Word by Word
June 2004
Tuesday, June 8, 2004
9:30 am
Home again. Circadian rhythms (is that redundant?) shot to hell, though coming home allows for a quicker dive into the here clock. Got to bed around 1:30 am, which by my body's confused definition, was 9:30 am. But just to enjoy the day and a half of being up, I managed to not sleep much the night before. I did manage to sleep on the plane though for maybe an hour or two, just enough to make me feel slightly human on getting home. Friend's daughter picked us up, and I came home to a dark house, expected, but my son waited up to welcome me home. He is sick, just yesterday, and was bundled up and shivering with cold. He apologized for getting sick just as I got home, but I thought ah well, brings me back to being Mom, and I was glad he timed it for my return. Schmo that I am, I would have felt bad in being away if he'd been sick then.
Maybe that was a suggestion of foreshadowing on the plane, all the cries of "I want Mommy". I think a fair number of the adults on the plane felt similarly. One Dad grumbled good-humouredly that he's the one looks after the little guy. But I've seen lots of kids run for Daddy when the going gets grim; really they're breaking for home.
I had a really, really good time. This was almost three weeks, and usually that would be enough time that I would be anxious to get home, but honestly, well, I didn't feel the pull of home yet. That was due in large part to the home we were welcomed into; travel buddy's long-time friend took us in and took care of us. He's one of the fathers whose children (who's children? – god I'm tired) recognize as home.
Getting home turns out to be welcome; perhaps that's the purpose of that gruesome experience of being put in a tin box and flung across the ocean, as my travel buddy describes it.
Perspective, as always, has changed, or perhaps more correctly, refreshed. Nice to crawl into my own bed, but I didn't sleep all that well, that internal clock being in dismay as it is.
10:45 am
Made breakfast for sick man/boy. I popped some echinacea last night, and will keep it up for the next couple days, just in case. I was certainly a target for anything last night, cuddling my feverish son.
I had planned, in madness admittedly, to go hiking today with middle daughter, but we've re-scheduled for tomorrow, and so today I'll do laundry, and fuss over the sick one. Pay some bills, sigh. So the Grind tomorrow afternoon and daughter and I can have dinner up there, and I'll tell my tales. I haven't seen oldest daughter yet, though I heard her alarm this morning, fell back asleep before she was up. The birds woke me at 5:00 am; different melodies, but same effect. The house is clean, she's been very busy, and it's much appreciated.
More to come about journey, but I find my mind straying to other tasks, so I'll stop for now.
Wednesday, June 9, 2004
11:36 am
The Arlo Guthrie song makes it sound like flying in a big airliner is a grand thing, but actually it's a modern day torture, dreamed up to apply sleep-deprivation to travellers. I think it's a conspiracy. You stumble out of the plane, quite literally stunned. William Gibson, in his book Pattern Recognition, talks about England as mirror world. A place that's the same but different. Not to imply reversed – it's more of a fun-house mirror. First trick after customs is to find a train to London, which we do, buying the cheaper ticket thinking we'll enjoy the pokey ride in, stopping at each station. But as I said, stunned, so we get on the wrong train, the express, but are too tired to go looking for our own train. Here's where the conspiracy works. You're so tired that you don't check carefully, and you somehow miss that the trains are now privatized, and not owned by the same company, the fondly remembered BritRail. So, whatever, we pay to ride, twice, which hurts somewhat, but oh well. We did attempt to sort it out at Victoria Station, and met with the response that you can't do that, get on the wrong train; they're clearly marked. Mirror world. We did. Seems you have to go back to where you bought the ticket to get a refund, but seeing as we'd have to take a train to get there…
Ah well, we found our Inn, and had a snooze, as we were strangely very tired, then went out to a pub, waste no time, we're in England now. Next day we slept a bit late but then got up to explore, figuring out the Underground, which is fun for the first day or so. I can see why Londoners move up and down the escalators so quickly though. Still better than trying to get north through the Massey tunnel in evening rush hour, which I accidentally did once, thank goodness I don't have to commute, but most of the people who hustled past us, well, that's what they were doing. Going to such a large place is great for perspective about home. I felt quite the gollee rube from the colonies. Buildings aren't tall, so it's not overwhelming in that way, just that the time spent racing along through mole tunnels below ground and popping up on top to find such, well, history everywhere causes a bit of discombobulation. Good thing they've got all those pubs.
