Five Years a Writer

William Morris design on a magnet There is nothing ‘designer’ about me or my home. I like what I like, things don't need to match, and labels don't impress me. But I do  appreciate the quote from British designer William Morris: “Own nothing … not useful or beautiful.”  Now, we could debate long and hard what ‘useful’ and ‘beautiful’ means to each of us, but when the Morris quote was the prompt in a writing group  recently , it got me thinking about my iPhone — a thing of both beauty and usefulness, in my view.  I was out for a walk one afternoon, my phone tucked into my back left pocket, and before I knew it my mind went down a creative rabbit hole: I would have a conversation with (not on) my iPhone! This is what I said.  ——————— You are so beautiful. Sleek, elegant, slim.  You are so useful — ever-present though easily muted, an easy fit in my back pocket, so handy, so wide reaching. And yet  — I don’t think William Morris would approve of you despi...

MONTREAL, Canada, Fall 1967: I remember the feel of the cool fall air on my bare knees, as I walked to school in my pinafore-dress-white-blouse uniform. The nip of the wind against my skin got me moving fast towards the warmth of the building and my classroom that held a desk of my very own. BANBURY, England, Fall 1973: I remember the creamy custard poured by the school-lunch ladies, out of white enamel jugs — large, the ladies (from my perspective, as a short 13-year-old) and the jugs (never holding enough). The custard, sweet, warm, the flavour of comfort to make the pudding (think Bake-Off sponge) taste delicious. And I remember the fact of learning, the fun of my friends, and the frantic pace of the field hockey games that left my fingers so cold I could barely unbutton my skirt-and-Airtex-blouse Phys Ed uniform. I want to remember that I loved those games. I shall remember that I did. What I cannot remember is any fear, any frights, any famine. My childhood and young adulthood w...

Amanda and Anne, June 2006, celebrating the completion of my Master's degree I am learning that the second year after a loved one dies is, in many ways, more challenging than the first. People have told me it might be, and it is proving so. There are no more 'firsts' to experience, only 'forevers' now. So, I am paying attention and I am writing...  Today, November 4th, would have been my mother's 97th birthday. Wherever she is now, I am certain she is happy not to be marking it on earth. She died last year on April 26th, ready to shuck her mortal coil with dignity and in peace. She was a role model for me in many ways, so, today, I celebrate my mother with three stories that illustrate her generosity, kindness and ingenuity.  Story One: The bucket of chicken We were having take-out for supper; I don’t remember the occasion, but I remember very clearly being in the car with my sister and brother, and Mum ordering our meal in the drive-through at our local Kentuck...

Lines and dots: drawing them, connecting them. That is life. I have wondered recently about where the line is between X and Y, between this and that. How do we know when we have reached that line? Truth is, it’s often only when we have crossed it that we realize we should have stayed much more safely on that other side. I have also recently suggested that connecting the dots that represent actions and decisions — large and small, ours and others’ — can help shape our understanding of how to live well in this world of ours. Today’s post invites you into my life this past week, when I experienced some pain (a dot) that I connected to the pain of others (a line drawn). I didn’t cross any lines this time round, though I did as a young adult (see "Powered Luck" below); happily, I lived to tell that tale and that good fortune came flooding back to me these past seven days. Sunday : I watched an interview with Gordon Lownds , who had recently published the story of his drug addic...

Instructions for living a life:  Pay attention.  Be astonished.  Tell about it. This was the prompt for last Sunday afternoon's writing session; it is verse 4 of Mary Oliver’s poem  Sometimes .  The piece I wrote speaks to the core notion of attention but questions just what to be astonished by... Yes, Mary, but there is so much to pay attention to.  How to choose?  How to know what is truly important? Oh It is all important That little bird This morning’s sunrise The zillion specks of dust The car parked next door The kitten purring on the sofa The man in the oval-shaped office No Surely not How could it be — all important To be astonished by it that is easier There is much to be astonished by The audacity of men The stupidity of humans The lack of basic decency The unconditional love of animals The beauty of the natural world But it is the audacity of so many men that leaves me breathless So I turn to Jane Choose to listen to her instructions for l...