A Room Of My Own

How we picture winter snow can be summed up in one word, quiet. The spring rain has ceased its patter, the summer birds are on holiday down south, and those rustling fall leaves are buried – all is reticent. When that blanket of snow covers the ground, the earth is tucked in for a long winters nap. Most of us live and work in busy cities or suburbs, our schedules rush us from one planned activity to another, and much of our day is spent plugged into some type of electronic or motorized device. Our working world is in a constant state of humming, the computer hums, and the phone rings and the television is on. For real peace of mind, you need to venture out and escape that noise. Snowfall is noiseless; the trees in their grandeur, heavily laden with snow stand still, regal and muted, even the cold crisp air is hushed. The sun bounces off of the stark white snow ready to lift your spirits. There is nothing controlling or interrupting your thoughts. Allow your mind to whisper to you.

'Claire Notes' Photo courtesy Claire McNeilly copyright 2009 From the outside in, the stage was set for the annual school Christmas Concert. The auditorium was a stir of proud parents, grandparents and friends dressed for the season, excited as they came in from the first very timely snowfall of the winter. As the snow continued to fall lightly outside, the stage inside was aglow with the classic Christmas setting and the busy swirl of activity that accompanies those last few moments before curtain call. And then the concert began. The night was a mix of Concert bands, Jazz bands, Dixie bands and multiple choirs celebrating with us their talents As I sat and watched my daughter standing in the front row of the choir on stage, I was at such peace. With a big, confident smile, I tapped my foot to the beat, I moved my hands with the conductor, and my body swayed naturally as it remembered holding my daughter when she was still a small child. My breathing and my heart r

(This is being recalled from a very young mind...) When my father would begin telling a story from his childhood, he would begin with “When I was a little girl…” which would cause an uproar of high pitched objections from my sisters and myself. He would simply smile and continue on, as he now had our complete attention. I started this post at the beginning of November of this year when thoughts of my father return annually on the anniversary of his birthday. This story, however, is not about my father… When I was a little girl, I lived in a small house on Pine Street with my father, mother and three sisters. Ours was a busy, full house. Lisa was the oldest, very beautiful and very bossy. Pam was next, also very beautiful and we envied her fashion sense. I was the third in the line of my sisters, a middle child that cried a lot, made funny faces and was very comfortable at the centre of attention. My little sister, Joanne, enjoyed the status of being the baby in the family. She wa

I started my run at lunch today a little slower than usual; it is getting colder out there. I told myself I needed a strategy to get moving. I searched through my IPOD for the selection of songs that have proven to make me run faster. Mentally, I knew I needed more. What to do? At the beginning of my run, I saw someone I have known since I was seventeen. I stopped to have a quick chat. It was really fun talking to her and she lifted my spirits; I ran a little faster after that. Ah ha! An idea…Normally when I run I acknowledge most everyone I pass. Today I was going to do more than that. I decided I would surprise people. I would go that little extra. “Beautiful day for a walk” I said to a small group of ladies. “Yes, it is” and they smiled. “Good to see you out on the trail.” I commented to the mayor and his friend. “Keep running.” He encouraged with a smile. “You win!” to those runners heading in the opposite direction – they laughed. I passed a group sitting at a picnic tab

I am beginning to abhor his e-mail, and now the phone when the call is made in transit from one place to another – neither leading to me. His voice is often laboured from the walking and his attention is anything but undivided. This cheats me. Once during an awkward call our voices, our breath, just lingered on the phone. He had called me at work which he knew limited me in my reactions, prevented me from being open and honest, prevented me from telling him to go fuck himself. He could feel my impatience; he began speaking rapidly to fill the void, to fill the silence, to suppress the frustration in me. He described where he was – I did not care – it was not here. “I’m staring at a parking lot full of water” he said, which suggested to me that he must go now as he had arrived at his destination. I said nothing. After a brief pause, he attempted to fill the void again, he wanted to talk about anything, nothing - he just wanted to avoid the reality of this situation. “There is a puzzle p

This post digresses back to the Writersfest which I attended in Kingston, Ontario in September of this year. Kim Echlin was an author there that caught my attention. It was during an On Stage event called ‘Women Without Borders’ where I heard Kim read from The Disappeared which was, at that time, long listed for the Giller. It was announced on October 6 of this year that Kim Echlin’s book made the shortlist for the 2009 Giller Prize . The Disappeared is the current book that graces the top of the pile beside my bed each night. It is a love story between a young Canadian girl, Anne, and her slightly older Cambodian lover, Serey set during the Cambodian genocide under The Pol Pot Regime. They met in a café in Old Montreal, had an immediate and intense love affair and moved in together. However, as soon as the Cambodian borders opened, Serey was compelled to seek out his family there. He returns to Cambodia promising to be in touch as soon as possible. Many years go by and many letters