We saw a play, Oleanna, a Mamet play, getting the whole Brit experience, by watching American actors in an American play – it's about political correctness gone mad. It was pretty good. Next night we went to a comedy club, four comics plus emcee. Laughed ouselves silly. I managed to get to Westminster Abbey, looking for the Poet's Corner, to tell you the truth. I marvel at the structures, the churches/cathedrals, but find no sense of god in them. No not-god either though, to be fair. I like to be fair. But the poet's corner gave me gooseflesh. Imagine that.
The Tate Modern I made my way to accidentally. It's across the Millennium Bridge, a structure there forever to commemorate that London and the world celebrated a year early. I think I liked the building (the Tate) more than the art I saw, but I'm illiterate artistically, and anyway didn't give myself time. But the building convinced me how big London is, and I particularly liked the huge spider sculpture gracing the inner entrance.
Anyway, I still haven't made it to the British Museum, so will have to go back another day, too bad, eh? Our real destination was Swindon, and then after that camping out for the lit-fest at Hay-on-Wye.
Swindon is described in Jasper Fforde's book, The Eyre Affair, as a fairly uninteresting out-of-the way place, but I think he's just making sure not too many more people come and clutter up his home. Swindon is in Wiltshire, a couple of hours east of London, by train (right one this time, no mistakes). Wiltshire is Wessex of Thomas Hardy fame, but fortunately not bleak to me, as his stories tend to be. The reason we chose Swindon is my friend has herself a good friend living there, and he's to come with us to Hay, providing all the infrastructure of camper, tents, extra car, generosity which as a stranger to him, I am rather staggered by. But as my friend doesn't drive, they'll need me for the extra car. Lucky. But first we spend a few days in Swindon, being pampered, taken about.
I'm going to stop here, as I may want to add in pictures, and I haven't picked them up yet, so more tomorrow. Also, I did say I was going hiking today, didn't I? I'm not going to be a speed demon, but the mountain is there. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.
Thursday, June 10, 2004
6 pm
It's taking me time to re-aclimatize to this burg, but today I feel somewhat more sane. Yesterday I did stagger to the top of the mountain, buoyed along for a while, telling my daughter about my latest adventures abroad, but the last little bit, I was suddenly extraordinarily tired. We did have dinner though, right away, sweat still drying on our bods. Crab cakes, and we shared a herb crusted goat cheese salad with walnut vinaigrette. Mmmm. I picked up Chinese noodles on the way home for the sick one, and then crawled into bed, only slightly perked up by a shower. And slept two whole hours. Awake, I read Jasper Fforde for a bit more, and then slept. The birds wake me up each morning. This morning a bunch or crows were arguing about something. So I'm still tired. But I spent the day writing a poem, something I haven't done for a long time.
But back to my recap:
Swindon is close to Stonehenge, but we didn't go there; our tour guide said you can't get up to the stones anymore, and anyway they're swamped with tourists (like us?). But, there's another place, he said, and we went to Avebury, to see the stone circles.
These are circles within circles, and four avenues marching away from them, dating from something like 5-6000 years ago. A lot of the stones have been destroyed, first by the Christian church, getting rid of pagan stuff, and then by people breaking them up for building materials. The site is huge. The town of Avebury grew up right in the middle of it all, including a beautiful cathedral, but none of it should be there. It's such a shame so much was destroyed, but little markers have been placed to show where stones have been lost. You can just wander about the site, touch the stones. Sheep graze everywhere. And then when you drive away you see the stones marching across the downs. It's profoundly beautiful.
I swear I kept a journal while I was away, but there are days missing. I must have been doing something else. I've got photos of a couple places we went, and then there are others I didn't pull out my camera for, and think now, too bad.
We
did go to Bath, wandered through the Roman baths, another amazing structure,
and old, old. I start to laugh at what we consider an old building here
in Vancouver.
Another place we wandered about was an entire village, kept intact because someone owned the whole village, and kept it intact. (I fear my tour guide is going to tut tut – oh, I say – if he reads this. Wasn't I listening? Can't remember the name.) I think this was Ledbury, don't quote me, as I've forgotten to write it down, these buildings date from the 12th century or so I'll accept e-mail corrections, and will update later, if I'm getting this ridiculously wrong.
