Category: Summer
Friday, Jul 26, 2013 | Books, Fun, Kids, Spirit, Summer, Work, Writing |
Well, we got one home from camp. Albus has returned: freckled, dirty-footed, exhausted, and craving his screened devices. It’s been an odd two weeks without him, and a portent of life to come. He’s already twelve years old, and given that I left home when I was seventeen, my sense is of us entering a different stage of parenting, of trying to figure out how hard to hold on, and how much to let go. I intend to do a lot of both. For example, our ten-year-old, who is quite enormously tall, asked to snuggle with us the other night. She just needed to be hugged and held, despite her long legs and muscular shoulders and ability to make me hot lunches.
I’m serious about the hot lunches. She’s made me several this week, thinking up a menu, preparing it, presenting it on a plate, and knocking on my office door. I could get used to this.
The fourth week of our summer holidays is coming to a close. This week has been cool, and marred by ridiculously noisy street-work going on directly outside my window, occasionally causing my entire office to vibrate in such a way that ear plugs become quite useless. It’s also been a tough writing week due to the work that I’m doing. I will come through this and look back on this time fondly, I’m sure, as I always seem to do, but it’s a grind. Instead of entering directly into the book this morning, I skimmed my FB feed, making all kinds of connections and discoveries (or so it felt; nice when procrastination takes on a purposeful aura).
* First I read an article on success by a young tenured professor who believes in giving, doing favours, taking time to do one thing and go deep, and making strong connections. I also appreciated his point that the most highly successful people, whatever their fields, were rarely the most outstanding performers as children, and that in fact it was their motivation and grit that set them apart.
* Which leads me to a blurb I read next explaining why creative people are often eccentric. This is science, folks! Apparently, creative people (and eccentrics) experience cognitive disinhibition, which means their brains fail to filter out extraneous information — I assume this includes sensual and aural information, in addition to the collection of random facts about celebrities while standing in line at the grocery checkout. It’s the ability to process this excess of information without becoming overwhelmed that leads to fascinating breakthroughs. But it can also inspire peculiar behavioral traits. Like Bjork wearing the swan dress at the Oscars, according to the blurb — which was awesomely cool, I thought.
Okay, so stay open and make connections and get gritty.
Next?
* I took an online assessment to determine my “Decision Pulse.” It’s quick and easy, and I usually avoid these things like that plague, which shows you how determined I am to be distracted this morning — to open myself to vats of cognitive disinhibition! I make my decisions, according to this quick and easy quiz, based on 1. Humanity 2. Relationships 3. Achievement. Apparently, I don’t care about safety or security at all. (Sorry, family!) I think by “Humanity” the test means humanitarian impulses and the desire to serve a greater good. Which sounds lofty, and may or may not be accurate, though I do spend time each day praying that the work I do will help in some way. That it will heal and nourish rather than hurt.
* Finally, I guffawed with enormous appreciation as I read Anakana Schofield’s brilliant and hilariously written take-down of the shallow, missing-the-point-entirely publicity machine that one steps into when one publishes a book. Anakana is the author of Malarky, which I’ve given to my husband to read right now, and she’s damn funny, and doesn’t seem to care who she’s offending (which is a trait I would dearly like to grow into, but haven’t yet). She’s out in Vancouver and we’ve never met in person, but have enjoyed some back and forth via email regarding exercise habits and, yes, readings and publicity and such. She’s put her finger on something really critical here, too: that it seems everyone wants to be a writer, but no one wants to be a reader. (Consider the proliferation of blogs!) What book publishers should be doing is nurturing readers; and what every writer knows it that public appearances inevitably turn into mini-sessions on “how to be a writer.” But it’s readers writers need, isn’t it. People who love books. People who find solace in words. People who soak up a story, who think about the characters afterward and worry for them. People like me, actually. I love reading. Books are like old friends, companions, sparring partners, comforters, moral compasses, inspirations, teachers.
With that in mind, I’ll turn off my distractions and step into the book I’m making, hoping it will ultimately offer both escape and comfort to a reader like me, sometime, somewhere, somehow.
Sunday, Jul 21, 2013 | Backyard, Friends, Fun, House, Kids, Running, Soccer, Summer, Weather, Work |
Well, the heatwave broke. And rather dramatically, from our perspective. I was on the phone with a friend when suddenly the sky went dark and the wind blew high. She lives just up the street, so we were both looking out our windows at essentially the same storm, unable to comprehend what we were seeing as the trees were whipped into a furious tumble and the rain came down, lashing so thickly it looked like a descending fog. “Um, what’s happening?” we asked each other.