"So we built a house, my wife and I our house at a backwater puddle of a lake near Ameliasburg, Ont." Al Purdy In Search of Owen Roblin Al Purdy is arguably one of the most important Canadian poets of our time. Al was born in Wooler, Ontario in 1918, raised in Trenton, and educated at Albert College in Belleville. At a young age, he headed west for B.C. and this was to be just the beginning of a lifetime of much travelling throughout Canada which is reflected in his writing. Many of his poems read like entries in a diary and the history that is told within is immeasurable. Al and wife Eurithe built the Purdy A-Frame house in Ameliasburgh, Ontario which would serve as a meeting place for hundreds of writers over many years. The whole edifice, Al observed, ‘ bent a little in the wind and dreamt of the trees it came from .’ The list of people who travelled to the A-frame includes Margaret Atwood, Earle Birney, George Bowering, Lynn Crosbie, Dennis Lee, Steven Heighton, Patrick L

Running the waterfront trail along the bay in Belleville, I stopped briefly to take in the view. My eyes were drawn to the new colours emerging on the leaves of the large oak trees, which then drew my gaze to the sun and the reflection it created off of the harbor, which finally drew my gaze to the Bay Bridge, that conduit that connects Quinte to The County. Many boats were out on The Bay this day taking advantage of these last few days of summer. This reminded me that fall, my favourite time of year, is here. Many years ago, I moved out to British Columbia where I lived on the coast for 14 years. It is a beautiful part of our country, the ocean is awe-inspiring, the mountains are overwhelming and the people are generously friendly. All that was missing for me was the seasons. Typically, it felt like spring all year round. When planning a visit ‘home’ to Ontario, I generally booked a flight at the end of summer so I could catch some of the brilliant fall weather. During one of my visit

Karen Solie was born in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan where she grew up on the family farm. She currently resides in Toronto, Ontario, of which she supposed jokingly, “You will love Toronto more if you can get out of it.” Her bio has an interesting work history; it states she worked as a farm hand, an espresso jerk, a groundskeeper, a newspaper reporter/photographer, an academic research assistant, and an English teacher. Karen has steadily become one of the key players in Canadian literary academia. In 2007 she was one of the judges for the Griffin Poetry Prize . My post ‘Poetry Brigade’ scribbling about Karen at the Kingston Writersfest has her as a poet that stood up and stood out at her reading. She was wonderful to listen to, her work was original on many levels and she really connected with the audience. During an open discussion with the other poets there, including Lorna Crozier (the moderator), Kevin Connolly and David O’Meara, she recalled a quote that she repeated to us affection

Oh my...inspiration. I personally met Lorna Crozier on September 26/09. She was delightful. Upon first seeing her, I thought her a frail, small, being. She walked into the Writersfest wearing a long brown peasant skirt, a belted top, a colourful long scarf, and her boots stole the show. She moderated the Poets Brigade beautifully- no boring questions, she was interactive and engaging. Lorna Crozier’s voice has the grace and confidence her life experience has earned. The three attending poets, Karen Solie , Kevin Connolly , and David O’Meara , were great company for the much admired Lorna. As the Poetry Brigade wrapped up she announced with sass “Poetry rocks”. I met with Lorna at the close of the Poetry Brigade. She was handing each of the mentionned poets back her copy of their own books and requested that they be autographed. She asked them to dedicate the books to ‘Lorna and Patrick as we share everything’. I found this admirable. Lorna is accessible, generous and fun. Physically,

One evening last week my big black lab and I headed out for a hike at one of our favourite provincial parks. After an invigorating climb through trails up and down steep hills, poor Bailey was quite worn out. As he quickly approaches the 10 year mark in his life, we are seeing his age sneak up on him. He sleeps for much of the day, getting up after a long nap is quite laborious for him and his back legs are strained under all 120 lbs of him. After the trek in the woods, we headed down to the river for a dip to cool off. Although he is a gorgeous water dog, these days his uncertainty in his back legs prevents him from leaping into the water for that well deserved swim. I have to lead him into the water until it is deep enough and then swim with him. This was really therapeutic for both of us. I do adore him so. Following the swim I got out, dried off and grabbed my book. I settled in at the river’s edge for a good read, but what happened next took me from my reading. Bailey found friend

