but children grow. It's what they do best.

For me, spending this young-child stage so completely with my young children has been deeply fulfilling. But, like my professor suggested, it is not the only thing that I want to do. I'm getting ready to move along, to enter the world, on occasion, unencumbered by my children (I mean that literally; as a young mother, I felt naked on the rare occasion I was out in public without my kids, I wanted to tell every passing person about their existence; and I don't feel that need anymore, which is an interesting shift).

What fascinates me about life is how much there is to learn from every situation, every pain, every contact, every seemingly ordinary moment. No one told me to take this class at this moment in my life; in fact, it seemed a bit silly, even self-indulgent. (I am taking it because, should I choose to pursue a degree in midwifery, this course would count toward that). But it has become, like so many of the things I've chosen despite no one telling me that I should or could, another entry point for these random pinpricks of light that illuminate my path.

Leaf by Leaf

2009-10-29T08:57:00.003-04:00

Almost all the leaves are down from our big trees out front, and most from the back. Yesterday was warm enough for no mittens while playing outside till nightfall. The kids raked up a giant leaf pile, snacked on the last local watermelon of the season, ran, climbed, dug a giant hole in the sandbox. It so was easy to entertain them--because they needed no entertainment.

:::

Want to alert any readers in Waterloo to next week's "Bookstravaganza" at the Starlight, Monday, November 2, 8pm. It's a mini-festival to celebrate books, and includes in the lineup local writer Jason Schneider whose most recent book has just been published by my brother Christian's own Blaurock Press. Also appearing will be exciting new talent from House of Anansi, ECW, and Coach House.

:::

Today is a sleepy writing day. I'm tapping away at the stories, and wondering ... what comes next? If you were to ask my kids that, they'd say: Hallowe'en!!!! All week it's been: only three more days, Mommy. Only TWO more days! And after that comes Christmas! Here's what I look forward to at this time of year: winter solstice, when the days begin imperceptibly lengthening again.

Open

2009-10-27T14:04:00.004-04:00

Okay. So, the reading. It was such a gift to speak those words out loud, to share them. It made me want to finish the Juliet Stories, and share the rest, too, collected altogether into something coherent and complete. The more I've reflected on memoir versus fiction, the less it seems that one needs to eclipse the other. Both can exist. Each would be a different creation, and there's enough material to go around. I'll barely touch it in one, or the other. Because the stories are so near completion, my plan is to return there first, and finish those. Any publishers out there short on beautiful story collections? Call me. Heh. Pretty sure I know the answer to that. But, the reading reminded me that these are strong stories, worthy of being published.
Open. That's my state of being these days. Open, not closed. Look at those kids playing in our backyard. They ran outside after school yesterday, despite the chill, and imagined themselves a thousand different places and things. You couldn't be more open than that.
::::
Oh, and a late edit addition: just discovered this post on the reading by the musician who played for us that evening. His name is Alex James, and he played us an evening's worth of sweet homegrown tunes. When we clapped, he said, no, please, I'm just the background music! Well, background or foreground ... he gave us the perfect soundtrack to a really fine evening.

Back to the Present

2009-10-26T10:39:00.004-04:00

Attempting routine after a decidedly not-normal week, with ambivalent results. Three children returned to school, one jolly (the smallest) and excited about sub day, one with well-brushed hair, and one feeling queasy about entering school after a week off. I suggested coming to pick him up early, but he thought that would just be weird. I contemplated calling the school mid-way through the day to ask his teacher how he's getting on, then realized that would be even weirder. From his point of view.
After a week of excitement and mealtimes askew and late nights and visitors we all feel unmoored, rattling about, dithering, sleepy. I am staring at a handscrawled list of to-dos, on which "blog" does not appear. This is what CJ's doing on the floor beside me, chatting quietly to himself. Just noticed I've left a package of frozen hamburger thawing on the counter in a puddle of bacteria-laden mush. Sheesh.
And now the kid is throwing things. This is my cue to depart for the out-in-the-world errands that need doing, while it's just the two of us, and we have a vehicle at our disposal.

Update, on a Rain-Spattered Day

2009-10-23T12:41:00.009-04:00

An update seems in order.
Yes, my midterm went well. Apparently my mama-brain still retains and regurgitates factual information upon request. I realized it had been a really really really impressively long time since I'd written an exam; in grad school, we had to endure nerve-wracking seminar presentations instead. All said, it was doable. Best of all, my cold vapours seemed to lift as I entered the classroom, and by the time Kevin had picked me up and driven us across town to the Art Bar, I felt very nearly in the pink of health. It had been a really really really long time since I'd read, too. Though initially nervous, and somewhat dry of mouth, I reminded myself (as ever) to enjoy the moment, and take confidence in the words. The words will lead you home. Or something like that. Tough crowd, reading to a roomful of friends.

