For the first time in many years, I've been able to witness the coming of the winter season, December, and Christmas as if in slow motion, enjoying every moment as it comes, lingers briefly, then passes. It's so strange not to be grading papers and working on a Ph.D. thesis or a paper of some kind. But I think life was meant to be this way--not the other way. I often think of that line in A Christmas Carol when the Ghost of Jacob Marley says to Scrooge, "Mankind is your business."
In fact, I have more time to think than usual this year, as well. I've been walking in snowstorms, I've stood in front of a window and marveled at the large flakes of snow that were falling, and I've heard the wind bellowing beneath the eaves, threatening to blow away the rooftop. I've taken my time Christmas shopping and am nearly done. I always leave something to do for the last week before the big day, and I certainly will be out there on Christmas Eve, just taking it all in, sipping on a hot tea while I watch the crowds bustle around. I guess it makes me feel more connected to people through their harriedness in some way. I feel like I'm just sitting there thinking "I'm glad I'm not you" at the same time that I'm thinking, "You poor soul, don't take it all so serious. You'll get it done and you'll be all right."
Of course, by not teaching this year I do feel a little more disconnected from humanity than usual. I've rarely seen any of my teaching colleagues except occasionally when I'm at MUN playing badminton or running the track just to keep atrophy at bay. They must think I'm strange and wondering what I'm doing when I'm not teaching. A few know that I'm writing and that I'm just a bit burnt out after the years of constant working. The majority don't really think about it, I'm sure. Mankind, after all, is not necessarily their business.
I've missed the students most of all, I must say. During exam week, I could sense the usual tension that they feel as exams draw close and the end draws near. For me, it's always that feeling of being proud of the ones who have not only made it to the end, but made something of it--having tried and, hopefully, been rewarded. I always look for that sense of closure, that the semester is done, that my course is done, that these students will go on to live their lives, and most of them I will never see again. A lot of them, I will see over and over again, of course, as some lives seem destined to intersect. This year, however, there was no "next wave" of students, no exam anxiety, no end of semester, and no whispered "Have a good Christmas" as they passed me their exams. All of that is part of why I love teaching, and I'm really looking forward to getting back it next fall. It's that connection that matters to me. The feeling of perhaps having made a difference, however small, if only for a few weeks, but hopefully for much longer.
My two favorite Christmas movies are "Scrooge" and "It's A Wonderful Life". Both are a celebration of life, an acknowledgement of life's difficulties, a lament for the past, and yet a declaration that the future need not be judged by the past. The future can be bright no matter how dim the past has been. The goodness in people can overcome the dark, the evil, and the apathetic (which might be the greatest evil of all). If it is true that most men live lives of quiet desperation (Thoreau), then both these films suggest that it is never too late too shake of the cloak of self-oppression and begin to live anew as if every day counted, as if every human being mattered. That's a lesson that I think gets lost in the daily grind of working and studying, sometimes even playing. Every soul matters. Every moment is precious. Profound, disturbing, magnificent thoughts.
For if your life matters, who is to say that there are others whose lives don't? If you have a right to be warm, fed, clothed, befriended, and loved, who is to say that there are other people who do not deserve these things? And yet there are those who don't have them, who suffer even as I write this, without adequate clothing or shelter, without any friends or family. Even in between the highs and the lows, there are people who have places to live, who work their jobs and/or go to school, and maybe even have families who love them or not (as the case may be). And yet they feel great sadness, especially at this time of year when "want is most keenly felt".
Dickens was right, of course. Want is most keenly felt this time of year. But so is luxury. So are happiness and contentment. Christmas is like anything else--it doesn't change what you are or how you feel about life, but it does emphasize what you already have and already are. If you were lonely before Christmas, then the carol singing and lack of friends or presents will only underline that loneliness and increase it. If you were content, appreciative of your life and choices you've made, then you will be extra content, extra appreciative during the sesaon.
I'm beginning to babble, as I am sometime wont to do, but as usual there is so much I want to say about this time of year. It makes me a bit melancholy because I'm just that kind of person anyway. But I'm happy as well because I'm generally a happy person who sees the good in other people even when the world we live in kind of scares me a bit. But, as always, that's a topic for another day.
I think here in Newfoundland we are standing on the precipice of a great height (a "sad height," perhaps, as Dylan Thomas might have called it). It's a time to think on where we've come from and how we got here. Things are changing rapidly because of the impending changes in economic fortune. Some of it good, some of it bad. It's the time of year for putting those things in perspective and deciding which direction our own personal lives will follow in the coming year. I know where I'm headed and where I'd like to be this time next year. It might very well be, for many of us, though, that we're already there and just need to put some time and thought into recognizing that fact.
Life is good and getting better.
And to all a good night.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Walking in a snowstorm
Just got back from a walk in the wintery white of old St. John's. It's our second storm in a couple of days, and, amazingly, I'm not sick of it yet--even though the power went out for a few hours Sunday night. Not so bad really, as I remember some of the worst power outages this province has ever seen. Even then, it was fun. Cold, but fun. Strange how it always seems to happen around exam time for MUN students that the power goes out for anywhere from a few hours to a few days, depending on the severity of it.
It's been a day of writing. I'm working on a new gothic novel called Emily Dickinson's Ghost, which is taking on some pretty serious and sinister undertones and overtones. But I decided also to dust off a work I've had in progress for a couple of years now, a holiday-themed novel called Keeping Christmas. It's about halfways done and I just re-read it this morning. It's probably about the funniest thing I've ever written (of course, with some of the usual dark humour), so I think I should just keep working on it. I've already had a publisher interested in it, so I guess those are the ones I should finish. So now I'm working on two novels at once--one in the daytime and one in the night time. Very Jekyll and Hyde of me, I suppose.
As for my previous novel, Darwin Day, it's now in the hands of an editor, so we'll see. I've had a couple of passes from literary agents on this one, but that's not surprising. It's not what I would call a "big" novel; it's not the one that's going to make anyone's career, but it's a story I wanted to tell, so it had to be done. But it's definitely worth publishing, so I'm taking a different tact by approaching publishers instead of agents. But I'm doing it one at a time for now because that's what they prefer. It's a slow process, but I pass the time by working on something new.
Speaking of which, I don't think I've mentioned on here that my short story, "Break, Break, Break" is going to be published in an upcoming anthology of dark fiction by Hard Ticket Press. The story takes place on February 13, 1982--a horrible day in our province's history in the fictional town of Darwin, where a lot of my stories take place, and concerns a teenaged girl who breaks up with her boyfriend on Valentine's, the night before the Ocean Ranger sinks. I never thought I'd write anything about the Ranger, but I got inspired one night last summer when the editor, Mike Heffernan, asked if I'd ever considered writing about it. My immediate reaction was to say no. But that night I tossed and turned all night while I kept (swear to God that this is how it works sometimes) hearing these two voices in my head--a mother and a daughter, and they were saying these things to each other that frightened me, but I felt like I was eavesdropping. It was stormy, in my dreams, and I knew it was because I'd been thinking about Mike's suggestion. Anyway, I didn't sleep at all that night, and when I got up the next morning, I sat at the computer right away and emerged from my den about two and a half hours later with a completed story, some of which came straight from my dream. I wish it happened like that more often. I sent it off to the editor and he accepted it almost immediately, with some revisions of course, though not too many, which is always nice.
