 |
| May 2008 |
Look carefully at
the little basket in the very centre…..
It’s a hummingbirds nest ~
about the size of a tea cup!!
Two tiny beaks reach up, one higher than the other ~ waiting for mom to come home with lunch.
“the daily hummingbird assaults existence with improbability.”
Ursula K. Le Guin, “No Time to Spare: Thinking About What Matters”
Silent goals for each New Year
no grand visions of endings, beginnings.
what will be or when they will be.
I stay present with intent to honour
each little word or phrase
creating them as elegantly as I am able.
“Accepting oneself does not preclude an attempt to become better.”
~ Flannery O’Connor
Update: My first review of this very humorous book was in 2018. I read it for my book club in November of 2018 in Victoria, B.C. Now living in Regina, Saskatchewan and participating in with another group of women, I read it again. Three years is a long time between reading a book for a second time. The story seemed lost to me until I began re-reading it. Discussion this evening was so very similar to that earlier time ~ we all enjoyed this very easy read. Here is my updated and edited review from 2018.
~~~~~
Comedy. I really didn’t know that novels could be comedic. Really. One Brother Shy is a comedy. Alex, painfully shy and introverted, has developed a facial recognition program for a company called Facetech. Based in Ottawa, the office he worked in is an open space office with ‘lame fabric partitions masquerading as cubicles’. His cubicle mate, Abby, with a high energy personality, seems to have limited respect for his obvious introversion. He lives with his mother who has been a single parent since his birth. Sadly, she passes away early in the book. The night before he was told that she wanted to tell him something important. He is alone with only their housekeeper, Malaya, and meets regularly with a psychologist, Dr. Wendy Weaver. They are the only other people he trusts enough to share his secrets. The name Gabriel comes up through the book as the cause of his social shyness and inability to speak freely. Alex is not curious about exploring that part of this life, but is curious about the information his mother didn’t get to tell him. A trail of clues in his home and a mysterious regular monthly bank deposit are those curiosities. Even more so is a half picture in his mother’s bank deposit box showing a man holding a baby. The photograph is also trimmed so the man’s head has been cut off. There are numbers on the back but no reference to what they mean. A detail in the photograph is the greatest curiosity and motivates him to move out of his comfort zone. His journey begins when he uses his facial recognition program to search for answers. Learning that he has a twin brother, he very, very bravely tells his very incredibly toxic boss that he is taking time off to continue his search. His travels take him to London, to Russia and back to Canada.
This is a very easily read book full of sarcastic humour, weaves Alex’s story through Russia/Canada hockey rivalries, issues of social media and some Canadian politics, always in a light conversational manner. Terry Fallis addresses several serious issues in this story with a very light and sensitive touch.
“I just stayed still, not that I could move much.
I knew any movement would make it worse.”
~ Alex, One Brother Shy
Title: One Brother Shy
Author: Terry Fallis
Copyright: 2017
Format: Soft cover
ISBN-978-0-7710-5072-5
ebook ISBN-978-1-7710-5073-2
Type: Fiction
Publisher: McClelland & Stuart
It’s Only a Beginning
Dez had been getting steadily more restless. Walking the track everyday was necessary, but boring. Sometimes she’d have Brewster with her, sometimes her sister would walk with her, but most of the time she was on her own. The days that she had a companion, it did break the monotony of just going around in circles. She missed her own bed, her own walls, her own stuff. Even if it was a rented apartment. She had lost interest in her painting - still grateful that her sister had made a special trip to get it for her. Matt had been too busy to meet with her about her tiny house idea. Each time she rounded the far end of the track she had to pass the tangled old hedge where she first had the questionably brilliant idea. Her eyes and her heart tried to see that first vision. There were days when she couldn't see it at all and wondered how she could even have thought it was a good idea.
“Miss Dez! How're you feelin’ today? I’m startin’ work on that old garage today. Want to join me? You must be gettin’ awful bored, not being able to get out as often ‘cept to walk this track.” Samuel had appeared as if out of nowhere, wheelbarrow filled with tools, garbage bags and a big push broom across it. “Samuel! You startled me. Too involved with giving Brewster her loves and ear scratches.” Dez had been able to get down to Brewster’s level and had been granted a good face wash. “Brewster! No! That’s just gross and I’ll have to go all the way back to the house to wash my face properly.” Laughing at her predicament, she stood up. Dez loved dogs, but did not love the face wash. They’d have to work on that.