During a recent hike near my home in the country, I came upon some puff mushrooms, a local delicacy that is delicious, fresh and free! This spurred my idea for that night’s dinner and today’s blog on The 100 Mile Diet. I had guests for dinner and everything on the table was from my garden or that of local farms. The remark was made that we are actually living this diet. At the time, I was unaware of this movement and its Canadian origins. The idea for this diet is truly simple, traditional and, in fact, Canadian. The history, as quoted from the website, started when “in 2005, Alisa Smith and J.B. MacKinnon began a one-year experiment in local eating. Their 100-Mile Diet struck a deeper chord than anyone could have predicted, inspiring thousands of individuals, and even whole communities, to change the way they eat.” http://100milediet.org/ I thought I would share how my family enjoys the harvest from our local area. To begin with, apples are in season right now and I am lucky enough to

It is distressing and staggering that in this day illiteracy is still alive and growing in numbers around the world. The immediate connection between illiteracy and poverty is clear. With specific mention to women, who make up two thirds of the illiterate population, this must change. The following is an except from UNESCO on literacy; September 08, 2009 Objective :On International Literacy Day each year, UNESCO reminds the international community of the status of literacy and adult learning globally. September 8 was proclaimed International Literacy Day by UNESCO on November 17, 1965. It was first celebrated in 1966. Its aim is to highlight the importance of literacy to individuals, communities and societies. On International Literacy Day each year, UNESCO reminds the international community of the status of literacy and adult learning globally. Celebrations take place around the world. Some 774 million adults lack minimum literacy skills; one in five adults is still not literate and

This is a recording of Virginia Woolf as published electronically through The Book Bench with The New Yorker . I knew I had stumbled on a treasure when I saw this. Her words continue to inspire me, but there was just something so visceral, so palpable in hearing her speak her own words, listening to her pause and then emphasize certain words, it left me content. The next time a pick up one of her novels, I hope to hear her voice inside my head. “This is presumed to be the only surviving recording of Virginia Woolf. It was recorded on April 29, 1937, as part of a BBC radio broadcast series called “Words Fail Me.” Woolf would have been fifty-five at the time.” (Partial transcript in this recording) … Words, English words, are full of echoes, of memories, of associations. They have been out and about, on people's lips, in their houses, in the streets, in the fields, for so many centuries. And that is one of the chief difficulties in writing them today – that they are stored with oth

I am always on the lookout for Canadian authors I have yet to discover. It was while reading a fellow blog called ChickLiteracy that I became intrigued by my next new find, Elspeth Cameron . Now, this author is by no means new to the world of Canadian non-fiction or biographies or academia, no, Elspeth is simply new to me. Having authored such biographies as Robertson Davies: An Appreciation , The Other Side of Hugh MacLennan and Irving Layton, A Portrait (I have reserved the latter, it shall be my next read), she manages to tell her very own life story with ease. I was absorbed in this book from the start and finished it the next day. No Previous Experience is an intriguing and engaging personal memoir by Elspeth Cameron about self love, which she discovers rather late in life (not unlike me). This life account is a gripping and honest story about turning your back on the socially constructed expectations and really finding your happiness. For Elspeth this is discovered through a

From the blog for Namaste Publishing The Meaning of Namaste “ Namaste ” is a Sanskrit word that acknowledges the inestimable value of each individual. It is often used to greet and honor others. Translation: “As I acknowledge and honor the Spirit within myself, so do I acknowledge and honor the Spirit within you.” The extended meaning of the word has been written as: “I honor the place in you in which the entire universe dwells. I honor the place in you which is love, of truth, of light, and of peace. When you are in that place in you, and I am in that place in me, we are one.” To all our readers, I say, “Namaste”. I honor the place in you which is love, love of truth, of light, and of peace. Hamsa Janet

Running along the waterfront during my lunch hour today, I was drawn to the people there, in particular, their eyes. On this sunny hot afternoon, the trail was peppered with kids out of school blading, biking, and many were escaping the heat in the river. There were walkers, a few runners and those using the memorial benches that are intermittently placed along the way. There are times during my run when I come in rather close quarters with others enjoying the use of the trail. At these moments, when my eyes connect with someone else, there is always a friendly hello, may it be by way of a smile, a simple nod, or the word uttered outright. (I wonder many times how loud I am since I listen to rather fast loud music during the run). I commonly enjoy this familiar connection with the strangers I share my day with. I was reminded that everywhere I have lived or visited I have had this relationship with the locals. I scanned my memories for all of the different places I have been in Canada