I'm thrilled to be a part of that anthology because there are lots of other really good authors in there, including Michael Crummey, Michelle Butler-Hallett, JoAnne Soper-Cook, and Bev Vincent. I've also agreed to write a stage play based on "Break, Break, Break," to be produced (possibly at the LSPU Hall) next February, as part of a six-part series of one-act plays all dealing with the Ocean Ranger. That's another reason I'm proud of that story--because it's about a very important subject that humanizes the tragedy a little, underscoring the devestating effects that it had on certain people. I can't say that I know for sure what that felt like for those people, to have lost someone so quickly like that. But I've known tragedy in my life that I was able to draw on. And the Ranger tragedy affects us all, even today, even younger generations, even if they weren't born when the rig went down off our coast.
Anyway, that's where I'm at right now. It kind of puts things in perspective. I've been out for a walk on a stormy day and I was able to enjoy it completely. I love that I'm still able to feel exhilirated by little things like that and maybe even put those feelings to words when I feel driven to do so. It's part of what being a writer is all about, but it's also what being human and reveling in life's little pleasures is all about. Reminds me a bit of that old chestnut, "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening" by Robert Frost. I still love that poem and that's why I teach it in my first-year English classes whenever I can--to show that there is complexity sometimes in the apparent simplicity. That there can be clarity in the midst of chaos.
That sometimes you've just got to stop and take a breath when you can least afford to do so, on the "darkest evening of the year".
Anyway, got work to do. Hope you're enjoying whatever you're doing, even if that's writing exams or meeting deadlines. We only pass this way once, and it's the in-between times that really are the best times. Nobody sick, nobody dying. All's right with my world.
It's been a day of writing. I'm working on a new gothic novel called Emily Dickinson's Ghost, which is taking on some pretty serious and sinister undertones and overtones. But I decided also to dust off a work I've had in progress for a couple of years now, a holiday-themed novel called Keeping Christmas. It's about halfways done and I just re-read it this morning. It's probably about the funniest thing I've ever written (of course, with some of the usual dark humour), so I think I should just keep working on it. I've already had a publisher interested in it, so I guess those are the ones I should finish. So now I'm working on two novels at once--one in the daytime and one in the night time. Very Jekyll and Hyde of me, I suppose.
As for my previous novel, Darwin Day, it's now in the hands of an editor, so we'll see. I've had a couple of passes from literary agents on this one, but that's not surprising. It's not what I would call a "big" novel; it's not the one that's going to make anyone's career, but it's a story I wanted to tell, so it had to be done. But it's definitely worth publishing, so I'm taking a different tact by approaching publishers instead of agents. But I'm doing it one at a time for now because that's what they prefer. It's a slow process, but I pass the time by working on something new.
Speaking of which, I don't think I've mentioned on here that my short story, "Break, Break, Break" is going to be published in an upcoming anthology of dark fiction by Hard Ticket Press. The story takes place on February 13, 1982--a horrible day in our province's history in the fictional town of Darwin, where a lot of my stories take place, and concerns a teenaged girl who breaks up with her boyfriend on Valentine's, the night before the Ocean Ranger sinks. I never thought I'd write anything about the Ranger, but I got inspired one night last summer when the editor, Mike Heffernan, asked if I'd ever considered writing about it. My immediate reaction was to say no. But that night I tossed and turned all night while I kept (swear to God that this is how it works sometimes) hearing these two voices in my head--a mother and a daughter, and they were saying these things to each other that frightened me, but I felt like I was eavesdropping. It was stormy, in my dreams, and I knew it was because I'd been thinking about Mike's suggestion. Anyway, I didn't sleep at all that night, and when I got up the next morning, I sat at the computer right away and emerged from my den about two and a half hours later with a completed story, some of which came straight from my dream. I wish it happened like that more often. I sent it off to the editor and he accepted it almost immediately, with some revisions of course, though not too many, which is always nice.
I'm thrilled to be a part of that anthology because there are lots of other really good authors in there, including Michael Crummey, Michelle Butler-Hallett, JoAnne Soper-Cook, and Bev Vincent. I've also agreed to write a stage play based on "Break, Break, Break," to be produced (possibly at the LSPU Hall) next February, as part of a six-part series of one-act plays all dealing with the Ocean Ranger. That's another reason I'm proud of that story--because it's about a very important subject that humanizes the tragedy a little, underscoring the devestating effects that it had on certain people. I can't say that I know for sure what that felt like for those people, to have lost someone so quickly like that. But I've known tragedy in my life that I was able to draw on. And the Ranger tragedy affects us all, even today, even younger generations, even if they weren't born when the rig went down off our coast.
Anyway, that's where I'm at right now. It kind of puts things in perspective. I've been out for a walk on a stormy day and I was able to enjoy it completely. I love that I'm still able to feel exhilirated by little things like that and maybe even put those feelings to words when I feel driven to do so. It's part of what being a writer is all about, but it's also what being human and reveling in life's little pleasures is all about. Reminds me a bit of that old chestnut, "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening" by Robert Frost. I still love that poem and that's why I teach it in my first-year English classes whenever I can--to show that there is complexity sometimes in the apparent simplicity. That there can be clarity in the midst of chaos.
That sometimes you've just got to stop and take a breath when you can least afford to do so, on the "darkest evening of the year".
Anyway, got work to do. Hope you're enjoying whatever you're doing, even if that's writing exams or meeting deadlines. We only pass this way once, and it's the in-between times that really are the best times. Nobody sick, nobody dying. All's right with my world.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Face To Face
The problem is that there’s so much to write about. I see subjects for discussion and speculation everywhere—Christmas in November, daylight savings time in November(!), man’s inhumanity to dogs, paparazzi on the “Britwatch,” my first bout with writer’s block or whatever you want to call it, the Facebook saga, and on and on the list goes. I’ve started writing and then stopped, almost overwhelmed by the combination of how much there is to say and the nagging thought that no one is really listening anyway. Now there’s the REAL writer’s dilemma. It will always be that way. In fact, it’s that way for any artist, whether writer, painter, sculptor, or musician: I always have too much to say, too little time in which to cram it all in, and when all is said and done, who is really paying attention?
I wonder that about the world a lot. I mean who is REALLY paying attention? I’ve been haunted and stymied lately by the barrage of information, and not necessarily useful information, about people’s insensitivity to the people around them, to the planet, and to their own basic needs. Sometimes I fear that we’re all just going to obliterate ourselves. But then, I guess it is what it is, if that happens. More likely, we’ll just evolve into something else, having destroyed something precious about ourselves and our species at the same time.
Take Facebook, for example. I love it and hate it at the same time. I’ve always been the sort of person that, if I like you or want to get to know you, I’ll spend time with you and talk to you face-to-face. I’ve never been a big fan of the telephone, which is why I don’t own a cellphone. I’m not saying I’ll never buy one, but for now I get by just fine without people knowing where I am and being able to contact me 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I know they have their uses, which makes them somewhat attractive. And I know some people who swear they could never get by without theirs (which is a lie to oneself, really), but it’s my choice to save some of me for me. I like having downtime, some time when the world doesn’t know where I am, what I’m doing, or how I’m feeling.
Facebook has been a gift, in the sense that it allows me some control over the kind of information I put out there. There is still a certain amount of anonymity because people will judge you by what you say, for the most part, at “face” value. I’m sure people will also speculate about what you’re not saying (I know I do)—in fact, I find that I worry more about people these days than I used to. I’ve always wished I could stay in contact with some students long after they’ve done my course and even graduated from MUN—some students manage to do this. I’ve known some people for nearly ten years now, who did a course from me in first year university in the late 90s. That, to me, is what it’s all about. I like knowing how people are doing and not just in a surface kind of way. But that’s my burden to bear.
Facebook allows people to put stuff out there and then I’m left wondering—“should I respond to this?” I mean, not just as a human being, but as a prof who’s concerned about his former students, do I even have the right to say, “You know, I’m paying attention and I hope you’re doing okay”? Maybe, maybe not.
