Five Years a Writer

I would pack this: my all-time favourite decades-old summertime T-shirt At the best of times, I am lousy at packing. I overpack or under-pack and, often, either way, I don’t end up with the item I really wish I had. Whether I approach it with great thought or without much thought, the task requires that I propel myself into the future and put things into a container that will help me get through what lies ahead.  But how can I know what lies ahead? The weather is unpredictable these days. How I'll feel on any given day is equally unpredictable. And how am I supposed to know just what I will want and need in order to manage what lands in my path on Day X down the road? I have been thinking about this as thousands of my fellow Manitobans have been thrust into making important decisions in the context of urgency, as they pack up and flee from the raging wildfires in the northern regions of this province . I have no perfect answers, just some thoughts, and they presume three things: Ha...

Whether indoors or out, writers took the space they wanted for the work they needed to do.    Question : When is a retreat actually an advance?  Answer : When we join with others to do our creative work with focus and intention. Deborah Schnitzer and I facilitated our second annual Writing Retreat this past weekend and, once again, we and the eight participants experienced the advances that can be made when we give ourselves the time and space to be fully who we are as Writer. During the conversations and the shared reading of our work, I took notes; it is the only way I can (a) remember anything and (b) make meaning of what I am hearing. My practice is to then re/view those notes the day after the retreat ends and to pull from them the key points that resonate with me as a new week begins. True, sometimes I cannot read my own writing and sometimes that writing doesn’t cohere into sense. But when it does, the words captured with pen on paper hold the wisdom arising fro...

  I am Canadian. What does this mean?  Many things, including this.  It means my home country is part of the Commonwealth and of La Francophonie . It means I live in a constitutional monarchy: The Prime Minister leads the country, though the monarch, currently King Charles III, is the head of state; the Governor General , currently Mary Simon, is the monarch's federal representative in Canada.  It means that, while English is my mother tongue, I also speak French as the country's other official language. However, these two languages are far from the only two I hear in my city, neighbourhood and on my block. Canadians come from all over the world, resulting in a vibrant diversity that is as wonderful as it is sometimes challenging, but it is always deeply resonant of the country and its spirit.  I am Canadian.   This means I live every day with the privilege of my birth and the knowledge of the urgent need for Reconciliation with the Indigenous peoples of ...

“Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read.  One does not love breathing.” Harper Lee To Kill a Mockingbird LATE MARCH : Even as I was pounding away at the last of the winter ice, I knew I shouldn’t be doing it. Due to an old injury, my right shoulder is susceptible to heavy jarring and sharp movement. But I persisted. I wanted winter gone and spring to be here. TODAY : I am paying the price for that persistence. My shoulder is inflamed ( supraspinatus tendinopathy , said the doc) and, while spring is definitely here, I am not digging in with abandon. I am having to play it safe, take it slow, and try to work around the pain that comes from lifting and forward motions with my right arm — my dominant arm, the arm I most rely on for most things. Without even thinking about it.  I hadn’t ever paid much attention to that arm or any of my limbs, really. Other than always being too short to reach the top shelf in the supermarket and having to always ask a nearby tall per...

Highclere Castle that became Downton Abbey in the mega-hit TV series. An old friend is coming to town, so it would be lovely to host him, his wife and their dog in our home; however, this cannot be. There is no room in this inn for such hosting. Back in our younger days, the nook in the unfinished basement served us and our guests very well; internationally renowned yoga teachers, my mother, long-time friends — they all slept well, safe and sound on our “lower level”. But these days, that nook is deconstructed and the mattress that our last (and final) guests slept on (on the floor) is no more.  I grew up in modest homes, almost always sharing a bedroom with either my older sister or my younger brother. When I had my own room, I appreciated it for the space it was and the space it gave me. As an adult, I have lived in only one house that was big enough to have a spare room that could easily host a guest. This current house is not that. So, I have to be content with being a no-over...

Scilla, a hardy early spot of colour in my Canadian prairie flowerbed: a sure sign that change is coming Many years ago, an acquaintance asked me who my partner was. “Why, Val, of course,” I replied. “Oh my goodness,” came the response. “You’re still with her ?” The tone was incredulous, the message clear: After all these years and you’re still with that woman. The implied exclamation points did not suggest anything positive. I was astonished then and remain so. That anyone would suggest that a connection cemented over time, that a commitment firmed through the ups and downs of experience is not something to honour and nurture, to cherish and to work with. Of course, not every relationship is worthy of such respect. Some should never have been started never mind have lasted; some should cease limping along out of mere habit. But ending a relationship purely ‘for the sake of change’ or because ‘it’s been X number of years and new is better’ is, in my view, an odd approach to living in ...

Dare to declare who you are.  It is not far from the shores of silence to the boundaries of speech.  The path is not long, but the way is deep.  You must not only walk there, you must be prepared to leap. St. Hildegard of Bingen Lucky enjoyed being in the sun, but she loved having the wind in her face. She would sit for hours on the front step, watching the kids playing in the lane, but her favourite times were when we drove out of town a ways and walked through the open countryside, the breeze keeping things fresh and clear for both of us. Lucky would trot ahead of me, looking, sniffing, exploring the world at ground level, always hoping for something exciting. Sometimes, she would get the scent of a rabbit or maybe another dog that had passed along the path earlier in the day and she would streak off to see what exciting thing she could find. But mostly she was content to stick close to me and walk as my companion in the beautiful landscape of the English Lake Distric...