Five Years a Writer

The yellow chairs had captured her imagination, but it was the bridge across the little meadow that caught her heart. That bridge lead over and away into the horizon that the view promised. On a sunny day, that view stretched out into endless possibilities. Possibilities of doing and seeing and being in ways that had long since escaped her reach. The journey that brought her to the bridge over the meadow and to those yellow chairs, set so appealingly as if for a conversation among friends over tea, had been unplanned and, in so being, its impact entirely unexpected. When asked if she wanted to pack a bag and come along for a trip into the country, she had, without much thought, said yes. Why not? Nothing much to keep her here, in the hot city, at the height of summer. The turn down the driveway showed the reason for making the effort of the trip — that view, the bridge, those chairs. Together, they represented everything the friends in the vehicle had left behind or, rather, had tra...

For me, there is nothing quite so good as diving into a book from which I don't want to come up for air. To be in the pages of a story, created by a writer with command not only of that story but of the words used to tell it — their selection, rhythm and structure — is a wonder and a delight. All the more so, because it doesn’t always happen, despite what the reviews might promise. So when it does, it’s an experience I want to share. But, please, not in a book club. I am not drawn to a formal discussion of a specific book. I prefer the more ad hoc “I loved this book; maybe you will, too” approach to sharing with other readers. Recently, I wondered about taking a sort of guerrilla approach to book recommendations and reviews: The other day, I finished reading Lessons in Chemistry by Bonnie Garmus. I absolutely loved it. The protagonist, Elizabeth Zott, is a bit zany and a lot bright. She takes on patriarchy via the chemistry lab, and raises a daughter along the way. It’s a wonderful...

The other day, when I opened my laptop to access my two email accounts, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The one account was empty — totally empty. The other was, as I expected, full of messages. Oh my goodness, what had I done? Both email accounts are also on my phone; however, only one is synched with the laptop version. At least, that’s what I had thought. With my original account, if I read a message on one device, it shows as ‘read’ on the other. With the other account, this is not the case: every message in that account, opened or read on one device, is as if never opened or read on the other. Therefore, I had thought it perfectly safe to tidy up that account on my phone, as it was sucking precious memory capacity from the (very) old operating system: Select all, I had commanded. Edit. Delete. Sure? Yes, sure. And, poof, gone from my phone. But safe still on my laptop, thought I. Until I saw that it wasn’t. And isn’t that just how it goes? A little knowledge — erroneous in this case —...

Tuesday, July 26, 2022 It takes a lot to get through this life, but, if we’re lucky, we don’t have to face the ups and downs and roundabouts on our own. If we’re lucky, we have a few good friends with whom to face the challenges and, also, to share the joys. Mendel Schnitzer was one such friend to me: there in the tough times and willing, so willing to share in the fun of life, too. He would have been 74 years old today, if kidney disease hadn’t felled him five years ago. I mourn him to this day. But in mourning him, I acknowledge his generosity in so much: his time (he was never too busy to do a favour), his skills (more than once, he helped us with plumbing issues at the cottage or the house), his resources (Need a tool? Mendel had it.). I give thanks for his sound advice in the early days of my freelance writing & editing business: “Don’t nickel & dime your clients to death. Know your value. Set your rates. Deliver good work.” It’s advice I follow to this day. I celebrate hi...

Imagination is more important than knowledge, according to Albert Einstein. While it is maybe arguable as an absolute, as a general guide for daily living in these still-Covid times, I find it both helpful and hopeful. Here’s why: Last Saturday evening, Val and I went out. Actually out — like out of the house and not for routine boring chores, but for a social event that promised an evening of stunning photography and illuminating stories by the photographer. I had bought the tickets in part because I am a fan of the photographer and wanted to meet her in person, and in part because the event was a fund-raiser for Fort Whyte Alive , a local non-profit that “connects humans with nature”.  I mention this because I doubt I would have hauled us out for a purely social evening; that it had a ‘good deed’ element to it made the effort of leaving the house and sitting in an auditorium with a large group of strangers not only worth doing but worth the risk. I imagined it might be fun...

One day after work many years ago, I hopped on the bus that I thought would take me to my downtown meeting. But after a while, I realized that, while I had taken the correct bus number, I had chosen the northern extended route instead of the direct-to-downtown route. The ride took forever and, by the time I arrived at my destination, the meeting was over. During the time of my unexpectedly long ride, I had been incommunicado with the outside world, as this was in my pre-cell-phone-owning days. I eventually called my colleague from a payphone in a hotel lobby to explain my absence at the meeting. Sheesh. What a way to end a long workday! I’m sure that many people experienced a similar feeling of being lost in time and lost to their colleagues and loved ones when, last week, the Rogers network went down right across Canada : No cell service. No Internet. No contact. And, maybe worse, no way to pay for their morning coffee, either: Many vendors could take cash only, as both debit and ...

I often think about public space — and especially in the summer. So many more people are out of doors, doing their thing, which, sadly, all too often involves making noise at a level I find anti-social. Why can people not modulate their voice and speak quietly, without polluting the air well beyond their immediate surroundings? Why must they play music loudly from their cars, bikes and decks? Use ear buds, people!  Why do people insist on walking down the street talking on their phone — often using the speaker option?   Phone calls are private; take them indoors, people!   I fear that we have, generally, forgotten that we do not walk through this world as stand-alone entities. We walk with others — like it (or them) or not, we are not solo operators in our yards, neighbourhoods or city streets. As soon as we exit the private space we call home, we enter public space — and we share it. Be polite, I want to yell. Be aware, I want to scream. Be quiet, I want to shriek. But t...