Let’s talk about the weather
March 25th, 2014
Here in Canada, we never have a shortage of conversational openers. We have, instead, the weather.
snowing even harder, March 25, 2014
It kind of looks like this right now, in fact, on March 27th, but I’m not getting my camera out to record it again.
what I was doing while it was snowing, March 25, 2014
It’s not a bad way to spend an afternoon, really, in front of the fire, computer on lap, snow coming down. Even at the end of March. If I can stay awake, that is.
March 26, 2014
I’ve got so much happening this week that I haven’t been able to check in here often. I’m getting ready for my trip (to London, England)! Planning! Coordination! It turns out that the London Book Fair is on at the same time, so I’ll be meeting with publishers, too, and even going to a party (that means packing some different clothes than I’d originally planned, not to mention footwear). I’m also volunteering for my daughter’s swimathon, this Saturday (you can sponsor her here, if you feel inspired; she plans to swim 5,000 metres!). And it’s our youngest’s 6th birthday on Saturday, so there’s a party to be planned. Good grief. Not to mention all of the usual soccer and gymnastics and music and meals. And the book is about to become an ARC here in Canada! And I’ve been on the phone with the designer in the US to discuss an illustrated map for the book! And this daily yoga challenge continues, in a hopeless attempt to get me to the other side of what seems a never-ending winter, as pictured above: I’m on day eight. And I’m late for today’s class, in fact, and need to run out into the snow right now!
Dear Monday
Dear Monday,
What were we planning to accomplish together? Do you recall? Because I seem to be lost in a bit of a haze. It could be all the yoga. Or the early morning spin and weights class, at which I felt fantastic, only to crash upon returning home, following a breakfast of poached eggs on toast.
I don’t blame you for the weather; it could happen to the best of days at this time of year. If it wants to be -20 with the windchill, what can anyone say about it? “Whoever is in charge of the weather needs to know that it’s SPRING!” hollered Fooey, but she was cheered by the long-term forecast, which promises a balmy +7 with rain for Friday.
I didn’t take many photos this weekend, and they’re still on my cellphone. Maybe this is a good day to use one’s imagination. Imagine sunshine startling me just now through my office window, clouds moving across a sky that is actually blue.
On Friday night I meant to get a photo of me and Kevin playing uke and guitar (respectively) in front of the fire, with the two oldest children sitting on the couch behind us, side by side, playing Minecraft and making the occasional clever comment on the song choices. It was as close as we’ve come to a family-music evening, and I thought, optimistically, that at least the kids were getting to hear some favourite old tunes and see what fun we were having. Except Kevin got very grumpy because he couldn’t see the music (we were playing off of single printed sheets, some of them crumpled, and all with very small print); not long after that got resolved, I rapped the whole of “Rapture” by Blondie. Awkward pause, no applause. “Is that a song about eating cars?” “Why, yes, children, it’s a very serious song about eating cars, bars, and guitars. Anything that ends in -ars, really.” “Deep.” “At least it’s not about sex, like all songs nowadays.” (Note: do not say things like this to your adolescent children unless you welcome mockery.) (Also note: I say things like this all the time. Because I welcome mockery.)
Then I sang “True Colours” by Cyndi Lauper about a billion times, trying to get the chord changes right. It’s such a beautiful song, Monday. I really wanted my children to love it. Maybe I played it too many times. “Eternal Flame” by The Bangles received similar treatment, but even I started to question the lyrics after a few times through: “This used to be my favourite song!” “Really??” “When I was 13. I thought it was so romantic!” “It sounds kind of, like, creepy. ‘I watch you when you’re sleeping’? Creepy.” So, yeah, kids these days. I’m not sure I converted anyone to my favourite 80s songs, but there you have it: family music night at our house, regretfully not photographed for posterity.
I’ll end it here, Monday. You’re a busy day and I shouldn’t keep you, rambling away here like this. Things to do! Places to go! Etc.
Signing off (or is that singing off?), Carrie
Music for the spirit
my new book (essay anthology): The M Word!
Newsflash: Inbox no longer empty. I guess inboxes are like kitchens. Cleaning them is a process not an end.
A few newsy bits to record today.
I’ve started a spring yoga challenge: hot yoga every day for the next two weeks. I’m thinking of it as a bridge to get me through to spring. Like, the real spring. Or at least to get me through to London, and maybe when I’m back from London conditions will be favourable once again for running outside. But right now, I’m so tired of running on icy slippery windy snow-flecked streets. I need an exercise practice I can look forward to. (I’ll still be running during the next few weeks, of course; I’ll just be cursing as I go, which is not so good for the soul.)
the dogs say hello
I’ve been working on the children’s book: THE CANDY CONSPIRACY! And I can now announce that the illustrator will be Marion Arbona, whose work you can browse on her website here. I haven’t seen her concepts for the story yet, but I’m really looking forward to that. The illustrated imagination. I find people are often fascinated (horrified?) to learn that as the writer I have nothing to do with the cover design for my books, nor will I have anything to do with the illustrations for this children’s book, but I actually think it’s best that way. I’m not a designer or an illustrator. I write the words. And it’s a privilege to get to see my words interpreted by someone else. The words become shared. Maybe their meaning is altered too, to some small degree, but that’s the case every time someone reads them, because reading is a collaborative experience.
our yard, March 20, 2014: the dirty truth
Today has been a day of pleasant list-crossing-offing.
