Grab Your Calendar and Buckle Up!

As summer falls into autumn

it feels as though I’m about to crash.

An unwelcome crash into a wall of noise and busyness. Crisp, golden leafed weather taking a back seat crammed with food wrappers, water bottles and spilled milk, blankets, extra sweaters and toques unless and until it interferes with active activities planned and gearing up once more for this season of change. 

‘No rest for the wicked’ the old saying cries 

but few of us are wicked at all just good people 

who feel tired before seeming even to have time to think!

“Nothing is so painful to the human mind 

as a great and sudden change.”

~ Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, Frankenstein

Progressive Lenses

Laughter ~

A not so silent rumble

from a crossover space 

between my gut and my heart

spreading like electricity

brightening my eyes with sparkles, my face

with a big smile

filling my personal space

with lightness and joy.

“The only honest art form is laughter, comedy. 

You can’t fake it…try to fake three laughs in 

an hour - -  ha ha ha ha ha - - they’ll take 

you away, man. You can’t.”
~ Lenny Bruce

Times of Our Lives

The step we are on begins 

in bright shallows. Dripping 

wet, we climb into broad sun, 

gentle winds or raging storm.

As years pass, each step we are 

on fills in, widens as we grow

until it feels we are in 

shallows glimmering darkly.

The day we are in ticks by 

minute by minute as did all 

the days that slipped past 

and all days that stretch forward.

As the years pass, each day we are

in still ticks by in minutes,

but feels crowded and cramped,

no time for rest or reprieve.

The time of our life we are in

passes too slowly for youth. It’s a

race to be run for glory sure to come 

when accolades and cheers are won.

As the years pass, each time of our life

may seem to vanish and dwindle too 

quickly for some. But the step we are on 

is from each of the days and times of our lives.

“Some guy said to me: ‘Don’t you think you’re too old to sing 

rock n’ roll?’ I said: ‘You’d better check with Mick Jagger.”

~ Che

Book Review: Washington Black by Esi Edugyan

“I might have been ten, eleven years old - I cannot say for certain - when my first master died.” 

And so opens a story, set between 1830 and 1836, that Esi Edugyan tells through the eyes and heart of eighteen year old George Washington Black, the name he was given by his first master. 

George Washington Black was told he was born in the hold of a slave ship on the passage to America. Wash, the name he was known by, remembers at about age five, when he was ‘rescued’ by Big Kit. Big Kit, a fierce slave on Faith Plantation in Barbados and the only home he had known, saved him from the brutality of another slave. Wash carries Big Kit in his heart throughout this beautifully written novel, despite being separated from her by the many strange and intricate events that carry him away from the cruelty of Faith Plantation. Erasmus Wilde, takes over his deceased uncle’s plantation with cruelty and malice. Titch, Erasmus’ brother, a scientist and covert abolitionist, spirits Wash away by hot air balloon (Cloud-cutter) from Faith Plantation to cross the United States, Canada and the Arctic to escape his brother’s wrath. A wrath that boiled when Wash escaped 'blame' for Erasmus' cousin Philip's suicide. This at a time of extreme racism and slavery. In a few short years, Wash had to become literate, a house boy and scientific assistant. In assisting Titch, he discovered a skill for drawing the biological minutiae of Titch’s scientific explorations which was to become a mainstay for Wash's life.

Unable to attend September’s book club discussion, I have spent a couple of hours reading reviews on line. I’ve also spoken with some of my group regarding their apparently lively discussions about Esi Edugyan’s fascinating novel. My personal fascination with the novel is the intense fear, and often terror, that shadowed Wash throughout his life because his early life of cruelty, brutality and the crushing work of a field hand. His supposed and very confusing ‘freedom’ when his travels take him country to country did little to ease his fears. Wash was always at the mercy of that fear which gives shape to his story, whether in the Arctic with Titch or in Morocco seeking Titch, Wash was never certain who or when he could trust. This book I am reading again to follow with interest the winding path that Washington Black travels just because he was born into slavery ~ always at the bidding of any white man or woman. 

“We must all take on faith the stories of our birth, for 

though we are in them, we are not yet present.”

~ Esi Edugyan, Washington Black

Title: Washington Black

Author: Esi Edugyan

Copyright: 2018 by Ides of March, Inc.

Publisher : Patrick Crean Editions, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

Format: Soft cover

Type: Novel

ISBN: 978-1-4434-5958-7

Universal Messages

From a train window, July 2018

The Universe declares itself

in everyday things.

We only have to listen 

to hear all it sings.

