Friday, Feb 18, 2011 | Writing |
So far, this morning has been less than productive. I wonder, is it the post-reading feeling of calm? Is it the three previous mornings of rising well before dawn? Is it the empty house, children successfully breakfasted and clothed and shuffled off in their various ways to their various schools?
Whatever it is, I am not cutting with efficiency through my writing day. There are a few small edits to make on a few of the Juliet stories. Otherwise, I’m facing brand new projects. One is a bit like poetry, and can’t bear more than an hour’s concentration at a time. I am taking photos from the 365 project and pairing them with words. But I can’t tell whether or not they’re any good. The results have so far been rather koan-like. Mysterious. Do they bear scrutiny? How can I tell? Any visual artists out there willing to look and to comment?
My other projects are in the thinking stage. I have two ideas for two different novels. Yes, novels. Not stories. I know, it’s so unlike me. But after reading Kate Atkinson’s Left Early, Took My Dog, I have a hankering to write a mystery. It’s an old hankering, actually. I have long admired the tidiness of mystery plotting. When I’m down and out, a mystery is what I turn to.
During my last yoga class, an entire plot plunked itself plain and simple into my brain. This is unprecedented. Characters plunk themselves into my brain. Emotions. Landscape. Props. The colouration of scenes. But the solidity of plot has never been my gift. So I am intrigued and curious to begin, and yet I think, not yet. I’ve jotted it down for later.
The other novel project is based on an older manuscript that I discovered when we cleared off a shelf in our bedroom. I couldn’t stop reading it. It’s funny and light and particular. It was written as entertainment, not to be deep. Which isn’t saying it’s superficial, just that it isn’t The Juliet Stories. It isn’t quite so literary. And it’s really funny.
All these projects seem so different from what I’ve been working on. Scattered. I need to find focus. But maybe that’s not what’s meant to happen on this Friday morning. On this Friday morning, I’m treating myself to a second cup of coffee and a lazy happy drifting mind.
Thursday, Feb 17, 2011 | Books, Good News, Swimming, Writing |
I couldn’t get the poster to upload, but wanted to let you know that I’m reading tonight in downtown Kitchener at The Museum (formerly known as the Children’s Museum). Doors open at 7pm, but the readings don’t start till 7:30. It’s a free event. I don’t know whether or not there will be drinks available. Should have asked.
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Back from my early morning swim, feeling buoyant. Seems to be the feeling I get after my early morning swims. Could also be due to a piece of good news received in the mail yesterday. I opened the non-descript envelope hurriedly, on my way into the house to turn down the crockpot, with CJ waiting in the truck outside in the driveway (yes, I’m that kind of mother; but the truck wasn’t running). I was running late for an appointment, and didn’t want the lentils in the crockpot to scorch. Then I saw the envelope. It was from the Ontario Arts Council, and I knew what that might mean–grant application denied. Or, the opposite. Ripped it open, read the first line, saw the cheque, and began bouncing and screaming. Remembered to turn down the crockpot. Raced outside to tell CJ. Wondered whether I had indeed remembered to turn off the crockpot. Raced back inside to check. Yes, crockpot turned down. Raced back to truck. CJ mildly interested. Should I really be driving under the circumstances? I asked. It was a brief spell of intense joy, and I’ve learned to embrace those spells full-on when they come, because they don’t last, they can’t, and the intensity quickly dissipates. That’s okay. But the huge smile and feeling of goodwill toward all humankind–that was nice. I will try to keep the feeling of goodwill going.
Wednesday, Feb 16, 2011 | Blogging, Kids, Music |
I’ve been re-reading old blogs as I attempt to organize them into a format that is printable, and I’m wondering, fellow bloggers, do you do this, too? Do you keep your blog entries in hard-copy? Do you have a method for organizing old material? Or do you trust in the online world to hold your posts in perpetuity? In looking back over this blog, it feels like a public diary, like a scrapbook of our family’s life, and I want to have it available to leaf through. There’s nothing like paper. But then, I’m an old-school girl. I like my books as books.
Which is not to say that I don’t like reading online, too.
In reading over the old entries, I was struck by how much this blog has changed. It used to be much more about the children, and it’s shifted over time to be more about me. I’m not sure whether that’s because as my children get older, I feel less inclined to invade their privacy by recording things that they may disagree with; or whether I’ve shifted in my own priorities away from the daily parenting. When I started the blog, CJ was four months old. Fooey wasn’t even three. We grow. We change.
In the spirit of the older blogs, I have to record a few CJ sayings. He’s just so articulate and lovely, my almost-three-year-old big boy. “I’m a big boy. I’m a little brother.”
As I was putting on his socks this morning, he looked at me, and said, “I see you down there!” It was the down there part that pleased him especially. It made me realize how in his world, he mostly sees people up there.
He is usually the last one out of bed, and a few mornings ago we were treated to the sound of his door opening and closing, and his sturdy feet hopping down the stairs (yes, he hops from stair step to stair step), until he arrived on the landing where he stopped and, taking in his admiring audience in the kitchen below, he began to sing. He sang a full verse and chorus to the tune of Twinkle, Twinkle, but with made up words, his long blond hair fluffed around his head like a halo, wearing his red footie Christmas pajamas. Then he jumped into my arms. I asked, “Did you learn that song at nursery school?” and he said, “No. I just made it up in my bed!”
Tuesday, Feb 8, 2011 | Books, Kids, Play, Reading, Siblings |
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| Big boy reading to little boy. The lovely thing about this was that it happened after supper, when CJ was begging for entertainment, and Albus right away offered to read him a book: Green Eggs and Ham. Albus has become such a reader over the past year or so, devouring chapter books, but reading out loud is yet another step. |
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| I gave the kids a mental health day awhile back, and this is one of the activities we did: colouring, water-colouring, and drawing on a large single sheet of paper. The end result was not overwhelmingly amazing (I did not hang it on the dining-room wall, as the kids requested), but the process was a lot of fun. Reminiscent of the kind of hands-on directed-activity parenting I used to do on a regular basis, that is now fairly rare. It’s nice that it’s rare, because it means the kids play independently and creatively all on their own, but occasionally it’s also nice to get to be a part of that play, too. But only occasionally). |
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| Snow day/P.D. day play. |
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| Fooey was out for an hour, along with several other kids (I was babysitting that day). They ended with a game that involved jumping off the porch and swinging on the chain that in summertime holds up one of the hammocks. I didn’t find out about that til later. Hands-off parenting/babysitting has its downside. Though everyone came in unharmed, glowing, and happy, and devoured a snack of hot chocolate, marshmallows, and apricot cake. Is there a lesson in this? |
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| Tuesday and Thursday mornings. As soon as the big kids head out the door, the little kids throw themselves into play. (What will we do next year when Fooey goes to school all-day, every-day?). This morning. Started with puzzles. Moved on to cooking and baking. |
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| Followed by eating, of course. And nope I’m not involved in this game. I’m sitting at the computer nearby, typing this post. (They’ve moved on to naptime right now. Sounds good to me …). |
Wednesday, Feb 2, 2011 | Money, Mothering, Writing |
I’ve been writing more regularly on my side-project blog, Swim/Run/Bike Mama (yup, it’s on the triathlon project), and less regularly, perhaps, here. Since finishing the 365-project (apparently, I thrive on projects), I’ve hardly picked up the camera. I am giving myself a full week of breathing before even thinking about what to do next, photography-wise; but one interesting discovery is that out of 365 photos, there are about thirty that stand out, and among those, a few that might just come together to tell an interesting story quite apart from the project and apparent subject matter: ie. I can make something else out of them. Maybe that’s reason enough to continue taking a photo every day. Because at any moment, something lovely is waiting to come into existence (surrounded by a lot of other moments and attempts).
I’m linking to a piece in the National Post by my former boss, Noah Richler: he argues that funding the arts provides a public service quite beyond what can be valued monetarily. The salient point is: some things aren’t done for profit–how do we measure their value? And what does what we value and support say about our country?
And, you know, on a very personal level my thinking has been heading this way, too: questioning my compulsion to evaluate what I do in a very black and white, cost-versus-profit manner. I wrote a few posts back about wanting to be independent, financially. That’s not a superficial desire. On the other hand, it doesn’t take into account–or value–all the ways that I do support my family and contribute, ways that aren’t and probably can’t be compensated in a “fair” way. In our marriage, we try not to do too much horse-trading, ie. I did the dishes so you have to put the kids to bed. Because that just creates a feeling of unfairness: maybe the dishes are worth only two kids being put to bed; or maybe on that particular evening, the kids need a bath, which is more time-consuming, so it should be worth an extra round of dish-washing; or … well, you see where I’m going with this. In the same way, there is no way of measuring the effort that goes into, say, writing a book, and compensating it “fairly.”
Do I need to be financially independent? That’s a really personal question, I guess. I haven’t got an answer yet. But I’m interested in all the reasons that maybe, maybe that question throws me off track. Maybe it’s a red herring. Maybe the question is: can I accept that the work I’ve chosen to do may never be compensated at a rate that would allow me to be financially independent? What matters? Is it money?