I think it’s this whole “friends” idea that gets me. I can honestly say that I like all of the people who have signed on to be my friends. It’s a nice feeling. But whether they actually want me paying that much attention to their lives or not…well, somehow, for most of them, I doubt it. I think I’m supposed to ignore when people are hurting or sad or missing someone or need a surgery or are just in a great mood and want the world to know it. It’s enough for me to just see this and move on with my life. I think that’s what you’re supposed to do.
But I’ve always been empathic. Or empathetic. Not sure which is the right word, actually. But I’ve always cared a little more about people and been able to understand them and read between the lines a bit more than the average person. That’s partly what makes me a writer—not because I can string words together better than anyone else, but because I think I understand a bit about the human condition and I have a need to express it.
Technology is an ambiguous invention that leaves me feeling ambivalent. On the one hand, it brings you closer to people you ordinarily wouldn’t have much contact with. On the other hand, it gives people a reason to stay apart—to never HAVE to see each other face to face. More and more, we’re becoming a society that is intent on keep people apart. That’s what the Blackberry is all about—so that people can be in your company or attending a lecture or movie or whatever and can bury themselves in their Blackberries, iPods, or text-messaging apparatus.
Do we really need all this information at our fingertips? I’ve already got more than I know what to do with—and I’ve got a ton of really great books on my bookshelf that I should have read. I should be going out for walks, enjoying the fresh air. I should be spending time with my wife. I should be writing. I should be spending time with family and friends, hanging out, having lunch and coffee together, playing some sports. All of that, and more. And that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.
My writing hasn’t been going so well lately, but that’s a topic for another day. There are probably lots of factors, but it does bother me that for the first time in my life, I’m having a mild spell of what some people call “writer’s block”. I think that’s worth exploring. Maybe it’ll give me some empathy towards people who do claim to have writer’s block. Before, I’ve always said that all you have to do is sit yourself down and write, that there’s no such thing as writer’s block. I’m still not sure there is, but that is for next time, maybe. Or maybe I'll have something else on my mind by then.
Thanks for being patient with me. I think I got buried there for a while, but I’m probably back now. My promise to myself is to become more regular at writing these blog entries over the next few weeks. Even if there’s one person reading it, that’s plenty for me. (And for the one “anonymous” person who wrote to remind that I have a “patient” audience waiting, thank you for reminding me. Really.) It’s like a time capsule in a way. It doesn’t matter who’s reading now because this page can be discovered years from now by someone who might find it interesting.
Isn’t technology wonderful?
I wonder that about the world a lot. I mean who is REALLY paying attention? I’ve been haunted and stymied lately by the barrage of information, and not necessarily useful information, about people’s insensitivity to the people around them, to the planet, and to their own basic needs. Sometimes I fear that we’re all just going to obliterate ourselves. But then, I guess it is what it is, if that happens. More likely, we’ll just evolve into something else, having destroyed something precious about ourselves and our species at the same time.
Take Facebook, for example. I love it and hate it at the same time. I’ve always been the sort of person that, if I like you or want to get to know you, I’ll spend time with you and talk to you face-to-face. I’ve never been a big fan of the telephone, which is why I don’t own a cellphone. I’m not saying I’ll never buy one, but for now I get by just fine without people knowing where I am and being able to contact me 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I know they have their uses, which makes them somewhat attractive. And I know some people who swear they could never get by without theirs (which is a lie to oneself, really), but it’s my choice to save some of me for me. I like having downtime, some time when the world doesn’t know where I am, what I’m doing, or how I’m feeling.
Facebook has been a gift, in the sense that it allows me some control over the kind of information I put out there. There is still a certain amount of anonymity because people will judge you by what you say, for the most part, at “face” value. I’m sure people will also speculate about what you’re not saying (I know I do)—in fact, I find that I worry more about people these days than I used to. I’ve always wished I could stay in contact with some students long after they’ve done my course and even graduated from MUN—some students manage to do this. I’ve known some people for nearly ten years now, who did a course from me in first year university in the late 90s. That, to me, is what it’s all about. I like knowing how people are doing and not just in a surface kind of way. But that’s my burden to bear.
Facebook allows people to put stuff out there and then I’m left wondering—“should I respond to this?” I mean, not just as a human being, but as a prof who’s concerned about his former students, do I even have the right to say, “You know, I’m paying attention and I hope you’re doing okay”? Maybe, maybe not.
I think it’s this whole “friends” idea that gets me. I can honestly say that I like all of the people who have signed on to be my friends. It’s a nice feeling. But whether they actually want me paying that much attention to their lives or not…well, somehow, for most of them, I doubt it. I think I’m supposed to ignore when people are hurting or sad or missing someone or need a surgery or are just in a great mood and want the world to know it. It’s enough for me to just see this and move on with my life. I think that’s what you’re supposed to do.
But I’ve always been empathic. Or empathetic. Not sure which is the right word, actually. But I’ve always cared a little more about people and been able to understand them and read between the lines a bit more than the average person. That’s partly what makes me a writer—not because I can string words together better than anyone else, but because I think I understand a bit about the human condition and I have a need to express it.
Technology is an ambiguous invention that leaves me feeling ambivalent. On the one hand, it brings you closer to people you ordinarily wouldn’t have much contact with. On the other hand, it gives people a reason to stay apart—to never HAVE to see each other face to face. More and more, we’re becoming a society that is intent on keep people apart. That’s what the Blackberry is all about—so that people can be in your company or attending a lecture or movie or whatever and can bury themselves in their Blackberries, iPods, or text-messaging apparatus.
Do we really need all this information at our fingertips? I’ve already got more than I know what to do with—and I’ve got a ton of really great books on my bookshelf that I should have read. I should be going out for walks, enjoying the fresh air. I should be spending time with my wife. I should be writing. I should be spending time with family and friends, hanging out, having lunch and coffee together, playing some sports. All of that, and more. And that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.
My writing hasn’t been going so well lately, but that’s a topic for another day. There are probably lots of factors, but it does bother me that for the first time in my life, I’m having a mild spell of what some people call “writer’s block”. I think that’s worth exploring. Maybe it’ll give me some empathy towards people who do claim to have writer’s block. Before, I’ve always said that all you have to do is sit yourself down and write, that there’s no such thing as writer’s block. I’m still not sure there is, but that is for next time, maybe. Or maybe I'll have something else on my mind by then.
Thanks for being patient with me. I think I got buried there for a while, but I’m probably back now. My promise to myself is to become more regular at writing these blog entries over the next few weeks. Even if there’s one person reading it, that’s plenty for me. (And for the one “anonymous” person who wrote to remind that I have a “patient” audience waiting, thank you for reminding me. Really.) It’s like a time capsule in a way. It doesn’t matter who’s reading now because this page can be discovered years from now by someone who might find it interesting.
Isn’t technology wonderful?
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
That's debatable.
Watched the provincial election debate last night and surprised myself by actually enjoying some of it.
Forget Gerry Reid. I know the man is doing a job that nobody else wanted and he at least had the cajones (or self-delusion) to step up and be at the front of the room for his caucus. But I absolutely despise everything the man stands for. He criticizes the government simply for the sake of criticism itself. Williams is right--he's just a negative person who, left to his own devices, would certainly drag Newfoundland thirty or forty years into the past. He doesn't seem to get it at all that in order to get anywhere, we all have to row this big ol' boat together. Nothing wrong with asking the captain if he's sure we're headed in the right direction or telling him when the boat is leaky or we need a couple of new oars, or there's a definite storm on the horizon. But Fletcher Christian was a bit deluded too and Captain Bligh (taskmaster though he was) at least knew how to navigate rough seas.
