Category: Fun
Wednesday, Jun 17, 2015 | Adventure, Fun, Girl Runner, Holidays, Interviews, Travel |
We’ve been on a whirlwind adventure, and now we’re home, with all the laundry that implies. I am trying to write this with a chatty 7-year-old nearby, who is missing out on his class’s field trip to the African Lion Safari due to an upset stomach (barfed on the bus, apparently; luckily this occurred before this bus had left the school grounds). So, yeah, we’re home.
Where have we been?
On Friday, I drove to Stratford to pick up AppleApple, who had been to see a play at the Stratford Festival (The Diary of Anne Frank). We had a bite to eat, then drove on through ominous weather to London, where she had a soccer game. So, here is another soccer field in my summer 2015 series.
Home, late. Exhausted. Weary.
Up, early. Packing for a variety of activities and adventures: everyone in the truck, and we’re off!
First stop: Innisfil, Ontario. Brand-new library. (Brand-new everything, from the looks of it; this is a fast-growing town.) Reading from Girl Runner. Kids had fun too. All good. Back in the car, headed down the highway.
Second stop: Seeley’s Bay, Ontario. Visiting Kevin’s family, cousin-time, playing soccer and badminton, sleeping soundly, sleeping in! (Fooey appeared at bedside to inquire “Why are you still in bed, Mom? It’s 9 o’clock!” And it was …) Kevin and I even went for a run together, and managed not to get overly competitive (there’s a reason we don’t play Scrabble anymore). Packed a lunch, then back in the truck, headed down some back roads.
Third stop: Brockville, Ontario. I interviewed the son of Myrtle Cook, who won gold in the 1928 Olympics. What a treat to hear his stories about his mother’s career, both as a young athlete and later as a sportswriter, the only woman in the section. The kids were generously welcomed by our hosts, and treated to a swim in a nearby pool, and cookies and juice. It reminded me of my own childhood, when our family was frequently hosted by kind strangers, so often that we almost took it for granted that we would be welcomed no matter where we went. Maybe I still carry a bit of that with me. (This was a two-way street: our family home was also open to strangers and friends alike, and I remember playing with any kid or set of kids who happened along; my siblings and I could mix in with anyone, boys, girls, older, younger, didn’t matter, by dusk you’d have to holler to get us to come inside, we’d be having so much fun. It was an advantage of a peripatetic childhood.) Interview over, we were back on the road, with some pits stops for supper … and bathroom breaks … and more bathroom breaks …
Bathroom break # 542
Fourth stop: Montreal, Quebec! We stayed near the Olympic Stadium for two nights, and went to a women’s world cup match: Canada v Netherlands (which ended in a 1-1 draw). There were 45,000 or so people in attendance, and the place was humming with energy. Such a fun game to watch: cheering, shouting, clapping, oohs and aahs, highs and lows, fresh-squeezed emotions. I do love live sporting events. While in Montreal, we wandered the neighbourhood, and found ice cream at a place with a banner that read: “Cremerie/Sushi.”
CJ at the Cremerie/Sushi spot
We rode the subway. Tried to walk to Mount Royal, but were defeated by a) the distance and b) more importantly, the whining about the distance. So we stopped for poutine instead. We found a bakery selling the most delicious Portuguese-style custard tarts, and visited a famous bagel shop. The kids swam, I went for a run in a beautiful park. It was a holiday. Everyone was so relaxed.
We arrived early. Very early. This makes it look like we were the only people in the stadium, but we were soon surrounded. In the excitement I forgot to take more photos.
Ah, siblings.
And now, home. But despite the sick kid nearby, and the immensity of the laundry pile, I feel that holiday feeling lingering. It was hard to get packed up and leave, but once we were gone, it was easier and easier to be away, to imagine ourselves somewhere else, leaving everything behind. Not that we would, and we’ve got a lot to come back to; just that it’s possible to imagine escape and adventure when you’ve removed yourself from the physical trappings of home. It’s a kind of wonderful feeling, I must admit.
All for now.
xo, Carrie
Monday, May 25, 2015 | Books, Fun, Good News, Readings, The Candy Conspiracy |
It’s launch party week!
