Book Review: Dandelion by Jamie Chai Yun Liew

Such a poignant and eye-opening read! The opening page is Lily, pregnant and reminiscing about her mother, rubbing her ankle just as her mother had years before. Set in Sparwood, B.C., Ah Loy, Lily’s father works in the mine and is content with his life in Canada. Swee Hua, his wife is very unhappy with Canada. Moving from China, to Brunei and finally immigrating to British Columbia, they settled in mining community of Sparwood. Their children, Lily and Bea, were born in Canada making Ah Loy very proud. He had been stateless in both China and Brunei. Swee Hua does not share his feelings, and seems to be from a different class. Their dialects are different, even within their Chinese neighbourhood: Hakka, Hokkein, Cantonese and Mandarin often indicating class. Jamie Chai Yun Liew has filled this story with issues of immigration, Chinese heritage and the many dialects, family secrets, motherhood, racism and mixed cultures, all seen through Lily’s eyes as a child, then a wife and a new mother. 

Swee Hua deserted the family when Lily was 11. No note and all her things gone. When Ah Loy looked for his wife with many calls to his family in Brunei, and in the surrounding Sparwood area there was no trace. 

Lily is left with the nagging question of what happened to cause her mother to leave them. She carries it with her through her life, even concerned that it was something she may have done or not done. This while her sister Bea was just angry with their mother. Lily preferred learning her husband John’s Ukrainian culture and didn’t want anything to do with anything Chinese, while her sister respected and enjoyed their Chinese cultures. 

Lily especially missed her mother when her daughter was born. Her Auntie Choo Neo, Ah Loy’s sister, took on many of the responsibilities but purposely tried not to replace Swee Hua. She accompanied John and Lily, and their baby, Leonida, in an extended search for her mother, Swee Hua. The conversations that Lily and Auntie Choo Neo had on the plane both there and back struggled through the emotions of the past and whether they would find Swee Hua.

None of these details are skimmed over to include them all. The pacing of this very textured story is steady and comfortable. This story, complete with Chinese characters at the beginning of each chapter, is beautifully written. 

“It was as if they were pollen that was lifted by the wind 

and landed in this place when the air quieted, unplanned, 

unprepared, planting themselves in soil they did not choose.”

~ Jamie Chai Yun Liew, Dandelion

Title: Dandelion

Author: Jamie Chai Yun Liew

Cover and Text Design: Jazmin Welch

Cover and Interior Art: Ophelia Liew

Edited by: Catharine Chen and Shirarose Wilensky

Copyright: 2022

Publisher: Arsenal Pulp Press

Type: Fiction

Format: Soft Cover

ISBN: 9781551528816

Canadiana (ebook): 20210390816

Without a Stethoscope

Listen to your heart 

to follow a path that 

no one else can see or hear. 

That tiny thumping voice 

says more than the most 

exquisite poem. The 

trip-hammering of excitement. The slow plodding of a day’s 

exhaustion. The ragged race of grief. The steady thrum that paces 

out each step along a path. 

Listen to your feeling heart 

that speaks in a language 

without sound.

“Language is the blood of the soul into which 

thoughts run, and out of which they grow.”

~ Oliver Wendell Holmes

Being Alive ~1

“I just want to feel alive.” I couldn’t believe I said that! Suddenly I realized what day it was. My mom passed on this day 1971, suddenly and tragically. With that realization, I felt alive. Still missing a certain amount of energy, but I felt my toes, my skin, my face. And I felt grateful and sad. Not unhappy. The sadness had become too heavy to carry and did nothing to honour mom’s life. 

On my walk home this afternoon, I looked up at the sky, clouds barely covering the blue, through the heavy lace of old elm tree branches with awe. I no longer remember the touch of her hand or the sound of her voice; photos remind me of her face, yet I feel her presence daily - especially in the kitchen!

“I love you every day. And now I will miss you every day.”

~ Mitch Albom, For One More Day

This post dedicated to my mom.

988 Suicide Crisis Helpline

 - calls or texts to 9-8-8, free of charge.

 - the 9-8-8 service can be used by anyone in Canada, 

including children or youth

 - Go to 988.ca for more information

An Idea to Dance To

Determined to develop something new, something fresh…….but what? Ted had been in his 9 to 5 office job for so long that he had grown restless. It was a restlessness full of anxiety. It had been a good job. He’d worked his way up in the company, with a good salary. Benefits were excellent; he wouldn’t have to worry about his finances. His married life was over. His beloved Grace of fifty-five years had passed away. They had had plans to travel; to visit their children scattered over the globe. Get to know their grandchildren. Now he didn’t know whether he could do that. He’d listened to the office talk about ‘The Golden Bachelor’ TV series. From the gossipy chatter, he could tell that life wasn’t for him. His wife’s passing was still too fresh. 