I never remember to have photos taken at readings, which is why CJ appears above, not me. He loves to climb a stool and hack away at the computer keyboard, which is probably ill-advised for its long-term health. Apple-Apple has also been spending great swathes of time at the upstairs computer, working on a Quidditch story. She has amazing focus and patience, and reminds me of myself, the way she can hole up inside her imaginary worlds and vanish. I perform vanishing acts regularly, much to the dismay of my family. It is maddening, I can see that. But there's no other way to write something out. Writing takes me out of life; but it takes me deeper inside of it, too.

Alice Munro said a few things that struck me to the core: one, was that she doesn't consider herself a very brave person, and though she might be a brave writer, it was very difficult to come back from that writing world and have to deal with the consequences of what she'd written. She admitted that she'd caused pain, not purposely, of course; and one could infer that it pained her greatly to have caused pain. That's a part of the writing life people don't much talk about. It's damned true. She also said that outside of her daily chores, she really just writes. It's all she does, all she wants to do. That gave me pause. Because it's not all that I want to do. I have such a variety of interests, my energies run in different directions, and I love that part of myself that is physically engaged with the world; maybe I will not be a writer-writer after all. I'll just be a happy dabbler in the great sea of literature. Just let it be that what I write is true. Both Alice Munro and Diana Athill spoke at some length about how the only thing that really matters, when writing, is to get at the heart of the matter, that in holding back, hesitating, being afraid, unwilling to go to the core, being anything other than totally honest ... well, what you write will ring false. Which returns me to Alice Munro's comment that she's not a brave person: yes, she is. She's been brave enough to write truthfully and unselfconsciously, and brave enough to publish it, no matter the consequences. I salute her. (And I can't wait to read Diana Athill's memoirs. I'm certain she's a brave writer, too).

Where I'm At

2009-10-22T13:13:00.007-04:00

Here's where Kevin and I were last night: in Toronto, listening to Alice Munro and Diana Athill talk about their writing lives. Amazing! Once-in-a-lifetime. Anansi Press has posted a link to the podcast (click on the link above to find it all).

And here's where I'll be tonight: in Kitchener, reading from a new story at the Art Bar for the launch of this fall's New Quarterly (still haven't held the finished product in my hands; looking forward to that).

Where I'll be immediately before that doesn't get a link. Suffice it to say, I'm just required to show up with a brainful of knowledge and a working pen.

And, finally, here's where I am right now: in bed, clad in pjs and bathrobe, sipping garlic-lemon-ginger tea (apologies to anyone who will be in my vicinity at any point in the near future), fighting a cold. Thankfully, my mother-in-law is visiting and has been wrangling children all morning. We're all happy it's finally naptime. (And if you've never seen me clad in pjs and bathrobe, be grateful. Be very very grateful. No illustrations needed.)

Paper Houses

2009-10-20T13:47:00.005-04:00

Things were not going well. Despite paper doll houses and painting projects at the dining-room table. Some of us have been inside for three days straight. Some of us felt like throwing our heads back and howling.

What's that you say? Out there in the big wide world? Today is not freezing, or windy, or rainy? The sun is shining? I could hang the laundry?! Boots on, door open, fresh air, improved moods. Especially mine.

Book Publishing: A Different View

2009-10-20T10:21:00.003-04:00

Must direct anyone interested in the book biz to my friend Deanna's blog post on the brave new digital future/present. Deanna was one of the first people I knew to start blogging, years before the rest of us caught on; she's also an accomplished writer, reads at an amazing pace, and has worked in the publishing industry for years. Her enthusiasm and optimism is refreshing.

Sick Day Photos

2009-10-19T15:41:00.004-04:00

The pink pajama-ed "little" ones. Relaxing post-breakfast, before school. Block building morning: three-stories tall. Food-spilling CJ. This was followed by much vacuuming. And then by more spilling. Eldest now back in bed feeling crummy. He took care to destroy his own creation before CJ could wreck it first.

Plots, Plans and Schemes

2009-10-18T19:01:00.004-04:00

This has been a fine day. Gorgeous sunshine in which to run a morning errand. Finally feeling inspired to cook and bake again, after a long spell of ho-hum-ness. Kevin and the little kids spent almost two hours playing in the leaves out back. But our big boy is sick. He spent the day in bed, which would be evidence enough; but he also has a fever. As he's staying hydrated and has no cough, I'm not worried. If it should spread, however ... well, that would throw a wrench into the wheels of this busy approaching week. Kevin and I have plans to celebrate our tenth anniversary, a few months late, in Toronto on Wednesday--attending the Alice Munro/Diana Athill conversation at the International Festival of Authors!!!!! Can I wait? No, I cannot. We decided against spending the night, despite having elaborate babysitting in place, because I have a midterm and my own reading the following day. Too much. Throw in a little H1N1 and ...
The best-laid plans, huh.
:::
This was a good day, however. Quiet, sleepy, filled with good food. I baked four loaves of whole wheat bread, a batch of oatmeal/chocolate chip cookies, and cooked up a huge pot of chicken stock, made with the frozen lizardy-gizzardy bits from chickens past. I don't know whether the savoury garlicky broth will cure what ails anyone, but it can't hurt. Plus, I made so much, I've got four containers frozen for later use (likely in the crockpot).
And with today's kitchen frenzy, I feel a renewed resolve. Nina's buying club will be going to a monthly schedule after this coming Friday, and our pantries and cupboards and freezers are full of fall and summer bounty, and of the raw materials for baking and cooking magnificent meals from scratch. So, here is my plan: to eat from our stores. If what we've stored runs out, hurrah, I'll take it as a sign of the experiment's success. And order some more (lentils? bread flour? potatoes? stewed tomatoes?) from Nina. I don't mean I'll bake up crackers (my homemade crackers are lousy), but yes, bread, yes, cookies, yes, granola. Yes, chicken stock.
:::
Okay, the child seen pictured above is clad in a yellow duck towel and stands behind me demanding I pick out her pajamas. Oh, I should say that her headgear belongs to her planned Hallowe'en costume. I'll leave it to your imagination. You'll just have to wait and see.
Over and out.