Here’s the official poster, designed by my talented brother, Cliff. This time around, I’ve handed over the party planning to my friend Melissa’s public relations company; truly, here in non-stop soccer season, I’m too busy to attempt it myself, and the arrival of a new book deserves a celebration! So the plan is, let someone else make a plan, and I will simply show up and have fun. Speaking of showing up and having fun, tomorrow I’m visiting CJ’s Grade One class to talk about writing books (and to read The Candy Conspiracy). And last week, I went on local TV to promote the launch party; yes, that was actually (and unexpectedly) really fun, which is not at all what I was anticipating that morning as I tried to pick appropriate clothes for the occasion and worried about my hair, makeup and nerves. (Writers don’t have a lot of appropriate clothes. Case in point: I’m currently wearing yoga pants and a black t-shirt, with crocs.) That said, I can’t bring myself to watch the clip (and in fact, just opened the link and had a visceral “Oh God, I really can’t watch it” reaction), but hey. Here’s the link, for posterity.
And here’s the point of this post: I hope to see you (and your children or grandchildren) at the Waterloo Public Library this coming Saturday, May 30th, between 1-2PM. Please consider this your official invitation (note: registration helpful for planning purposes, but not required; spontaneity welcome.)
xo, Carrie
PS Doesn’t it look like I’ve just taken a big chomp out of that cupcake?
Monday, May 11, 2015 | Friends, Fun, Kids, Mothering |
Before.
I know he looks awesome, like a wild child, but he couldn’t see to play the piano, or soccer, and he absolutely refused to wear a headband or a ponytail of any kind–even the kind called a “man-bun” (why?!)–and even though his sister told him he looked “adorable,” after which she privately and with squeaky delight told me “he looks like a sweet little girl!” Anyway. What you can’t see are the snarls and dreadlocks. After his first soccer game, during which he really couldn’t see, he agreed to a summer cut, which he can grow out as long as he likes until next summer, when we will reassess again.
After.
I mean, it’s not like he isn’t perfectly wonderful either way. He just looks a little more clean-cut than we’re used to.
For some reason, I also wanted to write briefly about our funny drive, yesterday evening, to see AppleApple’s play, with a car packed full of children. AppleApple was already at the theatre, and we were ferrying her three siblings, plus two friends, a boy and a girl, who were seated (unfortunately for them!) on either side of Albus, who had decided at the very last minute that he might need a snack to sustain him through the performance, and who had therefore brought along a plastic bag into which he’d stuffed two pieces of chicken/mushroom pizza. The entire drive was a comical, looping exchange, mostly between Albus and me, regarding the pizza-eating plan. Would he eat it now? Mightn’t he get pizza sauce on the people seated next to him, both dressed very nicely? Or even on himself, dressed rather less nicely? Or would he sneak it into the theatre for a mid-play nosh? (What? No!) But look–he’d conveniently brought along a plastic bag for sneaking purposes, he could tuck it under his shirt. Or would he eat it while walking from the parking garage to the theatre? Both pieces or just one? How hungry was he, exactly? Why? Why the pizza? Why now?
I think AppleApple’s friends were at least mildly amused by his antics, which certainly gave shape to the conversation for the whole drive. Something about the scene summed up for me what it means to have a teenager around: kid inventing his own fun out of a situation he doesn’t particularly want to be in, and parents not really getting what’s going on and being mildly amused/mildly annoyed by the whole scenario. Anyway, I wanted to remember it. So there you have it, for the record. He turns 14 in a week and a half. (I also cut his hair on Friday after school, but he doesn’t like me taking photos of him anymore. So that’s a photo of AppleApple mugging for the audience as the play was about to start–with her French horn, which she played beautifully to open the show.)
xo, Carrie
Thursday, Apr 30, 2015 | Fun, Girl Runner, Running, Writing |
An unexpected perk of writing a book called Girl Runner was being asked to review running shoes for a running magazine (iRun.ca). In total, twelve pairs of shoes came through my front door this past winter, and I tested and wrote about all of them. The magazine will be running my full piece in their next print edition, which comes out soon, but meanwhile, here’s a link to one of the shoe reviews posted online earlier this week. It’s for the Saucony Triumph ISO, a shoe I liked a lot and continue to wear often. (Side note: I’ve got Triumphs and Boosts and Wave Riders; shoe manufacturers remind me of car manufacturers–it’s all in the aspirational naming.)
I have to say, this is making me ponder subjects for my next book in a totally different way. Just kidding. But seriously: if I wrote about ponies, would someone give me a pony? Please?
xo, Carrie
PS Random photo of goats. I don’t have any photos of ponies on hand.