“Thanks, Samuel, but I’m not dressed for garage renovations. But if you’re working on it tomorrow, I could come out all ready and have my walk too.” The clouds had parted and the winter rain had stopped. Gulls floated on high currents in the blue skies. It was almost shirt sleeve weather. For December on the Island, this kind of weather was not always usual, but was always welcomed. A reprieve from the Island’s winter darkness and rain. “Didn’t you just say you had to go the to the house to wash your face. You could get work clothes on and come on back. But if you’d rather count on the clouds to stay away…..” Samuel’s words drifted behind him. He had picked up the wheelbarrow handles and headed down the path at the end of the hedge. Dez called after him. “What will you be doing? My balance is real good now, but I won’t be doing any heavy lifting yet.” She hoped that he had heard her. Calling over his shoulder he said “Just tidying up inside before I start the heavy work. James said there used to be some boxes of Christmas things stored there. You come on if you want to…….and ask Elizabeth for a couple of sandwiches and a thermos of tea.” He disappeared behind the hedge with his load. Dez heard him struggling with one of the doors. She called out “I’ll be right back and bring you some lunch.”
~~~~~
Now that she had a purpose, it really didn’t take her long to get to the house. Cook had the lunch all ready to go. Even enough for her, as well as some fresh baking. “How did you know, Cook?!” Cook laughed. “I could see you and that old man talking, then you came up here right away. I just looked at the time and he wasn’t giving you the weather report. I’ve packed it all in your backpack. Be easier for you to carry it out there.” Work clothes on, Dez had Cook help her adjust the backpack. Settling it on her shoulders, she thanked Cook and set out. Once at the garage, she called to Samuel. “We’re back. Brewster followed me up to the house and waited outside for me. He found a patch of sun and got comfortable. Here’s our lunch. Cook had it all ready for me before I even got to the house. The two of you must have telepathy!” Dez and Samuel laughed in unison. “I don’t know about telepathy, but she’s gone and done that before.”
Dez surveyed the garage. Cobwebs and dirt. That’s all that seemed to be there. “No lights in here yet and the back windows are so dirty that light doesn’t much get in.” Samuel was sweeping up the middle of the floor. “Just need to clear some space so we can get to the boxes over there in the corner. Then there’s that old work bench and all the drawers and boxes.” Dez squinted in the corners he had indicated and walked over to the work bench. It wasn’t until her eyes had adjusted to the light that she noticed them. “This old building is structurally safe, Samuel?” Once she got inside, she felt a little uncertain about their safety. “It’s good, Miss Dez. Wouldn’t have let either of us in here if I wasn’t sure of it. Here, clear off a space on that workbench. We’ll have to eat standin’ up so might just as well keep workin’ at the same time.” Dez was trying to clean off the windows, just small squares of brittle glass. “Look in the wheel barrow. There’s some wet and dry rags in there, some window cleaner too.”
The two worked in silence for the afternoon, not noticing the time until darkness hampered their work. Besides the windows and the floor, the boxes in the corner had been dusted off, Dez separating them out on the floor. She’d go through them tomorrow. Some of them were quite heavy, some light. Some rattled and some seemed packed with books. The work bench would have to wait till the next day too. She suddenly was aware of the good exhaustion she felt. “You ready to call it quits for today, Miss? I sure am and this old dog is fussin’ at me for her supper. We’ll walk you back up to the house.”
“The beginning is always today.”
~ Mary Shelley
My old suitcase had followed me faithfully through airports and down hotel corridors. Waited for me while I went to conferences and family gatherings. Sometimes emptied out and sometimes put on a cart or suitcase rack while I played Scrabble with a sister or went walking with my sons. Over time the outside became battered and worn, like other travel suitcases on airport carousels. Tossed into planes and out of planes on the carts with other suitcases going to
Europe or the sandy beaches down under. Waited patiently for me to grab it from the ever moving carousel, set it firmly on its wheels and off to our next stop - the final stop: home. One Christmas as I was……………
~~~~~
My Christmas Suitcase
Let me tell the story. So far, it sounds quite boring. It was easy for her to come home. She had the whole place. My home, as a suitcase, was at least dedicated just to me. Up high on a closet shelf or down low in a dark closet corner to wait. Empty except for a comb, brush or other forgotten piece of paper or package of tissues. Forgotten like me. I do hope I don’t sound pathetic. Never mind, I’m just a suitcase and this is what I do. Wait. Either filled up or emptied out. I wait. After my last trip, my home was rather uncomfortable. No one told me I would leave my nice warm closet behind! Forever! I did get a closet, but it was cold and dark. Or hot and dark. It’s a good thing I don’t sweat or shiver. And I waited, and waited. Forgotten. There I go again, whining about my lot in life. But really. I’ve been a good suitcase, a faithful and rather handsome suitcase. I don’t deserve to be forgotten. But I’m supposed to be telling you about this thing called Christmas. I’ve learned a lot of words traveling through airports. I don’t always know how to use them but it helps when I’m telling a story. There was one short trip when I was taken out, my wheels were taken for a good spin, but then I was home again to the closet. Christmas - I have no idea what that means, but my owner’s much more cheerful when this Christmas thing comes along.