I thought Lorraine Michael, NDP leader, was the surprise of the night. I didn't really expect much from her. She seems like a smart lady, very nice, and all that. But I never saw her as someone who was capable of being leader of the opposition before. Well, now I do. She not only spoke extremely well--more articulate in her vision and very specific in her examples of what needed to be done better--than either of the other two party leaders. I'm still not sure I'd want her leading the government (which won't happen anyway), but I like that she showed she coudl stand up to Danny Williams without being disrespectful or ignorant. I was really impressed with her and if you judge "winning" a debate by how many minds you are able to convert from the original position, then I think she won, easily.
Danny Williams was himself, plain-spoken, straightforward, and sensible. There were some questions he didn't answer directly and now and then he makes me a bit squeamish with his methods of getting things done. He was a bit confrontational about things that really didn't require confrontation, such as when Michaels said that she'd gotten phone calls from disgruntled voters late at night. Williams said it bothers him that she would say that because that just makes him look bad. Well, fair enough. But she says it happened and I believe her. Maybe it was only once or twice, but the fact is, she can't take it back just because it implies someone isn't doing their job properly. It was a small point that Williams made bigger by attacking the messenger.
Still, Williams didn't hurt himself at all in the debate. He's still the people's choice and will remain so until, or unless, he slips up badly soon or in the coming years.
Michaels will gain a lot more support after last night, maybe even enough to gain a couple more seats. It won't take more than a handful to become the official opposition. We'd all be better off if that happened.
As for Gerry Reid, well, hopefully those poor old souls who have always voted liberal because their fathers and grandfathers voted Liberal will finally give up the ghost and vote for progress and positivism instead of negativity and fear-mongering. If he lost his Twillingate seat tomorrow, it wouldn't be too soon, as far as I'm concerned.
Scores on the debate:
Williams- B+
Michaels- A-
Reid- D
Forget Gerry Reid. I know the man is doing a job that nobody else wanted and he at least had the cajones (or self-delusion) to step up and be at the front of the room for his caucus. But I absolutely despise everything the man stands for. He criticizes the government simply for the sake of criticism itself. Williams is right--he's just a negative person who, left to his own devices, would certainly drag Newfoundland thirty or forty years into the past. He doesn't seem to get it at all that in order to get anywhere, we all have to row this big ol' boat together. Nothing wrong with asking the captain if he's sure we're headed in the right direction or telling him when the boat is leaky or we need a couple of new oars, or there's a definite storm on the horizon. But Fletcher Christian was a bit deluded too and Captain Bligh (taskmaster though he was) at least knew how to navigate rough seas.
I thought Lorraine Michael, NDP leader, was the surprise of the night. I didn't really expect much from her. She seems like a smart lady, very nice, and all that. But I never saw her as someone who was capable of being leader of the opposition before. Well, now I do. She not only spoke extremely well--more articulate in her vision and very specific in her examples of what needed to be done better--than either of the other two party leaders. I'm still not sure I'd want her leading the government (which won't happen anyway), but I like that she showed she coudl stand up to Danny Williams without being disrespectful or ignorant. I was really impressed with her and if you judge "winning" a debate by how many minds you are able to convert from the original position, then I think she won, easily.
Danny Williams was himself, plain-spoken, straightforward, and sensible. There were some questions he didn't answer directly and now and then he makes me a bit squeamish with his methods of getting things done. He was a bit confrontational about things that really didn't require confrontation, such as when Michaels said that she'd gotten phone calls from disgruntled voters late at night. Williams said it bothers him that she would say that because that just makes him look bad. Well, fair enough. But she says it happened and I believe her. Maybe it was only once or twice, but the fact is, she can't take it back just because it implies someone isn't doing their job properly. It was a small point that Williams made bigger by attacking the messenger.
Still, Williams didn't hurt himself at all in the debate. He's still the people's choice and will remain so until, or unless, he slips up badly soon or in the coming years.
Michaels will gain a lot more support after last night, maybe even enough to gain a couple more seats. It won't take more than a handful to become the official opposition. We'd all be better off if that happened.
As for Gerry Reid, well, hopefully those poor old souls who have always voted liberal because their fathers and grandfathers voted Liberal will finally give up the ghost and vote for progress and positivism instead of negativity and fear-mongering. If he lost his Twillingate seat tomorrow, it wouldn't be too soon, as far as I'm concerned.
Scores on the debate:
Williams- B+
Michaels- A-
Reid- D
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Dreams in Fall
What a shocker it was this morning to wake up to September. The north wind is cold and blustery, not a hint of sun in the sky. Change, literally, is in the air.
Everywhere I turn, there’s something changing for someone. The students are arriving back in the city in dribs and drabs. Some are excited to be here after a summer away, while lots more are disgusted and weary at the thought of another semester of writing essays and attending classes, always being tired and stressed with deadline after deadline. But it’s another year closer to finishing school for good, which, for some people, can be scary in itself because who knows what comes next?
People are back from vacations, heading back to work, half asleep behind the wheel, dejected that summer is over before it had barely begun. I’ve already seen the geese flying in V-formation across Mundy Pond, dipping their wings in the water before taking flight across the tall thrushes that circle the pond’s edge. The stores are selling Halloween decorations and candy, trying to get the jump on the competition.
I think that’s what people who don’t like this time of year feel most uncomfortable with. September is like the end of a dream in which warm weather is the norm, you can wear what you want, be what you want, go where you desire. September brings rules and business, reminders that the world is competitive, which is why summer can’t last. We have to get up early, go to school, go to work, spend our day being busy, either making money or preparing to make money. Because it’s commerce that makes the world go around. That’s what it’s all for—the studying, the working, the courses, the years of slaving away: getting a job and making a living in order to make a mark on the world, maybe raise a family so that your children can follow in your money-earning, mark-making footsteps. In the summer, we try to forget all of that stuff. But in September, we are reminded, if only subconsciously, that any bohemian dreams can’t last, that eventually reality has to set in and we have to wake up.
Strangely, I’m not all that cynical. The need to make money is a reality, so there’s no point in chafing against it. The idea, I think, is to make sure you’re doing something you enjoy or, at least, do something that will hopefully lead to something you’ll enjoy.
Which is why I’m taking this semester (at least) off from teaching to work on my writing. While I love teaching more than a reasonable person ought to (or so I’ve been told), I have always dreamed of being a writer. I put it off for a while in order to make a living, or to do the courses and programs that would allow me to make a living. That’s the business of life. But now it’s time to follow a dream. I’m at an age now when most people I know have put their dreams aside, setting both feet firmly into the land of raising families and earning a living, effectively putting their hopes on the shoulders of the next generation. Our parents do that sometimes—by their actions, they often tell us that it’s okay to give up on what you wanted out of life so that someone else can do it instead.
Sometimes, though, I think it’s only right to finish what you started—to show that you don’t have to give up on your dreams after thirty-five. Too often, in schools and universities (and sometimes at home), we tell children that your most important task is to get an education that will get you a good job. But what comes after that? It’s important, as far as I’m concerned, to hold onto your dreams—the things that you want more than anything, that will make you happy—no matter what. Because that’s what we’re living for, isn’t it? If we’re not making ourselves happy, we can hardly expect to make anyone else happy. I know far too many people who finish school, get the job, even get the family they wanted, then walk around in a state of quiet desperation.
Having said that, I’m trying to make the transition from teacher to writer, at least for the coming year. In summer, it was easier because classes were out, mostly, and my brain kept telling me that, come the fall, I’ll be back in the class room.
