Chessmates
Sunday morning
My favourite free photo editing software (Picnik) has just gone offline forever. So I’m trying out Gimp. All I can say so far is: too many options!
Spot the differences? I like the top one best. I think.
Photography has the ability to steal big chunks of my time. I can’t decide if I mind; is it stealing time I could be using more productively? But I so enjoy doing it. A friend who’s a photographer has pitched me on participating in a photo project I’m pretty excited about. (If this goes ahead, it will be the third photographer I’ve modelled/mused for in less than a year; new side career?) He also asked whether I ever print my photos. The answer is, embarrassingly, no. I print our family photos in one large batch, once a year, and stuff them into albums. But my experimental photos have never been printed. Not one. Maybe because I imagine them needing to be printed large, or printed on an unusual material, or printed as part of a larger project that I haven’t wrapped my mind around (and quite possibly never will). Maybe because printing would seem too close to commitment, to being a final step in a process I’m not sure I’m close to figuring out. Maybe also because it would be an expensive experiment for an amateur. Maybe someday.
Maybe I’ll always have a few too many pots on the stove.
Maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s the simultaneous upside and downside of embracing a creative life.
And on that note, she departs to go outside and take more photos in the lovely afternoon light.
Family literacy
w w w
While I’ve been holed up in the writing cave, my youngest has apparently learned how to write. On the back of this worksheet, which he coloured and filled out himself (you can see his Ws), he signed his name. Just because. Did I know he could sign his name? I did not. At least, not in clear easy-to-read lettering. He was a bit embarrassed by my praise. So he got to work dumping go-gos on the floor (those brightly coloured plastic figures you can see in the photo). Then he separated them into two piles, and counted them. Up to 27. Correctly. After which he separated and organized them by colour.
“I think your little brother is prettty smart,” I said to Fooey, who glanced at me in puzzlement. “Of course he is,” she said.
Meantime, she was holed up under the counter — reading.
:::
Writing week. Can I sum it up? I cannot, not with precision. It’s been worthwhile, but not in the ways anticipated. I’m too superstitious (or realistic) to write in detail about the work done. But yes, work has been done. It’s been a good week. I’m looking forward to the next intensive, scheduled for May.
Blinking in the sunshine
light beyond dark
I love seeing all the runners go by my window, more and more as the days get sunnier. There is one young woman who zooms past virtually every day at a kickass pace. (I kind of want to be her.) My office looks onto the street, and our street seems to be a popular route, though I can’t imagine why; traffic is heavy and there’s nowhere to run but the sidewalk. Personally I prefer running away to the park, and dashing around the grass and trails.
I’ve had a few excellent runs this week. Dare I say it? I’ll whisper it. My hip feels back to normal.
Today is another sunny day. And my mind is sunny to match. It’s been an up and down week. I made the mistake of trying to write intensively far too early into the book-visioning process. The funny thing was, I knew the problem before I began, knew that it couldn’t possibly work, and yet … I had to go through the experience to get it. I’m dumb like that. But I’m not sorry. Yesterday, I wrote for eight hours straight. It wasn’t what I’d intended to write. But it was such a happy day. It reminded me why I write. I don’t do this because I have to. I do this because I love to. Writing is my version of singing. It’s my version of dancing. (Though I like singing and dancing too). It is, quite simply, the thing that I do best.
Yup, I’m going to keep doing it.
I’ve got ideas, though. Notions, plans, intentions, dreams. Maybe even a vision.
:::
This month, I’ve slowed down on the Juliet publicity front. Next month it gets all busy again. I’m enjoying the break, though I’m looking forward to crawling out of my cave and interacting with real people again. *Note to self: Remember to re-attach mouth to brain before exiting cave. Also, reacquaint self with basics of small-talk.
Here’s what’s coming up …
:: May 15. 7pm. Indie Night at the Starlight in Waterloo! Heather Birrell, Robert Hough, my brother’s press, plus a bunch of other writers, and me!
:: May 16. Type Books in Toronto! With Heather Birrell! (It’s almost like we’re going on tour together.) I’ve got the time roughed in as 6-9pm, but that sounds long. I’ll get back to you.
:: May 27. 7pm. Wilfrid Laurier University in Waterloo. More info to come on this event, which sounds pretty wild.
:: May 29. 9am. A Different Drummer Bookstore in Burlington. This event is called Books and Brunch, and I’ll be reading with Dennis Lee (!!) *note to self: Do not start reciting Jelly Belly poems. That probably gets really irritating.