It was last year - not that I know what a year is. But I heard her telling this story last year. I was taken out of my very cold closet. Excited I thought a trip was in the offing. But no. I was taken down the stairs, quite empty. I was put, carefully I might add, on what is called a couch. My lid was lifted. A towel or blanket was put into my emptiness. I knew it - I was to become a lowly blanket storage space. And I just sat. Waiting for what I did not know. Then I felt it. Something soft, very small. Much smaller than any of her clothes. And then another. And then with a plump, a large soft and heavy something landed on my bent old ribs, moved around a bit and then settled. It actually felt quite good. But the last thing was the sound. Something like a little far away motor. I was just settling and about to fall asleep myself when my owner, who I was sure was not paying the least attention to me, said. “What are you doing in there?” The lovely soft warm lump was lifted up and away. “I suppose you thought I had forgotten you! No, you are now a very special suitcase. No more traveling for you.” As she talked, she began putting things magic and precious inside my old frame. “I’m filling you with memories: crystal icicles, sparkling Christmas cards, red and green ribbons and tiny silver Christmas balls. Little candles and Christmas tree ornaments. You are now my Christmas suitcase.”
“Christmas is doing a little something extra for someone.”
~ Charles M. Schulz
Wording
“Exploring, in baby steps, I welcome the ghosts………” Clayton sighed. “Now who do I talk to. I suppose I should just go talk to dad. I hate this English teacher! Giving us these dumb ‘stems’. That’s what he calls them.” He felt something. The hair on his neck was standing up, his neck was prickling, he was suddenly cold. “Is anybody there?” His adolescent voice hesitated, not sure what he should do. “Mom?” There was no sound except for a slow soft breathing. “Dad?” His voice was barely a breath.
“Yes, son, it’s me. Your father. What’s that you were saying about your English teacher? You know I’m your English teacher ~ or have you forgotten?” Walking down the hall from the funny little room he called his den, Richard overheard his son worrying over the English assignment. Another essay set for his students, he sometimes had a perverse, but brief, sense of glee when he saw all the students faces. Mostly annoyance. When he heard “I hate this English teacher.” he was sorry for setting them an almost impossible task.
“How can I help you, Clay? Come on out to the garage. I’m going to work on the Mustang before supper. We can talk about how to deal with this horrible English assignment. That teacher? He doesn’t sound like a very nice guy!” Richard Ellington ~ Mr. Ellington to his students ~ leaned against his son’s bedroom door.
Clayton slumped in his chair as soon as he heard his father’s voice. “Oh, Dad. You are a nice guy. When you’re being a teacher in class maybe not so nice. But what about the ghosts?! It’s not like it’s Hallowe’en. This doesn’t even fit in Christmas.” He got up from his chair, “Sure, I’ll come to the Mustang with you and watch you work.”
~~~~~
“Help me up, son.” Richard, on the flat creeper, rolled out from under his ‘baby’. He reached out his hand to his son. Clayton helped his father up. They both wiped the grease from their hands. “Let me tell you something about ghosts. Even Charles Dickens had his own ghosts.” He saw the puzzled look on his son’s face. “You do know who Charles Dickens is, don’t you?”
"Of course dad, but he wrote about ghosts.” He shook his head at his dad. Richard went on “Where do you think he got all his characters from? Where does any writer find their characters? They are all ghosts before they are put on the page! Thin, translucent and can vanish in an instant. Even then, the reader can only see them in their heads. So when you’re writing, just describe what and who you see in your head.”
Clayton had turned and walked away, shaking his head. “I knew it was a mistake to talk to dad about this. Now he’ll have to change the assignment because he’s helping me. All the kids pick on me anyway.” In a sing song voice he said “ ‘Your dad’s the teacher. You’re the teachers pet. Your dad’s the teacher. You’re the teachers pet.’ Who knows what he’ll come up with next. I won’t ask mom or dad next time.” He went in the house, closed the door and left his father standing scratching his head. Only the sparrows on the fence seemed interested.
“One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.”
~ Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums
is moving
home to home.
“Wherever you go, go with all your heart!”
~ Confucius