Change your thinking Let new experience Be your torch Chloe liked Olivia Your torch now lit Let this experience Change your world Take the torch With courage tell it Forge ahead of all Chloe liked Olivia She will forge further With courage tell her How to take her torch Take truth and freedom Your mind to the edge “Fullness of expression” Chloe liked Olivia Full of expression Step out to the edge Freedom equals truth Quote from A Room of One's Own, Virginia Woolf Freedom to express, try The NaiSaiKu Challenge

I am up early, enjoying a rather cool but sunny summer morning quietly. I go for The Globe and religiously seek out and remove the Book Review section first. I scan this section for key words that catch my eye, pull me in and this determines which of the articles I read first (however, I will eventually read the entire section). Al Purdy’s name jumps out and I settle in on ‘Shadows and footsteps’ by Alex Boyd. The main point of his article was to read and respect the writing of good authors that have gone before. To paraphrase, read good books, be humble and this will make you a better writer. “Young writers need to be inspired and to admire older writers…meeting them can be a very different experience.” He goes on to recount a meeting he had with Al Purdy in Toronto at the library where Purdy had been giving a reading. After waiting for his turn to speak with the author, Boyd mentions to Purdy with some energy that his poetry was along side some of Purdy’s in Ink Magazine (not very hu

The golden rod has returned To the lambent field It stretches high, higher everyday, waiting In the lambent field As the golden rod has returned The NaiSaiKu Challenge Janet

As I sat at the piano Counting my fingers through The basic notes I felt someone with me It was Hannah Schmitz And she was counting her words To The Lady With the Little Dog It was the same. Her young lover was teaching her. Again, same. Now, I am on my own As she was on her own And I am finding 'the' on the piano.

Life is messy. Life is difficult. Life is chaos. Life is beautiful. The more we try to understand, analyze and control life, the more we realize this is futile. We have Darwinism, Freudianism, Marxism, Existentialism, and if you were to look critically at any of these you find yourself into yet another ‘ism’, if it only be that of criticism. (photo jam343 ) Control, tame, limit, contain, dominate, master...these are all terms that allude us when we think of life and growth. Life forges on, around, and through. It appears as chaos. That is beautiful. Time Has Told Me - Nick Drake Time has told me You're a rare rare find A troubled cure For a troubled mind. And time has told me Not to ask for more Someday our ocean Will find its shore. So I`ll leave the ways that are making me be What I really don't want to be Leave the ways that are making me love What I really don't want to love. Janet

I feel You gazing at me What message do You scribe From what divine source do You abide Uriel, sitting with St. Peter, amidst the heavens From Your divine source I shall abide The message You do scribe Feel me staring back at You Janet Still gazing at The NaiSaiKu Challenge

I decided to check up on my facebook today. I have found that Facebook is a world of its own and every now and then it gets interesting in there. Sometimes it is a friend request from some long forgotten boy from the past, sometimes it is an invitation to an interesting event, and then sometimes it is an update from one of the groups I follow. This one caught my eye - Ali’s Facebook Group - what is going on with Ali Howard ? She is in the Vancouver Sun. I clicked on the link and read with some inexplicable sentiment sitting in my throat. She takes to the water tomorrow! This led me to my own blog, to re-read an article I posted back in March of this year when I first heard about this inspiring girl. Ali Howard To recap, she is swimming the entire length of the Skeena River (610 km) starting at the Sacred Headwaters and finishing in the Pacific Ocean. Ali’s purpose on this adventure is to raise awareness of the importance of the Skeena watershed. The river is one of the longest un-damn

Last night I was invited to a very charming gathering at Fields On West Lake – better known in The County as The Red Barn . The Red Barn is a romantic heritage spot in the middle of nowhere at the centre of everything. When asked to say a few words about this special place, the owners actually choked with sentiment; their passion for this inherited property was clearly evident. When I arrived, I noticed the beautiful old century brick home surrounded by farm land and that locally famous barn. Upon entering the barn, I was delighted with the surroundings. High ceilings, large windows allowing plenty of natural sunlight in, and those hanging lamps that made for dreamy lighting later in the evening. The focus of this gathering was on the ‘Creative Mind’ which in essence encourages and supports creative ways to exist in the County, or as I heard a few times during the evening 'igniting our Creative Rural Economy'. There was a wide variety of people in the audience, from farmers to