But our lives are so busy, 

our minds never land.

To listen and hear is 

not part of our plan.

But plans can be changed, 

not always easily done,

so our days going forward 

will be in the sun ~

with rain, wind and snow ~ 

those everyday things.

Universal declarations 

are the songs that they sing.

“He was quick and alert in the things of life, 

but only in the things, not in their significance.”

~ Jack London, To Build a Fire

Play Review: The Children by playwright Lucy Kirkwood

Yesterday was a lovely early fall Sunday afternoon. A good day to see a play at the Belfry Theatre in Victoria, go for a walk afterwards in the late afternoon sun and then out to supper at the local Fernwood Inn pub. The Children by playwright Lucy Kirkwood seemed as though it would be an easy review to write. However, The Children is full of the complexities of old relationships, the consequences of recent history and the legacy left to our children to clean up. The play began with the reunion of three old friends, each retired and in their late sixties. Self-assured Rose, played by Brenda Robins, arrives quite out of the blue, to visit her old friend and rather frantic but organized Hazel played by Nancy Palk. Despite these differences, they appear to be glad to see each other. Conversation seems a bit disjointed until Hazel’s husband, Robin played by Joseph Ziegler, comes in from his day on the farm caring for the cows. In a very modest kitchen and sitting room, it is obvious that life has become difficult with electricity, water and groceries carefully rationed. Hazel has offered tea and has prepared a small salad. Robin, quite gregarious and loving to both women, produces a bottle of ‘parsnip wine’. As the play progresses, it becomes obvious that the three friends were colleagues at a nearby power station as well as romantic rivals in their younger years. References to an explosion are often made as they catch up on their lives, along with a difficult proposal made by Rose to Hazel and to Robin. Previously developed relationships in this sudden reunion provide laugh out loud humour along with the tension of old jealousy. The question of children is danced around quite delicately. While Robin and Hazel had four children, Rose had not had any children. Only one of the children, Lauren, is mentioned by name, which I found rather curious. The Children, an almost two hour play, is about the effects of a nuclear meltdown tragedy, leaving the audience with the question, and maybe the answer, about who is really responsible for the clean up of any global tragedy.

“How paramount the future is to the present 

when one is surrounded by children.”

~ Charles Darwin

Too Rushed or Not Too Rushed

Too Rushed or Not Too Rushed

The last of her dozen eggs boiled and bubbled on the stove. Luckily, tomorrow was grocery day so they would be replenished. 

‘Cassandra, don’t forget to put them in cold water as soon as they’ve cooled. And add ice cubes as well.’

Her mother’s directions came to her every time she boiled eggs, or, for that matter did anything kitchen or housework related. At first it was kind of comforting but then over time her ‘inner teenager’ got just a little bit annoyed. Now, however, that voice sounded more like her own 'mother' voice. Cassandra had learned that, what sounded like her mother nagging, was really just one more life lesson. With some nagging thrown in? This time it was about hard boiled eggs. 

The back door slammed. "Mom! Is there anything to eat? I’m starving and my school lunch wasn’t enough."

Cassandra’s son was home from school. She could almost put money on what Garth would say when he came in the house. That kid was always hungry so Cassandra always tried to have something for him. Today, she hadn’t even had time to make the egg sandwiches he loved. 

"Garth, you’ll have to just eat plain boiled eggs and I’ll make you some toast. There’s cheese in the fridge and you can have a glass of cold milk with it. Are you sure it won’t spoil your supper?"

This was almost the same conversation Cassandra had had with her mother when she was going to school. It had always seemed that she couldn’t eat enough to keep up with school, dancing class, riding lessons and all the other activities she was involved in. Garth was on the football team, the soccer team  and in the winter he played hockey and was an excellent student. Sometimes it all seemed too much. Seldom any downtime at home. Just as Cassandra had learned about how to get along in this world, so was Garth learning the same things. The differences? Gender and Cassandra didn’t remember her own gym bag smelling quite so nasty and rank.

"Hi honey." Cassandra pulled Garth into a big hug. "I'm going to join you and have one of those eggs. I made myself toast too. We can sit down …….. Garth where are you going?” 

"I’ve got an extra hockey practice today. Gotta go mom!"

Just before Garth rushed out the door with his hockey bag over his shoulder and his half eaten toast in his hand, he gave his mom an extra hug and a quick kiss that landed on her ear, almost knocking her glasses off. 

"Love you, mom. ‘Bye."

“No matter how far we come, our parents are always in us.”

~ Brad Meltzer, American novelist