I already miss it. For every September since I can remember, I’ve always been in a classroom somewhere—either as a student or as a teacher. It’s in my blood, and I’m sure I’ll wander to campus every now and then just to take in all the usual sights and sounds of my favourite time of year.
But, ultimately, it’s me and my keyboard, sitting in my office at home or in a downtown coffee shop, hacking out the next short story, play, or novel that—while not necessarily bringing either fame or fortune—will make me feel more comfortable in my own skin because it’s what I wanted to do more than anything else, like drawing the sword from the stone. I’m not trying to make the world a better place; I’m just trying to make my world a better place.
And that amounts to the same thing.
Everywhere I turn, there’s something changing for someone. The students are arriving back in the city in dribs and drabs. Some are excited to be here after a summer away, while lots more are disgusted and weary at the thought of another semester of writing essays and attending classes, always being tired and stressed with deadline after deadline. But it’s another year closer to finishing school for good, which, for some people, can be scary in itself because who knows what comes next?
People are back from vacations, heading back to work, half asleep behind the wheel, dejected that summer is over before it had barely begun. I’ve already seen the geese flying in V-formation across Mundy Pond, dipping their wings in the water before taking flight across the tall thrushes that circle the pond’s edge. The stores are selling Halloween decorations and candy, trying to get the jump on the competition.
I think that’s what people who don’t like this time of year feel most uncomfortable with. September is like the end of a dream in which warm weather is the norm, you can wear what you want, be what you want, go where you desire. September brings rules and business, reminders that the world is competitive, which is why summer can’t last. We have to get up early, go to school, go to work, spend our day being busy, either making money or preparing to make money. Because it’s commerce that makes the world go around. That’s what it’s all for—the studying, the working, the courses, the years of slaving away: getting a job and making a living in order to make a mark on the world, maybe raise a family so that your children can follow in your money-earning, mark-making footsteps. In the summer, we try to forget all of that stuff. But in September, we are reminded, if only subconsciously, that any bohemian dreams can’t last, that eventually reality has to set in and we have to wake up.
Strangely, I’m not all that cynical. The need to make money is a reality, so there’s no point in chafing against it. The idea, I think, is to make sure you’re doing something you enjoy or, at least, do something that will hopefully lead to something you’ll enjoy.
Which is why I’m taking this semester (at least) off from teaching to work on my writing. While I love teaching more than a reasonable person ought to (or so I’ve been told), I have always dreamed of being a writer. I put it off for a while in order to make a living, or to do the courses and programs that would allow me to make a living. That’s the business of life. But now it’s time to follow a dream. I’m at an age now when most people I know have put their dreams aside, setting both feet firmly into the land of raising families and earning a living, effectively putting their hopes on the shoulders of the next generation. Our parents do that sometimes—by their actions, they often tell us that it’s okay to give up on what you wanted out of life so that someone else can do it instead.
Sometimes, though, I think it’s only right to finish what you started—to show that you don’t have to give up on your dreams after thirty-five. Too often, in schools and universities (and sometimes at home), we tell children that your most important task is to get an education that will get you a good job. But what comes after that? It’s important, as far as I’m concerned, to hold onto your dreams—the things that you want more than anything, that will make you happy—no matter what. Because that’s what we’re living for, isn’t it? If we’re not making ourselves happy, we can hardly expect to make anyone else happy. I know far too many people who finish school, get the job, even get the family they wanted, then walk around in a state of quiet desperation.
Having said that, I’m trying to make the transition from teacher to writer, at least for the coming year. In summer, it was easier because classes were out, mostly, and my brain kept telling me that, come the fall, I’ll be back in the class room.
I already miss it. For every September since I can remember, I’ve always been in a classroom somewhere—either as a student or as a teacher. It’s in my blood, and I’m sure I’ll wander to campus every now and then just to take in all the usual sights and sounds of my favourite time of year.
But, ultimately, it’s me and my keyboard, sitting in my office at home or in a downtown coffee shop, hacking out the next short story, play, or novel that—while not necessarily bringing either fame or fortune—will make me feel more comfortable in my own skin because it’s what I wanted to do more than anything else, like drawing the sword from the stone. I’m not trying to make the world a better place; I’m just trying to make my world a better place.
And that amounts to the same thing.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Busted!
I've been neglecting my blog, and I fear that it will soon be taken away from me by some gov't agency that's responsible for blog protections services or something like that.
There's just so much going on, and it's been summer time, and I've just let it go for a little while. I've got tons to say, and I'm going to start saying it again soon. Thanks for being patient with me. I've been bad. But soon I'll be good again.
Must go watch the last half of the ballgame. Talk to you again real soon! Promise.
G
There's just so much going on, and it's been summer time, and I've just let it go for a little while. I've got tons to say, and I'm going to start saying it again soon. Thanks for being patient with me. I've been bad. But soon I'll be good again.
Must go watch the last half of the ballgame. Talk to you again real soon! Promise.
G
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Facing Facebook: Yet Another Sign of the Coming Apocalypse
Okay, I did it. I signed up for a Facebook account. For months now, I've been answering "leave me alone" to the question "So, are you on Facebook?" I've been inundated with requests for well over a year now, and it was becoming a badge of honor for me that I just politely declined all such suggestions.
I can't say that I gave in to peer pressure. That wasn't it. I guess I wasn't ready to see the wonders of Facebook and the glorious worlds that it would open up for me. And I'm still not ready to admit that I was wrong. But I am ready to admit the possibility that I may have been mistaken. But I'm waiting to see. Sort of like the jury in the Conrad Black trial. They came back to the judge and said, "We can't decide." I love the judge's response: "Get your ass back in there and decide!" Seems the United States of America has more than one "decider"--besides the big guy, I mean. George W. I wonder is he on Facebook? I should check and, if he's there, maybe give him a poke. God knows, he could use one.
I won't go into my reasons for not joining Facebook until now. I guess I just considered myself too busy or whatever. I guess we all are, for that matter. It's all about making and keeping connections, or re-connecting with old friends, from what I understand. Okay. I'll buy that. But, as with so many things, I am a skeptic, but I am willing to see the light. If Facebook performs wonders for my social life, such as it is in its current state, then I am willing to admit I was wrong about it and I will buy the snake oil, I will drink the Kool-Aid, I will salute the flag, and I will kiss its ring.
It reminds me of the whole Star Wars phenomenon. I was a kid when it came into the theatres for the very first time, but I didn't see it because I wasn't a sci-fi fan. Everyone kept trying to persuade me to go because it was the newest and coolest thing that I "just have to see." I resented the pressure, so I never went. I stayed home and watched the radio. Sometimes I even turned it on. Then there was The Empire Strikes Back and The Return of the Jedi. Never saw either one until I was in my late twenties. Finally, after years of mental abuse by friends and family, all clamoring: "But you HAVE to see Star Wars? How can you not?" Resistance was futile, I guess, because I gave in and rented it on home video, and you know what?
I didn't like it.
Everyone raved about Yoda as the great philosopher. But all I saw was a cute muppet who spewed dimestore philosophy to the starving masses who had never heard such "wisdom" before. George Lucas was using Yoda and Obi Wan Kenobe as mouthpieces for a string of philosophical pearls that he knew would keep audiences coming back time and again.
The sad part is, I did. When Parts I, II, and II came into the theatres, I went to see each of them, even though I grew increasingly disenchanted with each one. Critics raved how the final film in the series was the best one since the first one.
I didn't like it. Hated it, in fact. Barely sat through it all without walking out. (I've never walked out of a theatre while the movie was still playing. Unless I had to go the bathroom, of course.)