It had been too easy to get up, get ready for work, have breakfast, drive the 10 km to work and be at his desk by 8:45am. Do his management job until 5 and head home. Sometimes late if an issue came with one of the staff. But he liked to keep his time to the minute. He’d pick up Grace, when she was still working, and they go for supper. Now it was microwaved meals or a burger at the diner close to home. He always picked up his mail after work, kept the bills out and threw away the flyers, the coupons for meals, any junk mail. But one was different. He was tempted to throw it out with the recycling, but it was maybe the bright colours and the ink pencil sketch of a couple dancing that caught his eye. There it was: Jazz Dancing Lessons! He and Grace had loved to dance but they had never gotten brave enough to do anything but a standard waltz, maybe a little bit of jive. He propped the brochure in front of the salt and pepper shaker. Sat down with his microwaved Mac and cheese and studied it. “What do you think, Grace?” Her picture was always with him at meal times, her gentle face smiling at him. “I think you should go for it, Ted.” Startled he looked up. “Don’t look so surprised ~ you asked my opinion. Dance, my darling.” In her chair across from him, he could see her. He reached out to touch her and she was gone. 

That evening, Ted called the Dance Studio.

“Show me slowly what I only know the limits of 

Dance me to the end of love." 

~ Leonard Cohen, Leonard Cohen: Poems and Songs

From My Window

I have looked to the window on the world too much these days. My heart feels broken when I hear the devastation visited on families. And I don’t know what to do. Until I look across the street and see the beauty that is right in front of me. The golden leaves will grace the streets, in winter there will be icy beauty on that same tree and springtime will bring new green growth. I can see all of that from my window as I write. Fear for the future and grief for the fallen fade into the background. My faith in humanity has wavered but is strong again.

“Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt.”

~ Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Where Nurses Come From

Nursing is not a solitary task. We must find a place of solitude when creating relationship with our patients, while remembering the demands and exceptions of the outside world. Before the work and soul of nursing, we were girls and young women. In nursing education before the 1970’s in Saskatchewan, we entered a three year diploma program. We lived 300 strong in a Nurses Residence, rooming with a stranger following the same path. We learned about physicians and the power they held, and had to learn our own place in health care. We learned about medicines and surgeries, wheelchairs and dietary restrictions. We wore starched uniforms and caps; black stockings in First Year and white stockings after successful completion of that first terrifying, exciting First Year. The shoes! Very sturdy and boring. Definitely not dancing shoes, but serviceable. Our white, starched and very annoying, caps: no band in First Year or Second Year; a blue band in Third year. Many of the procedures and equipment are pieces of history now. What is the same is that sick and injured people need the care that nurses give 24/7, no matter the staffing shortages, pandemics, or tragedies. 

Most, if not all, of our class of 1968 have retired; we have lost too many over the years to the illnesses we have all cared for. Some of these young girls, now older women, are gathering this weekend for our 55th Class Reunion. Those lost to us will be sadly missed. Those not attending due to distance or circumstance will also be missed. Yearbooks and mementos always bring forth memories to compete with good food, many tears and a lot of laughter. 

“Panic plays no part in the training of a nurse.”

~ Elizabeth Kenny

Special Shadows

People come to us 

with their stories, 

tapestries woven 

in the glare of success, 

the brilliance of achievement, 

the dank, darkness of grief, 

ordinary days ~

lost in the shuffle,

while stitch by stitch

in clarity or fog

we are the people who come…. 

“You write your life story by the choices you make.”

~ Helen Mirren

For Eva

Eva, my son’s sweet and beautiful dog, passed today.

Some things in this world 

happen so suddenly 

it takes our breath away, 

breaks our hearts and 

doesn’t wait for us to keep up. 

We are stopped.

Grasp of reality lost. 

Future no longer exists

Memories try to fill the void

Confidence trembles

Tear stained grasps for solid ground begins 

“…love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.”

~ Khalil Gibran

Movie Review: A Man Called Otto directed by Marc Forster

I’ve not cried in a movie for a very long time. Or had such a good laugh! The opening scene in a hardware store assures us that Tom Hanks (Otto) is a grumpy, and quite unpleasant, old man. He patrols his neighbourhood with an almost religious fervour. Meeting cheerful neighbours in this morning patrol is met with a barely heard grunt and a sour face. Then new neighbours move in. The wife, Marisol, (Mariana Treviño) is yammering at her husband Tommy (Manual Garcia-Rulfo) in Spanish directing him to park their small car and U-Haul. The husband does not know how to parallel park properly at all. To shut up the noise, Otto bolts across the street, directs the parking process, and when that is unsuccessful growls at poor Tommy to get out of the car and give him the keys. Otto does it himself. When he has the phone, power and lights turned off, it is curious but seems in character. As the story unravels we learn Otto’s back story that has pushed him away from living. Mariana, however, is persistent, pregnant and has two young daughters. She gives him home prepared meals. Her daughters ignore Otto's grumpiness and insist that he read them stories. Throughout the movie, with each unsuccessful attempt to join his beloved Sonya (Rachel Keller), he is called on to help one of his neighbours. He goes willingly and with much frustration. Later scenes at this wife’s gravesite are poignant and tell us of his deep grief. A very touching and very real story, toward the end he is known as Abuelo Otto. How he gets there is the story.

“Of all the imaginable things he most misses about her, the thing 

he really wishes he could do again is hold her hand in his.”