Friday, Apr 3, 2015 | Baking, Big Thoughts, Books, Family, Fun, Holidays, Lists, The Candy Conspiracy, Word of the Year, Work, Writing |
chalkboard family
Oh, the word WRITE. How I love it, on a day like today, after a week like this week, when my mind is rich with ideas and enthusiasm, and the joy that comes from working. Work that sometimes, truly, feels like play.
I think we fall into our themes. We can’t always understand them, or know why they’ve become the themes to which we’ve devoted our creative lives, but they’re there. If I am to identify the themes that have occupied me in projects past, and that are highly likely to continue to occupy me during the years to come—many productive writing years, oh Lord, please, grant me—they include the following: midwifery; abortion; pregnancy and birth; mothering; siblings; running; competition; feminism; activism; rule-breaking or unconventional behaviour; gambling and debt; small-time criminality and the huckster or the shyster; peace and justice; adoption; parentage; memory; forgiveness; gifts or gift-giving; music; fame/performance; horses; spirituality; love; friendship.
I’m absolutely bubbling over with joy at having all of these pieces of life to explore. And more, and more. (Where does The Candy Conspiracy fit into the thematic framework? Hedonism? Entertainment? Fun purely for the sake of fun? Yes, sometimes all I want to do is goof off and have fun–can that be a theme too?)
I’m listening to my eldest daughter play the piano. She’s practicing her songs for the Kiwanis festival later this month. The music is beautiful, though right now she’s going over and over a few rough patches. She’s got a batch of hot-cross buns rising on the counter and she was singing the song this morning, in her pyjamas. The other kids are off with Kevin at his office, helping him reorganize and rearrange, though it’s just as likely that they’re playing video games rather than lugging stuff around.
On Wednesday, we found ourselves with a free evening. Nobody had anything to do or anywhere to go. This is so rare on a weeknight that we all felt celebratory. After supper, the adults drank a beer and the kids each had a pop and we sat around the table talking and drawing. Everyone took a turn suggesting a subject to draw, and we had two minutes to try to draw whatever it was.
Above are our people, drawn on the chalkboard, which is where we started.
It’s Good Friday. I’m going to make paska this afternoon, a Russian Mennonite Easter bread, although I’m not Russian Mennonite. Eggs, spring, colour, sweet bread, new life.
xo, Carrie
Friday, Mar 27, 2015 | Book Review, Exercise, Family, Fun, Poetry, Soccer |
For our final “fun” event of March break, we rented a third of an indoor soccer field, and played soccer together as a family. My brother Karl joined us, too. It was a fun event, not merely a “fun” event, so much so that we’ve booked more family field time, and are going to play hooky this afternoon — hooky, and soccer. My brother Christian is planning to come along too this time. I predict a decimation of the oldsters by the fit and skilled youngsters.
In honour of the occasion, here is a poem I wrote while watching my 12-year-old at a soccer practice this winter.
Girl at soccer practice
I only ask to be more or less still as I fall under the spell of a girl lifting into flight a ball with knee, foot, foot, knee, body, foot, foot, the ball never striking the ground, air-bound circle, and I only ask to fall to watching, to trust the meaning of what is here and shows itself and asks only to be seen, to be watched
I only ask for a moment and another, air-bound circle, to restore what seems lost from me; what there is no need to find when I focus on such focus that it seems it might never
drop
Soccer, soccer, and more soccer. It’s a theme!
Right now, I’m debating whether to play soccer again this summer. I’ve signed up to coach or assistant coach the two younger kids’ teams. And my #FridayReads is Fever Pitch by Nick Hornby, an odd little memoir (and quite possibly his first published book), in which he details his soccer/football obsession as an Arsenal fan through the 1970s and 1980s. He paints a disturbing picture of the dark underbelly of football culture in the UK (has it changed? I’m not sure), with its tribalism and violence, misogyny, and racism. Hornby looks around the stadium and observes that he and his fellow fans are utterly outraged at almost all times, filled with fury and disappointment as they watch their team play; and it seems such a strange misery to devote oneself to so fully, like one’s ordinary life can’t bear the burden of strangled rage, and so one becomes a football fan in order to let loose, in the company of others, this vast current of dissatisfied energy. Of course, there are the communal highs, too, when one’s team wins. Culturally, we devote a vast amount of news coverage and personal energy to sports, particularly professional sports, and that interests me. Why? What need is it filling?
Although I enjoy sports, I read Hornby’s memoir with the detached curiosity of someone who is not involved and cannot fully understand. I like to play more than I like to watch, in all honesty. (Unless I’m watching my kids play. See poem above).
xo, Carrie
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