Anyway, so I tend to be a johnny-come-lately. I rented the Godfather I and II a few years ago and fell asleep--through BOTH of them. I was just tired. No commentary on the movies there. And it wasn't that I'd been avoiding the Godfather trilogy for any great philosophical reasons. I just never got around to renting it.
So now there's Facebook. After I'd successfully avoided MySpace for a couple of years, there's a new e-kid on the block. We'll have to see how it goes.
I'd say I'll give it a try, but as Yoda knows: "There is no try, only do or do not."
So I did. Anyone care to tell me why?
G
I can't say that I gave in to peer pressure. That wasn't it. I guess I wasn't ready to see the wonders of Facebook and the glorious worlds that it would open up for me. And I'm still not ready to admit that I was wrong. But I am ready to admit the possibility that I may have been mistaken. But I'm waiting to see. Sort of like the jury in the Conrad Black trial. They came back to the judge and said, "We can't decide." I love the judge's response: "Get your ass back in there and decide!" Seems the United States of America has more than one "decider"--besides the big guy, I mean. George W. I wonder is he on Facebook? I should check and, if he's there, maybe give him a poke. God knows, he could use one.
I won't go into my reasons for not joining Facebook until now. I guess I just considered myself too busy or whatever. I guess we all are, for that matter. It's all about making and keeping connections, or re-connecting with old friends, from what I understand. Okay. I'll buy that. But, as with so many things, I am a skeptic, but I am willing to see the light. If Facebook performs wonders for my social life, such as it is in its current state, then I am willing to admit I was wrong about it and I will buy the snake oil, I will drink the Kool-Aid, I will salute the flag, and I will kiss its ring.
It reminds me of the whole Star Wars phenomenon. I was a kid when it came into the theatres for the very first time, but I didn't see it because I wasn't a sci-fi fan. Everyone kept trying to persuade me to go because it was the newest and coolest thing that I "just have to see." I resented the pressure, so I never went. I stayed home and watched the radio. Sometimes I even turned it on. Then there was The Empire Strikes Back and The Return of the Jedi. Never saw either one until I was in my late twenties. Finally, after years of mental abuse by friends and family, all clamoring: "But you HAVE to see Star Wars? How can you not?" Resistance was futile, I guess, because I gave in and rented it on home video, and you know what?
I didn't like it.
Everyone raved about Yoda as the great philosopher. But all I saw was a cute muppet who spewed dimestore philosophy to the starving masses who had never heard such "wisdom" before. George Lucas was using Yoda and Obi Wan Kenobe as mouthpieces for a string of philosophical pearls that he knew would keep audiences coming back time and again.
The sad part is, I did. When Parts I, II, and II came into the theatres, I went to see each of them, even though I grew increasingly disenchanted with each one. Critics raved how the final film in the series was the best one since the first one.
I didn't like it. Hated it, in fact. Barely sat through it all without walking out. (I've never walked out of a theatre while the movie was still playing. Unless I had to go the bathroom, of course.)
Anyway, so I tend to be a johnny-come-lately. I rented the Godfather I and II a few years ago and fell asleep--through BOTH of them. I was just tired. No commentary on the movies there. And it wasn't that I'd been avoiding the Godfather trilogy for any great philosophical reasons. I just never got around to renting it.
So now there's Facebook. After I'd successfully avoided MySpace for a couple of years, there's a new e-kid on the block. We'll have to see how it goes.
I'd say I'll give it a try, but as Yoda knows: "There is no try, only do or do not."
So I did. Anyone care to tell me why?
G
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Somewhere Over the Rainbow
I've been away for the past couple of weeks, spending some time beyond the overpass. I finished the first draft of my novel, Darwin Day, just before leaving and I'm pleased with it so far, but I'll be able to tell a lot better once revisions are complete. That always makes the difference.
My wife and I spent some time Twillingate, visiting her sister, and we had a great time, as we always do together. Saw tons of icebergs, flora and fauna, roamed the hills and beaches, and just relaxed. For me, it's probably the first time I've relaxed that much in nearly seven years, before the Ph.D. program began. Its a hard thing to describe. Something about the central part of this province is like heaven to me--just getting outdoors and not having so much traffic and noise around me all the time. It's like going to another planet...a better planet.
There's lots that I like about St. John's--mostly the bookstores, coffee shops, and movies. But I sometimes think I could give all of that up for a house and some land far from the madding crowd, somewhere in central Newfoundland.
We took the early morning ferry to Fogo Island and spent the day just beating around there. Stopped at a bakery for some tea, homemade toast and partridgeberry jam. Drove around the island, just looking for places to stop, chat for a while, take some pictures, and, if possible, get into a bit of mischief. A life without mischief, you see, is hardly a life at all. And harm to none, of course, as the wiccans say. My favorite spot was this fairly secluded sandy beach. There was a light breeze blowing, with no people around, and we just walked, ran, and acted like children for an hour or so. Beaches turn me into a different person; that's probably the best way to describe it. No more grading essays, reading books, using computers, or talking on telephones. If there is a heaven, I'm pretty sure it doesn't have any of those things, especially the latter. Heaven would have books, of course, but only good books--the kind that you read because you want to or because you really enjoy them even if you didn't think you would. It wasn't a really warm day (surprise!), but I did manage to roll up the legs of my jeans and run like mad into the freezing cold, late-June water, and then scramble even more madly back to the shore. My feet felt all tingly and clean for the rest of the day. Hard to explain unless you've done it.
Right after we'd returned from Twillingate, we went out to Harbour Grace for the wedding event of the century. Had an even better time than I thought we would, danced a helluva lot, and partied till the late hours. In a respectable way, of course. There's something strange about family gatherings though. There's all of those expectations about how you should act, what you should say, how you should be. And--I don't know why--but I always seem to break all of those rules without even trying. (Okay, sometimes I try, but not always.) Somehow, I end up enjoying it all in spite of myself, mostly by trying not to take any of it too seriously even though most of the people (muggles, I guess you'd call them. Or adults who forget what it's like to be young and irresponsible, in a good way) want you to take it all way too seriously.
I'm glad to be back home, though. Probably heading out again sometime soon, but can't say where or when. It's just one of those summers. I'm mostly just working from home, not paying attention to any kind of schedule, going wherever the wind takes me. Been regimented for too long.
Now if the weather would only turn to summer and stay there for a couple of days....
Hope you're all enjoying a nice break too.
Gerard
I've been away for the past couple of weeks, spending some time beyond the overpass. I finished the first draft of my novel, Darwin Day, just before leaving and I'm pleased with it so far, but I'll be able to tell a lot better once revisions are complete. That always makes the difference.
My wife and I spent some time Twillingate, visiting her sister, and we had a great time, as we always do together. Saw tons of icebergs, flora and fauna, roamed the hills and beaches, and just relaxed. For me, it's probably the first time I've relaxed that much in nearly seven years, before the Ph.D. program began. Its a hard thing to describe. Something about the central part of this province is like heaven to me--just getting outdoors and not having so much traffic and noise around me all the time. It's like going to another planet...a better planet.
There's lots that I like about St. John's--mostly the bookstores, coffee shops, and movies. But I sometimes think I could give all of that up for a house and some land far from the madding crowd, somewhere in central Newfoundland.