My other brand-new-activity-in-May is helping to facilitate several 45-minute writing workshops for teens. Anyone done this before? Tips? Advice? Games? Ice-breakers? Can you tell I’ve never done this before?
What matters
:: Practicing matters. And you can practice anywhere. (She’s practicing, on her lap, the song she’s memorized and is about to perform.)
:: Being willing to try matters. Signing up for an extra recital, in preparation for a more intense competition next week. Wearing a new dress (and running shoes; just in case). Brushing your hair.
:: Being supportive matters. Even when the recital is long. Even when there are no snacks. Even when you have to do everything imaginable to keep quiet. (Toward the end, CJ was making silent faces to entertain himself; by the last performance he was literally whacking himself on the head repeatedly, but kind of quietly. So he made it through.)
:: Performing matters. Getting up in front of an audience. Doing your best. Sharing what you’ve learned. (At this point in any recital in which any of my children have ever played, I start to cry. It’s involuntary, and happy, but I do try to rein myself in, lest I embarrass the performer.)
:::
On this third day of writing week, I am reminded of a few more things that matter, a great deal, to me.
:: Exercise matters. Note to self: no matter how you may want to, do not sit for two days straight without taking time to go outside and move. And breathe.
:: Perspective matters. It’s hard to get perspective inside a room with a closed door. See above, plus add in kids and friends and husband.
:: Kindness and gratitude matter. I can’t write what I want to write by force.
:: Preparation matters. I am at the beginning of a project, not the middle, not the end. Here are some metaphors. You can’t go into labour if you’re not even pregnant. And, the work I need to do now is like composting. Layering information, layering ideas. It looks like waste at this stage. It won’t look so good, either, when it starts to rot. But given time, and turning, it will become rich soil. And then I can plant a new garden.
:::
Read between the lines, and you’ll guess. This is/will be a tough week. But I’d like to note two lovely and unexpected things that have happened so far.
:: On this third day of my writing week, I wrote a new song.
:: Yesterday, the power went out, and I wrote for several hours with pen and paper. I liked it a lot. No distractions.
The week in suppers
mushrooms and onions
**Monday’s menu** Ham and scalloped potatoes. Salad. Corn. Fruit with whipped cream for dessert.
**Best of all** An extra Easter dinner, not cooked by me. Prepared and hosted by my dad and stepmom.
**Tuesday’s menu** Udon noodles stir-fried with tofu and veggies.
**Inspired** I’ll admit that a new product at the grocery store inspired this meal. Udon noodles! I mixed everything together and forced everyone to try it. But it was so delicious, I really got no complaints. No more than usual, that is.
**Wednesday’s menu** Baked potatoes. Broccoli. Mushrooms and onions fried with bacon. Sour cream, grated cheese, butter.
**Obstacles** Eldest son was supposed to turn on oven when he got home from school (as I was out with the others at piano lessons). This has worked without a hitch in the past. Except he called to say he was at a friend’s house instead. So the potatoes didn’t start baking until I got home. And on another note … really, if I was going to fry bacon, I should have just fried it into crumbly bits. Instead it got kind of soggy amidst the giant pan of mushrooms and onions. And the kids were not fooled and did not eat their veggies as hoped. They picked the bacon out of the mix and skipped the rest. Sigh. (One package of nitrate-free bacon was an impulse purchase from Bailey’s; clearly not vegetarian.)
**Thursday’s menu** Cranberry beans. Baked rice. Cabbage and carrot salad.
**Beans** The beans smelled delicious simmering all afternoon. But in truth, I like two kinds of beans: black (or turtle) and small red Mexican, and the cranberry beans (aka romano, I think) pale by comparison. They’re a little too fat, a little too mushy. Probably better for a soup than as a stand-alone bean atop a pile of rice. But I have a large bag to get through …
**Friday’s menu** Veggie burgers, hot dogs, and veggies on the BBQ.
**Thanks** to Kevin, who saved supper when I realized I’d planned nothing, had spent the day writing, and was about to leave for swim lessons with the kids.
:::
**Weekend cooking accomplishments** Four loaves of bread.
**Cooking with kids** Fooey’s menu. Breakfast for dinner.
**Truth is** Kevin did all the cooking. Fooey was feeling a bit off, so we thought it best. Albus pitched in on the fried potatoes.