This little scene at the right is one that particularly pleased me.
Everywhere we went of course we found this sort of juxtaposition. Britain is so old, and of course a perfectly modern country.
Driving was fun, a good exercise, probably woke up a few brain cells learning to shift gears with my left hand, just remembering how to shift gears, figuring out roundabouts, staying on the right side of the road, and basically figuring out how to slide into all this busy traffic without causing havoc. Did all right.
Brain cells took a bit of a beating this trip too, but it was sure fun. Pubs everywhere.
More tomorrow, I've left this too late today.
Friday,
June 11, 2004
8:10 pm
The picture is of the town of Hay-on-Wye, not too clear, sorry, taken from our campsite. You can see it's rather pretty.
Slept a little better last night, but this week I find I wake up sometime in the middle of the night, and just can't sleep, at least not right away. I start writing stuff in my head, and then finally pick up a pad of paper I've been keeping beside me. Last night I was editing the poem I started working on yesterday. It began the previous night. I've got some notes about the festival from the night before that. They may get incorporated in here, why, even today.
My half-sister called today and invited me to a birthday party tomorrow on Salt Spring Island. Her husband turns 60. I was at his 50th party; that was not long after I'd met them all. She's what Doris Lessing referred to as a love child, so technically her husband isn't my brother-in-law, though he's married to my sister. Not a brother-out-law either. I'm certainly happy to help celebrate (or commiserate). I have writing group tomorrow morning (yard sale postponed hurray) and after I'll catch a ride to the ferry, not too far out of the way of my White Rock dwelling friend. I have to go the long way around through Swartz Bay, so will remember to take a book. Perhaps the one I'm supposed to read for book club next week. All the ferry time should get me caught up on that. I'll be back home on Monday afternoon.
But did you notice that clever segue into the festival by mentioning Doris Lessing? We read one of her books last month in book club, and it was a real snooze. Not what I remembered of her books when I was younger. Of course she was younger too. She was a bit of a snooze in Hay as well. (I don't think this has to happen to you when you get old, whenever that is.) My travel buddy was fairly annoyed with Lessing, because she's only read the boring book (Love, Again shouldn't be boring) and has now been read to sleep by Ms Lessing. She said Lessing's an anachronism, and really I can't argue. She does seem kind of stuck in the past with aforesaid love child story, and she referred to the Japs when setting a wartime story. But then perhaps it's just the centre-of-empire effect. Germaine Greer, briefly lapsing into non-polysyllabic language, referred to the red Indian, which also made both of us Canadians twitch, though not as much as her topic, her current obsession with the beauty of boys. Her thesis is couched in art appreciation snobbery and very large words, which puts up a smokescreen to obscure that it's a bit weird. But I don't think it's working, the smokescreen.
Anyway, after reading Love, Again, and listening to bits and pieces from Lessing's stories, I think that it is her icon status that gets her published now and drew all the adoring applause (what a cynic, eh?). Editors are afraid to touch her (imagine some upstart writing in blue pencil, 'get to the point' or 'find a better way to say this' or 'anachronistic'). Interesting that Greer and Lessing have both themselves come in from the colonies, to wrap themselves in acclaim at the centre of the empire. It's similar somehow to how Canadians, a bit confused about which imperial power is the centre, flock south for 'real' success. Margaret Atwood's presence was all over Hay. Though she wasn't there herself, an expensive little book, first of two put out by the Hay Press, indicates her status in the motherland. Personally I think they should have begun with someone Welsh, but what do I know. Anyway, the point is that the pull is across the ocean as well. Not to deny Atwood's talents. But really, wouldn't you rather have the Guardian gush over your writing than the Globe and Mail, or the Vancouver Sun? Well, actually, I don't know if that's true. I'll let you know when it happens.
This is all kind of grumbly, which is perhaps the wrong way to start off talking about Hay, but what can you do when a segue just works its way in?
Hay was absolutely beautiful. It's a little market town nestled in the Marches, foothills before the Black Mountains. Lots of pubs, a gazillion used bookstores, and this huge literary festival. We had a good time.