I think it takes the mind a little while to catch up to an unusual and unexpected event. For whatever reason, I was slow to grasp that there might be any danger.
My kids were standing on the back porch filming the storm with our little camera — I’d told them they were allowed on the porch, not to go into the yard. Suddenly the phone line went dead and a sound like an electronic buzzing — like a paper bag being torn close beside the ear, as a Facebook friend put it — filled the air. It was incredibly loud and innately disconcerting. I ran onto the porch and called the kids inside (we have video of this). That’s when AppleApple and I watched, through the kitchen window, half of a tree come down in our backyard. It fell silently and smoothly and without any ceremony whatsoever.
Our brains couldn’t seem to register what we’d just seen. I said, not at all concerned, “Oh, a tree’s come down.” The winds seemed to turn branches into paper versions of themselves, tossing them wildly.
And then I snapped awake, and we all ran for the basement, dragging the anxious dogs with us. Kevin had left, just before the storm hit, to go to a soccer game. I was thankful for texting. The power went out soon after. The storm passed almost as quickly as it came.
We left our dark house and joined neighbours gathering at our intersection to survey the damage. Every street had big limbs fallen, power lines down, branches and debris everywhere. We walked the dogs slowly around the block, keeping a sharp eye on the trees over our heads, many of which had dangling branches.
Kevin was training in Toronto all day yesterday, so the tree stayed down in the yard. I almost wanted to leave it there. The split down the side of the tree is so long that I’m afraid the half that still stands can’t be saved. I found myself touching the smooth skin of the newly split tree, just under the bark. It was soft, almost silky, though it has since gone hard and dry. It smells like cut boards in a lumber yard, faintly sweet.
The branches spread over the picnic table, creating a little shelter. Miraculously, a blue glass bowl that had been left out on the table, filled with watermelon rinds, was untouched, perfectly intact.
The kids pretended to hold up the tree.
Today, Kevin and AppleApple have spent the entre day slowly removing the fallen tree. Our front yard is now piled with cut branches. It is an enormous job. The yard is a mess. Even half of a tree is huge.
I realize as I write this post that I’m mourning the loss of the tree. But I don’t mean it to be a sad post. In fact, as the kids’ smiling faces show, we came through the storm just fine. We’ve been sleeping better with the cooler weather, especially once the power was restored and we could run the fans again.
Yesterday, I managed a long run during the afternoon while AppleApple was at her goalkeeping clinic. We’ve been biking there, and we passed many fallen trees in Waterloo Park, but the area beyond Columbia Lake, where I ran, seemed untouched by the storm. It was a highly localized event, it would seem. In the evening, after we ate takeout fish and chips, and I did yoga (read: napped on my yoga mat in our living-room in shavasana heaven), we walked uptown, dogs too, to Open Streets, which had a lively relaxed street festival vibe. We listened to a young woman with a huge voice perform in front of the Chainsaw: AppleApple’s face was shining with delight. “I would give up a lot to have a voice like that,” I admitted. Meanwhile, Fooey talked her “very nice parents” (her words) into letting her buy a new pair of earrings from a craftswoman on the street nearby.
She was sunburned from a happy afternoon playing in a soccer game and then swimming. We all had frozen yogurt. The dogs were well-behaved. The kids and I skipped rope in the street. And we walked home in the gathering darkness with paper lanterns lighting our way.
Summer rolls along, sweet and languid, with sudden flashes of strangeness and wonderment. Tomorrow, a good friend and her family leave for year of sabbatical. The following week another good friend and her family will be leaving too, for the same. I wonder what will have changed, again, in another year. Things we can’t guess at, I know, even if we can predict some, and hope for others.
Friday, Jul 19, 2013 | Summer |
dogs try to cool off by sleeping under shady things, like desks
1. Forget air conditioning. That would work, but we don’t have it anymore.
2. Open windows at night. And whenever it’s cooler outside than in. Run fans. We have an upstairs fan to circulate air that sounds like a jet engine. Our ceiling fans run 24/7. Close windows and blinds during the day. Except none of this is actually working. Our upstairs thermostat has reached 91 degrees Fahrenheit. That does not include the humidex.
3. Get in a car. Seriously, I’ve been enjoying my occasional stints as taxi service for soccering children. Given the opportunity, I completely lose all green inclinations and totally blast myself in chilly air.
4. Wear next to nothing. The kids and I have this down to an art. CJ tells me his shirts feel scratchy. I would have to concur. Plus, clothes get wet and stick to me. Feels gross. Don’t drop by, please.
5. Ice maker in fridge. This rules. It’s working overtime, however, and its supplies are seriously depleted. But there’s nothing better than a cool glass of water, puddling in its own condensation all over my manuscript. Wait. That’s not good. When I notice, I go and get a coaster.
6. Sometimes when I’m getting something out of the fridge, I keep the door open a little longer than strictly necessary and lean in there. Ah.
7. Popsicles. Bless you, frozen juice, for you are sweet and cold.
8. The Long Winter. I’m reading this classic survival story to the kids right now, and we keep thinking it’s going to send us off to bed feeling cold. So far, no luck, but it does make us feel lucky to have food. Speaking of which, we’re eating no food that requires turning on the stove. Plus, nobody’s hungry. We’re too hot. I could pretty much live off of popsicles and almonds right now.
9. The pool! We’ve been going to the local outdoor pool in the evening to swim with all the other people who don’t have air conditioning and need a break. This works brilliantly for the time we’re at the pool. I’ve actually stepped out of the water, two hours later, shivering with goosebumps. Of course, we’re hot by the time we get home again.
10. Exercise early or late. Never never never in the middle of the day. I see people running by at noon and I think, dehydration and heat stroke. And I stay inside at my desk typing in my own private pool of sweat and tears. Just kidding about the tears.
11. Number eleven is not a way to stay cool, it’s a declaration: I love the heat! Love it. This is my idea of a perfect summer, soaking in the warmth, walking outside on a hot night, swimming lengths under the sun, and just generally filling myself up with summer in preparation for all the fallwinterspring that is part of the bargain of being Canadian.
Wednesday, Jul 17, 2013 | Kids, Play, Reading, Summer, Work, Writing |
hot and grumpy
Inevitably, having said I was doing a lot of training, along came a random stomach bug (food poisoning?) to lay me low early yesterday morning and now I’ve missed two planned runs. But I prioritized rest and recovery, and am feeling back to normal today, if normal includes being covered in a sheen of perspiration. We don’t have air conditioning. The upstairs thermostat reads 89 degrees (why Fahrenheit? I don’t know).
hot but less grumpy
Kevin gets to go off to his air conditioned office every day, but the rest of us are here, making do with a few fans and running low on popsicles. I’m wearing clothes I’d wear to hot yoga (see photo above), and brainstorming cool foods for supper: gazpacho and fattoush!
even the dogs are grumpy
I don’t envy AppleApple her babysitting duties
On Monday evening, I took the kids to the pool for two hours (two hours!), and discovered that CJ swims far better than I thought he could, given his general sinky-ness in swim lessons, while Fooey swims rather worse (she needs to learn the flutter kick, mainly, and become more efficient at breathing between strokes). CJ wanted to practice, but Fooey was annoyed by my instruction. It’s funny how my kids break down along these lines: Albus and Fooey are similar in many ways, while AppleApple and CJ are similar in others. The latter two accept my instruction as helpful, while the former two loathe it.
I’m more like the latter two. But I try to work with what works for each kid. So Fooey played and splashed, while CJ played and practiced and splashed, and AppleApple did laps and dolphin dives and dove to the bottom of the deep end and found $2.50 in change. When we clambered out two hours later, we were actually, wonderfully, briefly, COLD.
:::
photo bomb!
This morning I received a letter from a reader, through my publisher. She’d read both of my books, going so far as to track down Hair Hat, which is out of print, at U of T’s Robarts Library, and she wanted to tell me that she foresaw a bright career developing for me, if I could keep my focus.
Interesting, huh.
Because I do wonder about that: are my chances for success, for a long and happy career, all wrapped up in the focus, in the drive, in the setting of high expectations? At this stage in my life, I’ve come to think the answer to that is No. There’s luck, too, and striking the geyser of zeitgeist, which is beyond unpredictable. And yet, I’ll tell you too, that I keep operating as if the answer is Yes. Because it’s what I’ve got, and I seem to have lots of it. (It being focus, drive, high expectations, etc.)
I operate with the knowledge that failure is ever-present and ever-possible, and that it can only harm me if I let it get in the way of trying. Knowing failure keeps me oddly serene, oddly comforted.
I just keep writing. Like Dory hums in Finding Nemo (yes, I’m quoting a kids’ movie): “Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming,” only I hum writing instead of swimming. I’m nearly midway through my revisions of Girl Runner, or at least midway through the manuscript. I’m writing lots of new scenes and loving my main character ever so much. I think you’ll love her too. My editor said she thought readers would Google the character’s name, believing her to be real, and I almost feel that way about her too. What a strange job I have, making people up from scratch. I can’t explain why it makes the slightest bit of sense to do it.