~ Fredrik Backman, A Man Called Ove

Directed by: Marc Forster

Based on the novel: A Man Called Ove written by Fredrik BackmanWriting Credits: David Magee, Fredrik Backman, Hannes Holm

Abbreviated Cast: 

Tom Hanks - Otto

Mariana Treviño - Marisol (neighbour)

Manuel Garcia-Rulfo - Tommy (Marisol’s husband)

Christiana Montoya - Luna (Marisol’s daughter)

Alessandra Perez - Abbie (Marisol’s daughter)

Juanita Jennings - Anita - neighbour

Peter Lawson - Reuben- Anita’s husband

Cameron Britton - Jimmy (lives with Anita & Reuben)

Mack Bayda - Malcom (paper delivery)

Christmas Present

Ghosts of Christmas’ past 

vie for my attention like a child’s tug o’ war ~ 

soft glow and fond memories of family, food and fun, 

against gray grief 

    and angry angst that seem, 

each of their own accord, 

to want a solid win. 

To date, no concrete decision!

honour bound, each finally bows to the other’s need

the struggle, the tug o’ war, is a draw: 

one cannot survive without the other

The Winner:  Christmas Present

“Christmas gives us the opportunity to pause 

and reflect on the important things around us.”

~ David Cameron

On an Afternoon Walk - Remnants

Remnants of an old tragedy 

singed the edges of my soul  ~

a phantom threat to joys 

of the season until I saw 

this overgrown boulder and,

along side it, a tender tree 

dormant in the cold 

silent life resting in

strengthening roots and slender form.

Then I knew ~ 

I had wrapped grief 

around me and when its warmth stifled

let honour take its place ~ honour

for my mother and the life

she may have wanted.

“If there ever comes a day when we can’t be together, 

keep me in your heart, I’ll stay there forever.”

~ Winnie the Pooh

Standing Alone - From My Journal

My journal: Nov. 22 2016. Long before I retired, or moved, or the invasion of this virus. I was working on writing exercises that month, specifically Creating Settings. I rather liked the setting and story I created on that day. It also seemed to fit this November's Permission theme. Giving permission to ourselves to feel our feelings is important. This time of year, as the Christmas season ramps up, it is too easy to ignore our feelings in our rush to fix one more Christmas. In this time of Covid 19, far too many of us in cities, towns or country are alone. So here is my little piece:

Standing Alone

“The colour of the sea and the sky are one. Only the softness of the clouds is different from the choppy waves. All is greyness and damp. The ships flag hangs limply, wilted against the flag, too wet to be flapping in the brisk wind, wrapped around the pole trying to get out of the rain. Morning came early and in the dark wet there was little light. Only from inside the ship. Where stewards with urns of steaming coffee were posted just inside the portals. Stepping outside, not caring about the weather, I stood alone on the prow, away from the heat of the great body of passengers stirring inside the great town-ship. There is a space, a void in my heart that is as gray and dark as the morning. I know I can step inside to the warmth and camaraderie of the ship, but cling to my loneliness as one clings to a life raft. The captain says the rain will soon stop, but will my tears? I have left a life behind me that I can’t return to until I have released the pain from my heart to the elements. A pain never truly gone but no longer flooding my soul as the rains and the ocean flood all around me. There is a loneliness that heals.”

“Remember: the time you feel lonely is the time 

you most need to be by yourself. Life’s cruelest irony.”

~ Douglas Coupland, Shampoo Planet

Chapter Two, Episode Thirty-Two - It’s a Plan - Situationally Theirs

Review, Revision, Edit and Update

I had a lot of cleaning up to do! Sentence structure was a bit of a mess further on in this episode. No misspellings, one or two punctuation issues, just sentence structure. I always surprise myself when I leave things in such a mess.

My apologies!

It's a Plan

Tender new shoots pushed through the soil. Samuel had carefully prepared his gardens as he did every spring. Gardens really owned by the Beaufort Estate, Samuel Forrester had tended them so long that they seemed to belong to each other. In the new greenhouse, the one Miss Emelina had built the previous spring, he had tender tomatoes, beans, beets, carrots and more all ready to transplant in a few weeks. Although the Island weather was more agreeable than other parts of Canada, his father had always cautioned him. “Not til after May 24th, son. Your grandpa never planted outside before that because ‘Weather can turn bad. You’d lose all your hard work.’” Most years, the weather stayed, but he was pretty strict about planting. The forecast for the next few weeks was full of warm sun and light breezes. He knew be doing a lot of puttering and working the soil to avoid planting early. 

Heading home for the night, he wondered how Elizabeth was doing. He was not a man who knew how to deal with a woman crying, and when it was Elizabeth, he was really stumped. Calling Martha to come over had been Elizabeth’s idea and he as glad of it. About to open his front door, he paused, his cell phone buzzing. “Now, who could that be? It’s gettin’ pretty late for phone calls.” He glanced at the call display - Elizabeth! “Hope it’s not another panic call…….Elizabeth? How're you doing?”

“I’m just fine Samuel. I want to thank you for coming over the other night and for the raspberries. