Category: Friends
Friday, Jun 15, 2012 | Baking, Bicycles, Cooking, Exercise, Friends, Interviews, Kids, Photos, Running, Sleep, Word of the Year, Work, Writing |
photo shoot out-take
I’ve been writing non-stop, for pay, for the past week and a half. This week’s assignments have focused on Canada Day. Several stories involved interviewing new and relatively new Canadians, which was a wonderful experience. Everyone has a story, and everyone’s story has some kernal that is poignant or humbling or moving; and I love listening.
A new and exciting development is that I’ve also been assigned to take some of the photographs to accompany the stories.
Let me tell you about yesterday, which was particularly manic and fun.
I started the morning with spin/weight class. Took a quick nap after seeing kids off to school. Biked to an interview. Raced home in order to prepare and test a variety of recipes — food for an imaginary Canada Day party. “I love my job,” I thought, dashing around my kitchen in the middle of the afternoon, delicious smells wafting. With help from Zoe, party-planning friend extraordinaire, we decorated and styled a small area of the back porch as if for a “party,” arranged the food, and I took photos. We worked at a crazy pace. I was trying to get everything done before children arrived home from school. And food is tricky to photograph, as anyone who follows my blog knows. I was thankful for great natural lighting, borrowed glassware and linens, and for the daughter who arrived home early and agreed to be photographed eating a cupcake while smiling non-stop (as directed!).
“Even fake smiles look real in photos,” I assured her. And, as you can see from the evidence above, they do.
It was a crazy fun afternoon.
I’ve made a discovery: all those shameful wasted years of reading cheesy women’s magazines has finally paid off. “Service-oriented copy,” as it’s known, simply flows from my fingertips.
Meanwhile, pleasurable discoveries and cupcakes aside, yesterday rolled on at its manic pace. For supper, we ate the food I’d photographed (bonus!). I processed and sent photos to my editor. I biked with soccer girl to the park. I ran 12km in just over an hour (I can’t do my long run this weekend — too busy with soccer tournament and dance recital — which is why I added mileage). We biked home. Put children to bed. Folded laundry. Worked on stories some more. Briefly spent time talking to husband on couch. Dropped plan to meet up with sibs to celebrate birthdays (something had to give).
Crashed.
Slept like a rock. I love sleeping like a rock.
On another note, let me share with you a pang. Sometimes I look at my children and wonder whether I’m keeping close enough track of their individual needs. In my busyness, in this great whirl, am I overlooking something important? Will each feel cherished and treasured by their mother? When problems arise, and heartache, as inevitably happens, do I spare enough time and attention to help them?
As my working life expands, as I prioritize earning a greater share of our family’s income, what falls through the cracks? What gets minimized or ignored or even lost?
Thursday, May 17, 2012 | Chores, Driving, Family, Friends, Kids, Publishing, Readings, Writing |
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| at the Starlight on Tuesday, photo credit Zara Rafferty |
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| photo credit Zara Rafferty |
No, I’m not a real surfer. But life feels a bit ocean-like these days, rolling, never steady. I spent yesterday in Toronto. It turned out that parking was easier to find than anticipated, so that bike never left the back of my vehicle. (Although parallel parking on Queen St. West at rush hour was an exciting opportunity to test my driving skills.)
Some fine moments from my day …
:: smiling at people passing on the sidewalk, some of whom seemed shocked to be making eye contact with a stranger
:: meeting another Snyder from Kitchener-Waterloo at Book City, and trying to piece together our geneological connection
:: eating Korean stew with my lovely little sister on Bloor street; and hanging out together, not in a rush at all
:: making an it’s-a-small-world connection with Daniel Griffin (who also read last night at Type)
:: mingling with the awesome crowd at Type Books before the reading, and putting faces to blog-names
:: being introduced by the lovely Kerry Clare
:: reading a story to a group of people who were really listening
:: getting teaching-creative-writing advice from Heather Birrell (who is a high school English teacher, and who also read last night)
:: finding all the dishes done when I got home
Some less-fine moments …
:: worrying about my dress
:: the chilly wind that swept Toronto all of yesterday
:: forgetting someone’s name during the book signing (AUGH! This happens virtually every time, and every time I curse my name-bank-blank-spot. This is how bad it is: I have literally blanked on the name of a family friend, known for twenty-five years, and seen on a regular basis. I don’t know how that’s even possible. And I hope it doesn’t indicate early onset dementia.)
But this is all to say: Life’s good. It’s messy and it’s good. It’s crazy and whirling and I couldn’t quite believe that I was up at 5am this morning for a spin/kettlebell class, and there’s dirt all over the basement, and I have a basket of laundry waiting to be hung, and no, I will never catch up on my emails — or, really, on anything at all, ever — but this is it. I wouldn’t want to be doing anything less. I love the doors open policy that brings five boys into my house on a Wednesday after school (and leaves behind sweaters not belonging to my kids; be sure to check our lost and found pile, parents). I love seeing my kids excited about moving dirt into new garden beds (yesterday’s major project, overseen by Kevin, bless him). I love lifting kettlebells over my head (is that too weird?). I love getting to read my stories out loud.
Keep the waves coming.
Thursday, May 10, 2012 | Friends, Parenting, Play |
photographer
“Creative discomfort.” I know the feeling well, and now I know what it’s called! If you have 36 minutes to spend watching John Cleese talk about creativity, click here. (As a multi-tasker, I did physio exercises whilst listening, but even without the exercises I would consider it time well-spent.)
Here are a few points that really clicked with me.
Be open. Be silly, be judgement-free, play. There is also a time to be closed and to apply your ideas, to bring them to fruition and into coherent shape. But without time to play freely there is no creativity. He advocates a beginning and an end to play. It’s exactly what we all hated as kids: being told that it’s time to come inside and wash up for supper; time to clean up the toys. Playtime isn’t all the time. There also needs to be time to build your invention.
But creativity is not just about playtime, and structured time. It’s also about sitting with a problem that has yet to be solved. It’s about passing by the easy or obvious solutions, and sitting with the problem/subject and giving your mind time to dig into its unconscious and come up with something original. This is a deeply uncomfortable process. I do it instinctively and not without pain — for me and for everyone around me. When I’m working out a problem, I’m irritable, agitated, distracted. (It’s one of the reasons I exercise.) But I can’t help myself. I can’t accept the easy solution. I have to keep looking until I find something else. I’ve sometimes thought of it as a kind of obsessive personality flaw. After listening to this talk, however, I think it might be the single-most important quality in my personal creative toolbox.
A few more points. When we play freely, we don’t worry about making mistakes; we risk being silly and wrong and ridiculous, because there is no silly or wrong or ridiculous. I think of this in my own parenting. I wonder. Am I too quick to point out problems or flaws? Successful collaboration and communal play comes from building on each other’s ideas, not knocking them down. That doesn’t mean you have to blanket every idea with “Wonderful!” but that you help build on the ideas that come. “Could you elaborate on that? Could you push it futher? What if …?” Maybe it’s also like riffing. When you’re in the middle of a good conversation and everyone is carrying everyone else along, not worrying about taking detours, or getting off-topic.
One final point. Cleese is very much against solemnity. He’s not against seriousness — we can talk deeply about serious subjects while laughing, after all. What gets his goat (and also squashes creativity) is self-important solemnity that refuses humour, that sees it as subversive (well, it is!); the ego that refuses to laugh at itself, that is defensive, that shuts down the house for the sake of propriety.
And on that note … I’m off to ponder and wonder and sit with some pretty grumpy-making creative discomfort. But with a light heart, friends. With a light heart.
Thursday, May 3, 2012 | Big Thoughts, Death, Dream, Friends, Play, Work |
Have I been writing quite often about my dreams? Maybe it’s because I’m woken on so many mornings by my alarm, pulled out of dreamland, bringing the dreams with me. My kids are not going to remember the 2.0 version of their mother, the one who for thirty-five years or so was the very opposite of early riser. The 2.0 version thought 7 o’clock in the morning was quite viciously early enough, thank you very much. But the 2.0 version has been obsolete for over a year now. She may already have been forgotten. My kids are going to remember version 2.1, up before dawn, coming in from outside in running gear, or freshly showered after spin class. “Where were you this morning?” they ask sometimes, greeting me from their perch at the breakfast bar.
I’ll admit: it wasn’t easy to recalibrate my instincts. But I’ll admit, too: change has brought about all sorts of good things. I’m friendlier, for one thing. Less prone to the growlies. Less resentful, somehow, of the necessary morning duties, more light-hearted regarding the inevitable complaints. (“This toast is too cold!” “This porridge is too hot!”)
This morning, I woke with dreams of my friend’s father still in my mind. We attended the memorial service last night. Let me tell you about one small and extraordinary moment. After the more formal proceedings, we all went to the church basement to eat sweets, visit, and share memories. Among the people who got up to say something was a woman I’d never met. She wasn’t a family member or someone from the neighbourhood. She said she knew my friend’s father from work. She said that she worked as a teller in a bank. My friend’s father had been a customer. She spoke about his friendliness, his stories, his interest in her life, about how, as she came to know him, she would wave him over to her line. She regretted that she hadn’t gotten the chance to say goodbye. She was glad to be able to come to his memorial service. She came to his memorial service. Isn’t that amazing?
This is what it says to me: The potential for meaningful relationships is all around us.
Meaningful relationships don’t have to be conventional. They don’t necessarily require tons of time. They can be as simple as asking your bank teller a question. Being interested. Being curious. Being, most of all, present.
Today was a day rife with potential challenges. I got up early. I did not nap. I was interviewed on live radio right after the kids left for school. And then I headed off to lead writing workshops for teens. Several fairly major things remain to be checked off my to-do list. But it hasn’t been a hard day, not at all. I feel a little foot-weary from standing. I feel a little wired from more than my usual dose of caffeine. But I feel, also, the worth of every interaction, no matter how small. Pay attention. Whatever is happening in your day, look it full in the face. Ask questions. Wonder. Give it your best.
I thought, today, about how new experiences are always around us. How people, if pushed in the friendliest of ways, will embrace something new. How even the most grownup of us crave to feel those moments so common in childhood — the ones that delight and surprise us. How maybe all of us are waiting to be delighted and surprised. And then I thought, I can do that.
It’s as easy — and as crazy hard — as stepping outside of my comfort zone.
Monday, Apr 9, 2012 | Friends |
Easter supper, at the farm
**Monday’s menu** Pasta with pesto. Homemade bread.
**Guests** Albus invited two friends to stay for supper. Unfortunately, he invited them after I’d cooked the food; apparently it looked really good. Now, I’ve seen these boys eat, and I was worried there wouldn’t be enough food. And I was right. In addition to devouring a double batch of pasta, our crowd ate through an entire loaf of homemade bread. Imagine this family, with friends, in their teen years. Wow. I can see the sense in serving up a first course of something like Yorkshire pudding, which is basically a heavy dumpling covered in a fatty gravy. Fill ’em up!
**Extra** Made a huge batch of pesto and froze enough for two more meals. (Or maybe just one meal, plus friends.)
**Tuesday’s menu** Rice noodles with stir-fried tofu, mushrooms, and spinach in an Asian sauce.
**Why????** Even while making this meal, I was asking: what am I doing? Who is going to eat this? (Other than me.) The kids hate mushrooms. Half of them dislike tofu. It’s all mixed together. Disaster. But I served it. And they ate it. Basically.
**Wednesday’s menu** Baked potatoes. Steamed cauliflower. Cheese sauce.
**Easy-peasy** Couldn’t be a simpler meal. Should have steamed the cauliflower slightly longer, however, for that true mushy cauliflower-in-cheese-sauce comfort food.
**Thursday’s menu** Pasta. Red sauce. Broccoli.
**Speedy** Whipped up a fresh red sauce from scratch in about twenty minutes. Then I raced off to soccer girl’s practice and had to eat afterward. Sigh. Apparently the broccoli was a huge hit. If there had been time, I would have broiled tofu.
**Friday’s menu** Kids at grandma’s. Parents eat out: Indian.
:::
**Weekend cooking accomplishments** I’m currently working on baking bread. But it’s Easter Monday, not quite the weekend anymore. We went to Seeley’s Bay for Easter, and I did nothing in the kitchen other than enjoy the fruits of another cook’s labours.
**Cooking with kids** AppleApple baked a birthday cake with her Grandma at the farm. That counts, right?
:::
P.S. Friends have sent *yummy *easy recipes for party cakes after I confessed to using boxed mixes in my last installment of “The week in suppers.” Look for a special Party Cake recipe post coming later today. (And think of this blog as my virtual recipe box.)
Friday, Mar 9, 2012 | Blogging, Books, Friends, Photos, Readings, The Juliet Stories |
On Wednesday I took the train to Toronto. Not this train, mind you. This one just happened to be particularly photogenic.
Riding the train is genuinely more glamourous than riding the bus (not that the bus sets the bar very high). I didn’t even get sick (which usually happens to me on the bus). I read through the story I planned to read that evening. Tweaked my intro. Took some photos. Wondered where that road might lead. Napped.
My first destination was lunch with blogging friends, two of whom I’d never met in person (though it seemed like we already knew each other), and one who was a friend from grad school — we hadn’t seen each other in a decade. It amazed me how very much she was the same. And I remembered all the reasons I admired her — and that she was so much fun to be around. (Click on the photo above to get the full picture on Flickr; my importing system crops part of the right side out. And it’s such an awesome capture.)
Parenting tip: always bring a children’s illustrator along when you’re entertaining a child at a lunch that is mostly for adults. (Admittedly not usually an option. Not unless your group of friends happens to include a children’s illustrator.) Oh, and these women also all belong to the same book club, which sounds like it might rival my own poetry club for intense conversation (they’re called the Vicious Circle, which makes the writer in me quiver with fear and the reader in me quiver with excitement). I could have stayed at this lunch for many hours more. The fries weren’t half-bad either. I’m already plotting to go back to Toronto next month, whether or not any offical events get organized. Can I invite myself back? Please?
After lunch I walked south toward my publisher’s office, and met a friend at a park nearby. Also from grad school, whom I hadn’t seen in over a decade. Her youngest played in the sand while we caught up. No photos. I was slightly cursing the weight of the camera at this point in the adventure.
But I was glad I’d brought it when I met my sister in a coffee shop nearby. The light was beautiful. And isn’t she too? It had been years since we’d spent a leisurely afternoon together like that. See, I’ve got to come back!
At this point, I let the wind blow me to the Anansi offices where I freshened up, and signed books. I saw Sheila Heti coming in, and should have introduced myself (celebrity sighting number one). Kevin texted to say he was nearly there. I left in a hurry and we drove down to Harbourfront together. I changed in the back of the truck in the parking garage. Told you, nothing but glamour. And I applied makeup in a mall bathroom. And then we went to dinner.
There are no photos for awhile. Which I truly regret, because the setting for dinner was nothing if not a photographic opportunity. We sat around a circular table with a mirrored wall on one side and a window on the other, overlooking the water. The sun set while we dined. The sky changed colour. It had been a weirdly warm and windy day, singing of spring. I wish I’d had the audacity to request a photo, though it would have interrupted dinner. I couldn’t quite do it. I’m not a photographer, after all, not really.
After supper, we read. I must say that the view from behind the podium at Harbourfront is soothing and quite beautiful. The room is set up with tables, each with a little candle flickering on it, and that is all the reader can see — these dots of floating light in the darkness. The audience, on the other hand, is looking at a very well-lit reader. And the podium is see-through. So I was glad I’d worn my red shoes, though I did rather wish I could have waved a wand when the show was over and turned them into my comfy old boots.
After reading, we signed books and chatted. And then it all cleared out and got very quiet, and Kevin and I left with an old friend from university (I met her even before grad school). We went for a drink at a fake British pub. Relaxing, still floating on a few bubbles of glamour, laughing, rolling over the day, talking about babies (she has a four-month-old). It was a grand end to the evening. (Again, click on the photo for the full effect.)
And then a funny thing happened. An entire pipe band set up outside the front door of the pub. In full regalia. With drums and everything. And then another funny thing happened. We were berated by a passing gentleman (was he wearing a kilt? I think so) who told us we should be ashamed of ourselves not to be out there listening to the pipes. Apparently he was none other than Glenn Healey, former goaltender and now sports commentator. Celebrity sighting number two. Mr. Healey didn’t realize he’d just had his own celebrity sighting. OMG is that Obscure CanLit Mama? Drinking a pint? In her red shoes? Heh. I’m joking. No seriously, I am joking.
We took in the pipes. And then we went home.