We took the early morning ferry to Fogo Island and spent the day just beating around there. Stopped at a bakery for some tea, homemade toast and partridgeberry jam. Drove around the island, just looking for places to stop, chat for a while, take some pictures, and, if possible, get into a bit of mischief. A life without mischief, you see, is hardly a life at all. And harm to none, of course, as the wiccans say. My favorite spot was this fairly secluded sandy beach. There was a light breeze blowing, with no people around, and we just walked, ran, and acted like children for an hour or so. Beaches turn me into a different person; that's probably the best way to describe it. No more grading essays, reading books, using computers, or talking on telephones. If there is a heaven, I'm pretty sure it doesn't have any of those things, especially the latter. Heaven would have books, of course, but only good books--the kind that you read because you want to or because you really enjoy them even if you didn't think you would. It wasn't a really warm day (surprise!), but I did manage to roll up the legs of my jeans and run like mad into the freezing cold, late-June water, and then scramble even more madly back to the shore. My feet felt all tingly and clean for the rest of the day. Hard to explain unless you've done it.
Right after we'd returned from Twillingate, we went out to Harbour Grace for the wedding event of the century. Had an even better time than I thought we would, danced a helluva lot, and partied till the late hours. In a respectable way, of course. There's something strange about family gatherings though. There's all of those expectations about how you should act, what you should say, how you should be. And--I don't know why--but I always seem to break all of those rules without even trying. (Okay, sometimes I try, but not always.) Somehow, I end up enjoying it all in spite of myself, mostly by trying not to take any of it too seriously even though most of the people (muggles, I guess you'd call them. Or adults who forget what it's like to be young and irresponsible, in a good way) want you to take it all way too seriously.
I'm glad to be back home, though. Probably heading out again sometime soon, but can't say where or when. It's just one of those summers. I'm mostly just working from home, not paying attention to any kind of schedule, going wherever the wind takes me. Been regimented for too long.
Now if the weather would only turn to summer and stay there for a couple of days....
Hope you're all enjoying a nice break too.
Gerard
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Summer So Far Away
So, today is the first day of summer. It’s the kind of day that makes me wonder why I live here. I remember, before I left Nova Scotia to return here a few years ago, it was near the end of a streak of 40 straight days of sunshine and temps in the thirties—that’s EVERY day beginning in early June. And it was still sunny and warm when I left. Even the winters were warmer and sunnier. And we haven’t seen the sunshine in nearly a week now. A couple of weekends were really nice—just the way summer should be—but you can never take that kind of weather for granted here.
I mean, I do appreciate where we live. Whenever I grouse about the crappy rain, drizzle, fog, and cold some optimistic soul always points out that it could be worse—we could be getting the massive hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, smog alerts, and brush fires like they get in those places with warm weather. Yes, they’re right, although sometimes I’m not so sure that we won’t be getting those things in the next decade or so. But for now, I concede that our weather isn’t that extreme, and that’s something I truly am grateful for.
My wife and I lived in British Columbia about nine years or so ago, though not for very long. We were enticed out there by well-meaning relatives who kept telling us how mild the winters were. Well, on the fifteenth of November that year, we were moving to a new apartment…and it snowed, and snowed, and snowed. 100 centimetres! And I didn’t own snow boots or wool socks. Most snow they’d seen in decades apparently. Then a week later: another 100 centimetres, and twice more around Christmas time their were massive snow storms. They had to close roads and call in the army to get the highways and byways cleared. It took weeks.
I recall one day in late February waking up one morning and seeing the sun shining in through the kitchen window and realizing: it’s the first time I’ve seen the sun since mid-October of the previous year! That’s a mighty long time without even a glimpse of the sun. It had rained continuously whenever it wasn’t snowing, with only a few cloudy, rainless days in between.
The best weather in B.C., besides the hot, muggy weather of August and September (which I absolutely love and wish we could import) was the lightning storms. They were just spectacular. We lived in the Fraser Valley, in a third-floor apartment, so you could not only hear the thunder roaring and rolling from mountain to mountain, but you could also watch the chain lightning get caught in this bowl of rock, just zinging back and forth, lighting up the sky and everything beneath it. I recall standing out on the balcony, overlooking the downtown, the rain pouring down in sheets, and the thunder and lightning like nothing I’d ever seen before. Just incredible. Almost as great as the total lunar eclipse on the night of the full moon in October. Almost as spectacular as the Fundy tides of Nova Scotia that roll in so fast it can take your breath away or the harvest moon setting over the apple orchards in the Annapolis Valley, the sky painted orange, black, and red, like something out of an Old Testament movie.
I guess, when I think of it, it’s the sameness of the weather here that I love and hate at the same time. I like difference, have never been fond of stagnation. But we have entire weeks of RDF. Granted, I wasn’t fond of the constant threat of earthquakes in B.C., and in Ontario, there was the occasional tornado (one took off the top of a church) and drive-by shootings a few miles away (which, in a strange way, is weather-related because most of the real wackos like warm weather).
Weather like this—on the first official day of summer—always makes me wonder if we should be on the move again, to somewhere warmer. But then I think of all the times when we were living elsewhere, and I would have given anything for a whiff of salt air or a glance of Cabot Tower or the Atlantic Ocean. That’s usually enough to make me appreciate being back here. I think of all the people who wish they could be here, but have little choice but to go away to find work. Then I think, a little cold weather is not so bad, even in June.
And pretty soon, it really will be summer. Any day now. Yup. Any day now.
GC
I mean, I do appreciate where we live. Whenever I grouse about the crappy rain, drizzle, fog, and cold some optimistic soul always points out that it could be worse—we could be getting the massive hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, smog alerts, and brush fires like they get in those places with warm weather. Yes, they’re right, although sometimes I’m not so sure that we won’t be getting those things in the next decade or so. But for now, I concede that our weather isn’t that extreme, and that’s something I truly am grateful for.
My wife and I lived in British Columbia about nine years or so ago, though not for very long. We were enticed out there by well-meaning relatives who kept telling us how mild the winters were. Well, on the fifteenth of November that year, we were moving to a new apartment…and it snowed, and snowed, and snowed. 100 centimetres! And I didn’t own snow boots or wool socks. Most snow they’d seen in decades apparently. Then a week later: another 100 centimetres, and twice more around Christmas time their were massive snow storms. They had to close roads and call in the army to get the highways and byways cleared. It took weeks.
I recall one day in late February waking up one morning and seeing the sun shining in through the kitchen window and realizing: it’s the first time I’ve seen the sun since mid-October of the previous year! That’s a mighty long time without even a glimpse of the sun. It had rained continuously whenever it wasn’t snowing, with only a few cloudy, rainless days in between.
The best weather in B.C., besides the hot, muggy weather of August and September (which I absolutely love and wish we could import) was the lightning storms. They were just spectacular. We lived in the Fraser Valley, in a third-floor apartment, so you could not only hear the thunder roaring and rolling from mountain to mountain, but you could also watch the chain lightning get caught in this bowl of rock, just zinging back and forth, lighting up the sky and everything beneath it. I recall standing out on the balcony, overlooking the downtown, the rain pouring down in sheets, and the thunder and lightning like nothing I’d ever seen before. Just incredible. Almost as great as the total lunar eclipse on the night of the full moon in October. Almost as spectacular as the Fundy tides of Nova Scotia that roll in so fast it can take your breath away or the harvest moon setting over the apple orchards in the Annapolis Valley, the sky painted orange, black, and red, like something out of an Old Testament movie.
I guess, when I think of it, it’s the sameness of the weather here that I love and hate at the same time. I like difference, have never been fond of stagnation. But we have entire weeks of RDF. Granted, I wasn’t fond of the constant threat of earthquakes in B.C., and in Ontario, there was the occasional tornado (one took off the top of a church) and drive-by shootings a few miles away (which, in a strange way, is weather-related because most of the real wackos like warm weather).