aka Hockey Hair

2009-10-18T14:26:00.003-04:00

Is it wrong to have given my son a mullet? This cut was the result, yesterday morning, of him complaining that hair was getting in his eyes, and of me responding with an eager, but rather dull, set of scissors. After I'd sawed a bit off the front, and trimmed over the ears, the boy was growing impatient, and it dawned on me that I'd accidentally given him a genuine style ... a curly-haired, eight-year-old, somewhat matted, slightly punk-rock version of that old Canadian favourite. So I stopped right there.

Hogwarts in Our Living-Room

2009-10-16T13:24:00.004-04:00

She's on the fifth Harry Potter book, reading on her own; and she's entered whole-self into that world. She ran through the door after school yesterday, clad herself in cape and hat (plus a plush duck that stands in for her owl, named "Tweet"), and began practicing the piano. I love that she's not pretending to be Hermoine or Harry, she's herself, Hogwarts student, wholly integrated into that magical world. Kevin and I have been replying to notes sent via her owl, rubber-banding messages onto the owl's leg. The piano practice was spontaneous, which I must say happens rarely, though both kids were greatly more enthusiastic when I suggested they try writing their own songs. (Still, they need the practice to gain the skills to write songs; can I persuade them of this?) Albus's made-up song had a catchy tune, with the words "Turkeys running everywhere-ere / and the sun is shi-i-i-ning / Turkeys running every which way / Turkeys running every which way." Apple-Apple's had a more complicated melody and made much use of the sustain pedal. If you're around and would like a performance in person, just ask. As far as I can tell, all four children enjoy being on stage and performing for an audience. Hmm.

Joys of Obligation

2009-10-16T09:56:00.005-04:00

Thought of the day: obligation and responsibility make us who we are, and by living up to these, we are molded and changed by the things we choose to do. This may explain why children respond so well to routines and (small) responsibilities. Kevin and I held an impromptu, late-night parenting meeting on the weekend--initiated by Kevin, which I appreciated--and we made a master list of all the things we'd like our children to do. Such as: practice piano, set the table, clear their plates after supper, use manners, better behavior in the car, help tidy the house, clean their rooms once a week, brush teeth, wash hands. Very simple, basic stuff. The table setting routine was easily put into play: a simple rotation, one child each evening in charge of helping mama. I remind them in advance that it's their evening, and so far the response has been cheerful. Fooey is especially pleased to be my helper. We've also returned to holding hands and singing a prayer before we begin serving food, as a way of pulling all of us together. And this is a very basic parenting tip, but just reminding the kids of the plan, well in advance, and repeatedly, makes everyone more open to it. Nobody likes to be told, cold, while in the middle of building a gigantic Lego ship, get your boots on we're leaving Right Now! Much better to call out a five-minute warning ... even if it means you'll be five minutes late.

Anyway.

No photos, because I'm upstairs.

Obligation also works for grownups, too, I think. I'm terrified by the concept of retirement. Sometimes I wonder why I'm so driven, why I layer my life with extra reponsibilities away and beyond what is already required of me, and wonder what exactly I'm hoping to achieve, or even what achievement means to me, and worry I'm hiding from something inside myself--hiding by working so hard and being so busy. Um, that sentence was way too long. But conceptually, it encapsulates the inner trackings of my brain, when I get a spare moment to think Too Damn Much. Which perhaps is why I appreciate being busy, being active, doing rather than thinking. I question less, when I'm doing.

Life isn't all about action, of course. It needs to be about contemplation, too. And even about rest. And occasionally, leisure. I'm always trying to make use of everything, every scrap of experience. I want it to be useful, somehow ... educational, or fulfilling, or meaningful, or something that brings pleasure. I hope this makes me more open to experiences; but maybe it just makes me more introspective. Like, alright already, just enjoy the moment, Obscure Canlit Mama, don't try to make it into something else!

Part of growing up has been accepting, with humour, who I am. Even while trying to alter in many minute ways, and hopefully for the better, my public and private self.

Listen, as penance for this blah-g entry, my next is going to be brief, maybe even glib, and accompanied by cute photos of my offspring.