Am I keeping my focus in order to have a bright career?
Probably not, though I’d welcome it if it landed on my doorstep. I keep my focus because I love telling stories. I love digging into the lives of others. I love having them say and feel and do things I could never say or feel or do. I love asking enormous questions. I love being allowed to wonder.
Monday, Jul 8, 2013 | Backyard, Chores, Holidays, Kids, Laundry, Parenting, Soccer, Summer, Writing, Yoga |
A few things. If you don’t hear from me, assume I’m writing. Or summering.
So far, this holiday has made a lot of sense. The kids are swimming in the mornings, and I write (working on revisions) all afternoon. We’re travelling by bicycle as much as we can. I’m back to running and soccer, so life it is good. It is filled with goodness.
I took my yoga mat and stretched on the grass, Saturday afternoon, while watching my daughter practice her keeper skills. Rain was lightly falling. It’s been hot, humid. It was just about the perfect afternoon.
No photos of my younger daughter, but you never know, she might step in and make a claim for the title “soccer girl,” too. On Thursday evening, Kevin and I watched in amazement as our sturdy and determined seven-year-old carried the ball up the field, beating out player after player, and calmly fired it into the net. Five times. Seriously. We know she’s got the skills, but this was the first we’d seen the fire-in-the-belly. Our jaws were dropping. We were so curious to know what had inspired her, but all Fooey said afterward when we asked how did you just do that??? was, “It was a different goalie, so it was easy.” Um, okay.
(I wish I could say that. And I wish I had even half her foot skills. I mean, she dominated. That is not a word Kevin and I tend to associate with sweet Fooey.)
I love the very different personalities that pour out of these fascinating individuals I get to claim as my kids. I love trying to figure them out. What makes you tick? What gets you excited? What brings you to life?
It’s berry season in our backyard.
And it looks like rain, again.
We’ve got more soccer coming up this evening, I’ve got laundry to drag off the line, and another half an hour to direct toward Girl Runner. I love when life makes sense like this. It doesn’t always. I spend a lot of time flailing around worrying about direction, although I don’t love to blog about those parts. (Maybe I should? So life doesn’t look too perfect?)
I’m super-thankful when everything seems to fit together.
Thursday, Jul 4, 2013 | Kids, Running, Summer, Swimming |
So here’s how our week started: I signed my kids up for swim lessons at the wrong pool, failing to notice my error until two of the kids were stranded at the wrong pool, all by themselves, having biked over with their dad who then went on to work. I was to join them with the younger kids awhile later, and we’d all bike home together. I was in the kitchen packing my backpack when the phone rang. Daughter at pool. “Why are you calling?!” (This can’t be good!) “Mom, you signed us up for the Swimplex!” “What?! Oh no!”
And they were right. I had. There’s a first time for everything, this not being a mistake I’ve made ever before.
They missed their lesson. Instead, they biked safely home together, despite having to manage a detour around construction on their route. (I only heard about this long after the fact.) I biked with the little kids to the Swimplex (they did not miss their lesson). All was well.
Conclusion: My children seem to know how to manage. This is good.
That’s what we’re up to this week: swim lessons in the morning, big kids babysitting in the afternoon. I’ve been working on revisions on the novel and prepping for my teaching gig this fall.
Canada Day was weirdly productive. I sat down and read through the entire novel manuscript, which really needed to be done. I hadn’t touched it since February, so my editing eyes were very clear, and I’m positively teeming with solutions. I starting backwards, and just letting myself take whatever route feels right. Writing new scenes seems to be what’s coming first.
I also gave both boys a haircut. And vacuumed.
We’ve been biking everywhere. It’s hot.
I’m back to running again, tentatively testing out the ankle with short, slow runs aided by an ankle brace. I’ll test it further during a soccer game tonight. Wish me luck. I’ve taken a risk and signed up for the Run for the Toad this fall (25km trail run I’ve done the past two years).
We stayed up awfully late at my brother’s birthday party last night, enjoying pizza, cake, and feats of strength by both my daughters. (The eldest picked up pretty much every party guest, I kid you not. I’m talking adults here. She went around the room.) So that was fun. And we could sleep in this morning, at least somewhat. I could hardly open my eyes, however. I think I ate too many spicy dill pickles yesterday. Puffy. Salt-retention. Too much information.
Our mint is growing wild. I need to get more time in the pool. I coached Fooey’s soccer team on Tuesday evening.
I’m just listing things off here, can you tell? The minutiae. It’s all I’ve got.
Page 11 of 20« First«...910111213...20...»Last » 