Weather like this—on the first official day of summer—always makes me wonder if we should be on the move again, to somewhere warmer. But then I think of all the times when we were living elsewhere, and I would have given anything for a whiff of salt air or a glance of Cabot Tower or the Atlantic Ocean. That’s usually enough to make me appreciate being back here. I think of all the people who wish they could be here, but have little choice but to go away to find work. Then I think, a little cold weather is not so bad, even in June.
And pretty soon, it really will be summer. Any day now. Yup. Any day now.
GC
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
The Sound of Singing!
It’s the anniversary of the day I was born, a.k.a my birthday. I’m not overly fond of this day, for some reason. I was going to go on a long diatribe about the (in) significance of birthdays, but instead I wanted to talk about music. (Oh, and it's not that I hate birthdays or celebrating or aging or any of that. I guess I just don't like the expectations that go along with being the centre of attention in that way. Also born on this day: Mark Wahlberg, Cam Neely, Bjorn Borg, and Joe Clarke. What a strange collection of Geminis). For the record, on this day in 2007, I am aghast at the state of the world: Paris is in jail, Lindsay and Britney are in rehab, Anna Nicole is dead, and Canada is nixing on its Kyoto commitments. New Orleans is sinking, and the dollar is rising through the roof. Seven signs that the apocalypse is nigh?)
Anyway, one of my many hobbies, pastimes, interests, wastes of time, ways of fooling around, or whatever you want to call it is downloading music from iTunes. I don’t pirate music (except when someone generously gives me a CD mix or something like that) because, as a writer, artist, and former musician myself—who knows other writers, artists, and musicians—I understand what it means to value the work that someone does. Sometimes, the best way to show that you value someone’s music (or book or whatever) is to pay for it. I know—not very utopian of me. I always thought I was a socialist at heart, but I don’t think that everything should be free. I just think that stealing is wrong, period.
Anyway, enough preaching (I’m just not in the mood today)—just thought I’d throw a few of my latest favorite downloads at you, just for fun:
1. “Working Class Hero”—Green Day. It’s a remake of a John Lennon song from the seventies, but I love what they do to it. Billie Jo Armstrong’s voice is perfect for this song. It gives me chills every time I hear it. He’s so righteous and angry in a way that you rarely heard in such a melodic, poetic way. Most of the anger and self-righteousness you hear on radio these days lacks melody and/or poetry. Hip-hop bores me to death. Metal has no melody. Mostly just primal screaming, which is therapeutic for some, I suppose. Just not me. I like my songs to sound like songs and singing to sound like singing.
2 . Lucy Kaplansky. Who???? Am I the only person who’s never heard of this person. I was at Starbucks one day and they were playing this version of Dylan’s “It Ain’t Me, Babe” (also once covered by Johnny Cash), and the voice is just this beautiful, haunting, expressive female. I went home and searched iTunes for who’s done a cover of that song recently and came up with Lucy Kaplansky. Turned out to be the same one. I liked it so much a downloaded a couple more of her songs. She’s richly talented. I might buy more. (FOLKIE WARNING: I am a huge fan of the female voice, as opposed to the male voice. Especially just a girl and a guitar. Or a piano. Or a banjo. Okay, just kidding about the banjo.) (Oh, unless it’s those Dixie Chicks—love ‘em.)
3. “Top of the World” by the Dixie Chicks and “Not Ready to Make Nice” by the Chicks. They play their own instruments extremely well, and they write articulate, poignant, catchy songs. What’s not to love? Oh, and they hate George W. Bush! I mean, how perfect is that? "Top of the World" is one of my favorite songs of the past three years, just as Lucy Kaplansky is my new favorite singer for the next three weeks.
4. “Space Oddity” by David Bowie. One of my favorite songs of all time. It’s just downright spooky…to me, anyway. How did I get by without having this song in my collection all these years? That’s what iTunes is for.
5. “Tom Sawyer” by Rush. Deadly song. Fantastic lyrics. Possibly their best melody. I was never what you call a huge Rush fan, but when I was writing my short story “Exit the Warrior,” the main character turns on the radio and this song was on. So I had to go listen to the song, and that’s where the title of the story comes from. This is a great song for running, working out, or just listening to. It's just pure rock, with a bit of a roll.
That’s only four out of the two or three hundred songs I’ve got on my mp3 player at the moment. I plan to download a few more over the weekend, and I’ll let you know what I come up with.
Oh, and they’re not necessarily recommendations. It depends on what you like. But it might give you some idea where my head is at. Scary thought.
Have a great day even if you didn’t have a birthday.
GC
Anyway, one of my many hobbies, pastimes, interests, wastes of time, ways of fooling around, or whatever you want to call it is downloading music from iTunes. I don’t pirate music (except when someone generously gives me a CD mix or something like that) because, as a writer, artist, and former musician myself—who knows other writers, artists, and musicians—I understand what it means to value the work that someone does. Sometimes, the best way to show that you value someone’s music (or book or whatever) is to pay for it. I know—not very utopian of me. I always thought I was a socialist at heart, but I don’t think that everything should be free. I just think that stealing is wrong, period.
Anyway, enough preaching (I’m just not in the mood today)—just thought I’d throw a few of my latest favorite downloads at you, just for fun:
1. “Working Class Hero”—Green Day. It’s a remake of a John Lennon song from the seventies, but I love what they do to it. Billie Jo Armstrong’s voice is perfect for this song. It gives me chills every time I hear it. He’s so righteous and angry in a way that you rarely heard in such a melodic, poetic way. Most of the anger and self-righteousness you hear on radio these days lacks melody and/or poetry. Hip-hop bores me to death. Metal has no melody. Mostly just primal screaming, which is therapeutic for some, I suppose. Just not me. I like my songs to sound like songs and singing to sound like singing.
2 . Lucy Kaplansky. Who???? Am I the only person who’s never heard of this person. I was at Starbucks one day and they were playing this version of Dylan’s “It Ain’t Me, Babe” (also once covered by Johnny Cash), and the voice is just this beautiful, haunting, expressive female. I went home and searched iTunes for who’s done a cover of that song recently and came up with Lucy Kaplansky. Turned out to be the same one. I liked it so much a downloaded a couple more of her songs. She’s richly talented. I might buy more. (FOLKIE WARNING: I am a huge fan of the female voice, as opposed to the male voice. Especially just a girl and a guitar. Or a piano. Or a banjo. Okay, just kidding about the banjo.) (Oh, unless it’s those Dixie Chicks—love ‘em.)
3. “Top of the World” by the Dixie Chicks and “Not Ready to Make Nice” by the Chicks. They play their own instruments extremely well, and they write articulate, poignant, catchy songs. What’s not to love? Oh, and they hate George W. Bush! I mean, how perfect is that? "Top of the World" is one of my favorite songs of the past three years, just as Lucy Kaplansky is my new favorite singer for the next three weeks.
4. “Space Oddity” by David Bowie. One of my favorite songs of all time. It’s just downright spooky…to me, anyway. How did I get by without having this song in my collection all these years? That’s what iTunes is for.
5. “Tom Sawyer” by Rush. Deadly song. Fantastic lyrics. Possibly their best melody. I was never what you call a huge Rush fan, but when I was writing my short story “Exit the Warrior,” the main character turns on the radio and this song was on. So I had to go listen to the song, and that’s where the title of the story comes from. This is a great song for running, working out, or just listening to. It's just pure rock, with a bit of a roll.
That’s only four out of the two or three hundred songs I’ve got on my mp3 player at the moment. I plan to download a few more over the weekend, and I’ll let you know what I come up with.
Oh, and they’re not necessarily recommendations. It depends on what you like. But it might give you some idea where my head is at. Scary thought.
Have a great day even if you didn’t have a birthday.
GC
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