Other events? A concert with Bob Geldof to start off (great), I saw the Reduced Shakespeare Company do All the Great Books (Abridged). (I know they've played here doing Shakespeare's plays abridged). They were laugh yourself silly funny. Saw an eastern/western fusion band, Nitin Sawhney, brilliant as those English like to say, went to a few other things out of curiosity, some stuff I wanted to see was sold out, and one night to a poetry slam. It's quite a competitive sport, slamming. I very much enjoyed it. Lots of raucous nonsense from the audience.
And we wandered in and out of Wales, up and down tiny tiny roads we never could have found without our Herefordshire friend. 'Twas great, what more can I say. (It's easier to grumble eloquently than praise, isn't it?
Monday, June 14, 2004
8:38 am
I feel good; had fun this weekend, and actually slept an entire nine hours last night without waking. Bliss.
I met with only two of the plums on Saturday morning, one being away (I'll get together with her this week) and we caught up, then actually did some wriitng. The power went out (we meet at the Grind coffee shop, which always seems appropriate to me, what with my Grouse Grind obsession). I had a flashlight in my pack, as I was heading off to Salt Spring right after – need the flashlight for nighttime stumbles to the outhouse. So we wrote with that for awhile. After a bit we were given candles to see by; it was cozy. The back room of the Grind has no windows, just lots of tables, and people often sit in there for hours, as we do on alternate Saturdays. Last time I was there a guy came in the back door and set up a little camp burner on one of the tables and made his own coffee. I think that was pushing it a bit, but he got away with it. Then he played the piano for awhile, and so I think the exchange was fair.
After writing one friend dropped me at the ferry, it was right there in the dock, so I was on my way. Had some soup, then found a seat and settled in to read The City of God, by E.L. Doctorow. Nice light stuff. I like it, though I see a likely need to re-read it. It's a novel, apparently, I can see a thread of story growing, but told from many voices, and including discussions about the formation of the universe, and the likelihood of God. There's a mystery of sorts, involving a stolen cross and a synagogue. Einstein is one of the voices, another tells of surviving Nazi germany, a priest wrestles with faith and common sense; not easy going, but I like it.
Came home last night from my island sojourn. I meant to stay till Monday morning, but caught a ride with a friend of my sister's yesterday, because I could guess at a need for the household to be left alone. Saturday night was a huge party to celebrate brother-in-reallaw's 60th birthday. (I think that's a pretty good label for the relationship, adoption having muddied the legal waters.) He's been 60 for a few weeks now, and seemed to be all right with it.
It was a grand party. Their house is in the trees on five acres, up from the road where brother-in-reallaw has his workshop, masterly crafting furniture. (He built the house. The decision to use an outhouse wasn't because he couldn't master plumbing; it's a choice. Nice outhouse though.) It rained of course, so they put up a big tarp over the food outside, and people stayed mostly dry. Off to the side they'd built a barbecue, and plates of salmon kept coming from there. Fresh caught of course. Tons of food, and it kept changing as people arrived. They also set up a shelter, borrowed from a friend, and the band set up there – my two reallaw-nephews, 16 and 17, are in a jazz band, very good too, so they played the night away. My reallaw niece looked after the bar and helped keep the food coming. My sister pointed out her (the niece's) 'special' friend, so I talked to him for a while; composer, musician, with a day job to pay the rent. I stepped around my shyness in a crowd of mostly strangers with the wine of course, but also with my in of "Hi, I'm Shirley. _____is my sister." It worked quite well. Not that people weren't friendly, I just stumble over getting started.
One woman I talked to is a bookbinder, liked her very well. One of her kids is adopted, and I talked about it as if I knew something about how it feels, really, I'm just supposing, but we got on. I asked her if she was Mother Tongue press, and no, she hand binds books, but she introduced me to Mona Fertig (I'll use the name, because she's already published). So there I was talking writing with an actual published writer. She's just finished her first novel, is hoping to nurse it into publication, so I promised to come to her first Vancouver book signing. I told her I remembered her from when she ran the literary storefront here, which surprised her, that was when she was 23! And that I had her anthology of birth poetry. It's taken me a lot longer to make the baby steps into writer life, which is neither here nor there, I just noted that. I long ago figured out I wasn't really that good at multi-tasking, to use an obnoxious current term.
Anyway, I admit to too much wine; the rain got harder, the band packed up, people went home, which left just family and houseguests, enough for a party all by ourselves. They put on some music inside and so there was dancing. I've rediscovered in my two overseas trips of the last year (how'd I pull that off?) that I like to dance. So dance I did. And remembered to drink water, not totally oblivious to the wine I had drunk.
About two the house went to bed; I slept in the living room, shared with another transient, who had napped in the afternoon, so was talkative. Then listening to the rain and drifting off to sleep. In the morning, at 7, a friend returned, brother-in-reallaw got up, and they sat about talking quietly so as not to wake me, unsuccessfully. After a bit, I asked for ibuprofen, as sleep wasn't an option anymore. Then I was handed tea, which was perfect, drank that, and lay down to listen to the talk and wait for my headache to pass, which it did. So if you can't sleep, there are always the antidote drugs. I admit to feeling a bit sheepish, but I don't think I repeated myself too much the night before. Eventually the day moved on to breakfast outside, rain gone, sun poking through. 12 or 13 of us around a table. Then more clean up, and I found myself sleeping on the couch for a couple hours. Woke up to tea and birthday cake, and a new arrangement of faces around the table. A couple had the date wrong and had arrived a day late.
Interesting house I must say. Intelligent conversations, arguments over word usage, the dictionary gets pulled out all the time. I must be related.
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
8:15 pm
Well, I couldn't avoid work forever. I was lucky; the articles didn't really flood in until Monday, and so now I'm working on another issue of Planning West. Instead of getting up in the morning and writing this morning, I got up and started re-formatting articles, so I can drop them into the issue. Tedious stuff. But it was a glorious sunny day, and in the afternoon daughter and I went up the Grind. Last week it was a stagger. Today felt pretty good. It is the clearest view from up top that I've seen in a long time too. Usually Vancouver Island is a suggestion on the horizon, but today it was as clear as can be. So of course we were in a hurry, and didn't hang around to admire. Both of us wanted to get home and watch the great debate on TV, good citizens that we are. I think I like watching the brawls in hockey better. More honest somehow.
Will a clear winner of the debate be announced in the paper in the morning? Did the debate tell us anything? Besides how politicians never answer the questions they're asked? But we already knew that. Quite a letdown really. I always hope to learn something from these staged events. How silly of me.
Anyway, I can't quite bring myself to fire up Pagemaker again tonight, so I think I'll get back to the City of God. I'm only half way through, and book club is day after tomorrow. Will she finish the book in time? Will it matter? (Ooh, going existential here.)
Thursday, June 17, 2004
8:15 am
Kept waking up last night, fretting about stuff. Stupid really. So I got up before 7, which for me is early, and started my day. Awake intentionaly, the things I was fretting about sort themselves out, I make decisions. Looks like another glorious hot day.
Today is my little brother's 50th birthday. This is quite amazing really; I've known him such a long time! There's an official birthday bash next week, but I think I'll have to wander by his house today and take him some token of this occasion. On my 50th he sent me roses. He's a sweet guy.
I'm procrastinating this morning, should get back to work, but it's such a lovely day. Same story yesterday; went for lunch with Yvonne, then shopping then dinner. Domestic stuff. Last night I went out to listen to Steven Rosen, speaking at the library, part of the necessary voices lecture series. Steve is married to my friend Marlene, who led the workshop in France last August. (If your interested, click here; it's happening again this year, though I won't be able to go this time.) I went out of curiosity, not a bad reason.
Anyway, Steve's topic was Generative Chaos and Quantum Dialogue. I can't say I actually expected to understand what he was talking about, not because of him, but because of my own scientific ignorance. Oddly enough, though I did follow, sort of. This is pretty obscure stuff. Here's how the library described it:
"Steven M. Rosen is author of Dimensions of Apeiron: A Topical Phenomenology of Space, Time and Individuation. This groundbreaking book explores the evolution of space and time from the apeiron – the spaceless, timeless chaos of primordial nature. Rosen examines Western culture's effort to deny apeiron, and the critical need now to lift the repression on apeiron for the sake of human individuation."
His talk, and the book too I guess, pulls together science, philosophy and art history, and comes out at a new kind of Dialogue. It's a kind of esoteric way of getting at the heart of things; bit of a paradox, which I guess fits into all the chaos talk. Best that I can describe it anyway.
In a funny way his talk tied in with City of God, the putative novel I'm reading (putative is a word I picked up in England) what with all the digressions it makes into discussions about the formation of the universe. (Not to imply that Steve was digressing.) I don't pretend to understand this book either, although I'm looking forward to tonight's book club, to see what others make of it. I'm not finished reading it, but will, and then really might read it again.
Friday, June 18, 2004
7:49 am
I should just be happy about this sleep thing I guess. Waking up early (not sleeping well) gets me to this space a lot more frequently.
Book club last night, where most disliked the book (City of God – hope Doctorow doesn't stumble on this page.) I called it a putative novel yesterday, I'm being cute I guess, but what I was thinking is that novel though it is, it's not what we expect in novels, ie a story. I mean there's one in there somewhere, but it's a very difficult thread to follow. I still am interested in this book, and want to finish it, and want to re-read it again. It's weird. Mostly the other women thought it was self-indulgent and just plain lousy.
One other person could see my point about wanting to read it again, but she wasn't going to do it herself. I'm a non-believer in god, also a non-believer in not-god, and it's out of this place that I found the philosophical ramblings in the book intriguing; the discussion of, good grief, the physics of the universe developing, and where does god fit into all this. One friend suggested something that I understood, or extrapolated, in this way: the book itself is in a sense a metaphor for that emerging into being of the universe. What am I saying? That all the stuff in the book was gradually forming into some kind of recognizable shape, the story, and the writer himself gets to play god in sorting the whole thing.
There will be people out there who loved it, I'm sure of it. I joke about people getting published because of who they are, which probably does happen, and the editors being afraid to edit, because of who the author is, but I also figure there's such a wide range out there of people that someone has picked up this book and read it front to back, with delight. I also wonder whether this is one of those occasions where sex (oh, sorry, I'm supposed to say gender these days) makes a difference. Is this a guy book?
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
10:33 am
I've been working on an issue for the magazine, at least that's my excuse for not writing in here for a few days. But really, I've been puttering, hiking, and just basically gasping in the heat. Not that I'm complaining; I vastly prefer being forced to wear cool clothing and flip-flops to bundling up for the frost.
Middle daughter and I did go hiking up the Grind yesterday, slowly. Silly, given the heat, but I do enjoy the exercise in some perverse way. I may have masochistic tendencies. I know I'm obsessive, but somehow hiking helps; takes my mind off things when I'm slogging up those stairs. And in truth, my vain side likes the change that the hike makes in the shape of my legs.
But I also love the summer smell on the mountainside; it's a smell that evokes childhood memories of camping trips. The bugs help with that too, though I only got one bite yesterday. My daughter draws more attention from the bugs; the young have so many advantages.
It is very dry up there and I haven't forgotten that last year they closed the trail for quite a while because of fire hazard, so I guess I hope it rains soon. In about two weeks, as I hope to hold a yard sale weekend after next. A little rain would improve the view from the mountain. We're getting that haze again that suggests there are a lot of people sitting around in traffic jams. It's nice when it washes away and we can pretend that there are no problems with air quality. Last week I could see Vancouver Island clearly from up top, but not this week, though theoretically the sky is just as clear of clouds.
My neighbours to the east decided that our fence needs fixing – they made a deal with their other neighbours to replace the fence on that side of their yard, and then thought they'd do the one between our houses. I try not to be churlish, thinking they could have mentioned it before I had work done on the garden alongside that fence. Getting churlish makes me sweat. Anyway, the builders are there making a racket right now, but not trampling anything, so I guess it's okay. Not an expense I counted on, but what's life without a few surprises?
I've lived here 21 years, and never noticed, but apparently my eastern fence encroaches ten inches or so into the neighbour's yard, so we will correct this anomaly with the new structure. Meantime my cats are enjoying exploring under their porch, exposed to the air as it now is.
Good fence, good neighbours, right? I should try it on the other side? Nah, I'll wait till she brings it up. I see that she (to the west) is getting carpets replaced today. Somethings up. She had her roof replaced last summer, same time as mine, and coopted my painters to do work on the outside of her house too. My son, who conflicts with her all the time about noise, is hoping for a for sale sign. We'll see.
I'm having trouble getting down to work. How odd. It has been hard this time to get back into a routine at home; I think I had too much fun while I was away. I guess the lesson is to not get into a routine. I'm going to work on that, as soon as I get my work done.
Friday, June 25, 2004
7:45 am
They say that travel broadens you.
That idea has been in my head for awhile. Something shifted while I was away; whether I've broadened or not I'm not sure.
Here's another idea from William Gibson's Pattern Recognition, a theory about jet lag:
"her mortal soul is leagues behind her, being reeled in on some ghostly umbilical down the vanished wake of the plane that brought her here … Souls can't move that quickly, and are left behind, and must be awaited, upon arrival, like lost luggage."
It sounds better than sleep deprivation anyway – but I can't claim sleep deprivation, as I've been home for almost as long as I was away. Though sleep is certainly altered, a symptom of the peri-menopausal woman. This is also an indeterminate state, one that I must claim to be in until the proof that I've made it to unhyphenated menopause, which is only provided by time, and lack of monthly blood loss. The cosmos is full of jokes there though, because that's another rhythm, like sleep, that is out the window.
But something did shift while I was away this time; I remembered me. Not that I've been anywhere very far away, of course I've been here all along, but a lot of years of responsibility have layered themselves upon me, and this was one holiday where I managed to put that aside. It was very freeing to spend several weeks not giving any thought to what I should be doing, and just let each day unwind in it's own way. I admit to a bit of partying.
Now I'm home, and struggling with how to work this all in to my 'real' life.
I'm off to the mountain this morning; the heart pounding and sweat always help.
Monday, June 28, 2004
11:17 am
It's election day in this fine country. I'm a bit worried about how fine it will be at the end of the day. None of the 'pundits' really know how this one will turn out, though the papers have certainly pumped the idea of electoral disaster, too close to tell.
My eldest is working a polling station today in the Downtown Eastside, so she voted several days ago at an advance poll. I'm expecting to hear some interesting stories from her when I go pick her up. My son and I will be voting here on the sunny west side.
I look forward to the day when people vote for something, rather than in reaction to, but I fear cynicism and distrust will rule the day.
I've almost got the latest issue of Planning West done (for the Planning Institute of BC) which is great because I'm rapidly losing enthusiasm for doing it. My daughter is currently learning all kinds of computer programs; she wants to go freelance when she's completed the courses she's taking. I haven't told the editors yet, but will, that I'm training up my replacement. It doesn't sound like procrastinating, to do a job that you get paid for, but I really do want to get myself in a position where I have to get at the writing.
Along those lines, I figure I'll sell the house in the spring, and shrink down into something that doesn't require so much time and money. Enough room for the cats, my computer and books. And any stray children of course, and friends that happen by.
I'm restless.
Wednesday, June 30, 2004
8:50 pm
Yesterday was my oldest child's (daughter) 24th birthday. This is fairly astounding to me, how she can have so quickly grown into such a beautiful and clever young woman. My memory of her birth is very clear, as all life-changing experiences should be. I am glad she is the being who arrived that night, or rather morning – 12:12 am.
This morning I finished the latest issue of the magazine, so as to get it off to the printer. I was doing a bunch of errands this afternoon, so left it in leaning on my front door, for the courier to find. Guess that was too obscure, because it's still here. Ah, well, it can go on Friday. At least it's done.
So mostly this has been a cleaning up the house day, and shopping for food for tomorrow; we're having a Canada Day celebration. This is a first for us, and we'll see whether it's a successful party. I've been thinking I need an event to hang an excuse for a party on.
I don't remember Canada Day (Dominion Day when I was a little kid) being much of an event. Flag waving displays never used to happen. Canadians didn't go in for such things – kind of unseemly. I think the change happened when Canada's two teams won gold at the winter Olympics in Salt Lake City. Or maybe it was the Molson Canadian beer commercial. Or both. Anyway, I think people might even sing the national anthem now. Weird. But I like this country of mine, so having a party is probably a good idea.
I have a letter published in the North Shore News today; I haven't seen it yet, but a friend has promised to bring me a copy, so I can admire my name in print.
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