I went to a mid-morning yoga class, which felt entirely decadent. I got to the university library to gather some research material. I sent off forms for children’s summer camps. I met Kevin for lunch! I renewed library books. I’m an efficient relaxed version of myself. Plus it’s sunny.
Plus I’ve started playing the ukulele. It’s easy, it’s fun, it’s relaxing. I’m currently harbouring a small fantasy that we have ukes enough for the whole family to play, and we all sit around strumming and harmonizing together. Note: this has not even come close to happening. But Kevin and I did spend an evening in front of the fire, last weekend, playing 3-chord songs, him on guitar, me on uke. It was not in the least bit romantic, because I’m an impatient and grumpy teacher, and he is still learning rhythm, but he didn’t give up, which was very nice of him, and I got to sing, which was very nice for me, and now we want everyone to do it.
boy with viola
The thing about making music is that it is both creative and relaxing. The rhythm and repetition take you to a meditative place. You can do it for a long time and not get bored of it. You can do it alone, or with others. You can challenge yourself to learn something new, or you can comfort yourself by playing something familiar. When my kids are feeling down or tired or restless or bored or melancholy, I want them to consider turning to a musical instrument for consolation and for pleasure. I go to the piano like that. I play more often than my family knows.
I often start my day with a song.
I often have no idea what I’m going to play. I just sit down and discover it. It’s a creative process that’s much like free-writing. Our brains are wired to rhythm; it begins with the heartbeat. As much as I love sports and believe in it as a positive body-healthy outlet for all ages, I believe too in music-making as a way of connecting with our deeper selves, and with others. Music for the spirit!
Enjoy your weekend, everyone.
First day of spring
unrelated photo, with stuffed animals on shelf
First day of spring.
All I notice is the sweeping array of dog poo in our back yard as the snow retreats, ever so slightly. It was an icy run this morning on dark wind-swept streets, every step slipping backward a fraction. The banks of snow could hardly be more ugly if they tried, grey dirty pocked icebergs that seem too solid ever to melt entirely.
But they will melt! I know they will!
This will genuinely be a ten-minute post.
It will be illustrated by no new photos, because I don’t have time to download them. They’re mainly of our depressed back yard (yes, the yard itself feels depressed and no I’m not merely projecting!). You don’t need to see it. Well, not today at least. I’ll be sure to inflict the sad photos on you in the not-too-distant future.
It’s been a writer’s life these last 24 hours or so.
I was a guest at a book club last night, to talk about The Juliet Stories. It must have gone well, because I was there for nearly three hours, although I must admit to a case of nerves as I approached the house. It had been awhile since I’d talked to strangers about Juliet. But as soon as I landed and settled in, it was a pleasure to speak and to listen. There was one point — my favourite moment in the whole evening — when the group began spontaneously dissecting “Disruption,” and its meaning (the last story in the book, excepting the epilogue). The initial question had been directed at me, but I kind of found myself sitting back and listening instead, and enjoying that version of engagement.
Today I received the copyedits for The Candy Conspiracy. Remember?! My first picture book will be published by Owlkids next spring, and we’d had rather a long pause between communications, as the artist won’t begin work on the illustrations until next month, so there was no rush to get the final stamp on the text. It never rains copyedits, but it pours. Or something like that.
Finally, in the mail today I received a new book: The M Word: Conversations about Motherhood. Kevin was here when I opened the package. “What’s that?” “A new book. I’ll be using it for readings,” I said. “Whose is it?” he asked, probably only half paying attention. “It’s mine.” “Who wrote it?” “It’s mine. As in, I’m in it!” “Oh! It’s your new book!”
Yup.
Oh, and I’ve emptied my inbox. For real. I cannot believe this to be true! Cross it off the list, baby!
But I’m out of time. More on this and everything else in a future post. The bus is coming. It’s time to venture out into the blowing snow and icy wrath of this first day of spring.
Experience points, or life as a video game
Monday: returned the copyedits to my editor in New York. Big day. That means the book is nearly done, and very little will change from here on in, but I need to take a deep breath when I say that because I’m a tinkerer and tweaker, and it always seems that just a little more effort and a little more time will make the book just a little bit better, so how can I let ever let it go? But I let it go.
Yesterday, tallied up