I am driving back to work after spending my lunch hour in a hurry picking up supplies. I am picking up the last minute supplies for summer camp, vegetarian options for a BBQ at the neighbors’ tonight, and the gift ideas as the BBQ includes a birthday. My mind is busy; I am ‘Busy Backson’, as my daughter has pointed out from The Tao of Pooh. My window is down, it is lovely out and I am listening to Rufus Wainwright; okay, I admit I am singing along with him as if I know him personally. “ He will fall from the stars, Studio 54 ” Stop. I see the familiar lights of a police cruiser up ahead, followed by what looks like traffic mayhem. The police escort a long line of cars in a funeral procession as it slowly makes its way through the busy lunch hour traffic on this main street. Traffic slows to a standstill. Lights are blinking, mourners dressed respectably in appropriate funeral attire with matching stoic expressions have their eyes straight ahead, driving, following. Life seems to slow a

(dreamer by neslihans) Summertime, a favourite past time The favourable past we attempt to live by Which haunts us so We icon against Marilyn herself What was done, has been undone It's undoing now done And so I, too, am done. The favourable past, which must be left in the past As now IS our favourable time to live by ...summertime. The NaiSaiKu Challenge http://naisaiku.blogspot.com/

Over the weekend, as I sat outside on the summer kitchen porch, I wrote. I had risen early that Saturday morning (unlike me), snuck about the house to make strong coffee and attempted to not wake anyone with my putterings. Let me be clear and honest, this was not out of respect to allow the family a sleep in, but rather selfishly to afford myself some quiet time. The strong coffee was grande in these early hours and I began my morning hiatus reading Nino Ricci’s The Origin of Species . I had waited in a rather long queue at the local library for this book, eagerly and excitedly signed it out when my turn came round, only to find a copy new-to-me for sale at the same library. Out of pure and raw need to possess (Buddha I continue to fail) I now have both copies in my possession. I don’t really understand my happiness at this. Anyways, I was reading away, and drinking my breakfast when I was inspired by the early morning air, the smell of basil nestled in the pots about me, the wind as i

(Syrup and honey by 6eternity9 via devantArt) We soften each others fears Allusions, illusions Aimlessness, lives together Twin brain, twin soul, soul mate Aimlessness lives, together Alluded, illuded We soften each others fears Still 'illuded' by The NaiSaiKu Challenge http://naisaiku.blogspot.com/ Janet

(CityGirl by monislawa via deviantArt) The weakness comes in waves When it washes I am faced with two choices, swim or succumb. Do I endure or cave to my own desire? The latter is pure instant pleasure So I succumb The need subsides – temporarily The weakness creeps in again I can see it watching me I feel it poking me, tempting me I taste it as I swallow I know it is there, stalking me It can be overwhelming All encompassing Insurmountable The weakness comes in waves Sometimes we bend the rules...The NaiSaiKu Challenge http://naisaiku.blogspot.com/ Janet

Pierre Elliott Trudeau, Broadcast Date: Dec. 21, 1967 Clearly, a man before his time. His compelling leadership haunts Canadian politics. Since his departure as Prime Minister, we have yet to be lead with such charisma. I was all of 14 at the time of his retirement in 1984 and just starting to pay attention to politics. I knew that we had a love affair with Trudeau and that the nation was now going through some withdrawal of sorts. At the time, I was attending a Catholic school, I had been brought up in a conservative town and I was not satisfied with the conservative stand on some major issues. I was eager to see positive movement with respect to the right of women to choose in abortions, an issue that politicians continue to fail to resolve, let alone take a stand on. Further, I was eager to see change in attitudes with the myriad of issues surrounding homosexuality. Again, we were and remain, disappointed. Over the next few years, candidates came and went vying for the Chair. I cle

(via deviantArt) Say you are a bird Bare your mind and body free There are no limits Be open to your imagination and your visions There are no limits Bare your mind and body free Say you are a bird By the way, and certainly related, I recommend to anyone watch The Notebook again. Still 'open' to The NaiSaiKu Challenge http://naisaiku.blogspot.com/ Cheers Janet

Why do we blog? Or, I guess I should ask, why do you blog? I suppose there are a myriad of reasons for doing so, there must be for there are millions of blogs out there, literally. If you have ever looked at the catalogue of blogs, you know what I am talking about. I am quite fascinated by the many blogs I have stumbled upon; some I quickly dismiss, some I am indistinctly interested in and visit at random, and then there are the few that I visit regularly. I am sure, if I permitted myself more time, the list for the latter category would be much longer. Of note, something that truly fascinates and inspires me is the many different approaches to blogging. I have come across some really beautifully decorated blogs that say nothing in particular and, conversely, I have come across some rather crude looking blogs that truly have something to say that captivates me. This, of course, is all my own personal opinion and subject to my perspective on, well, everything. I started blogging as a w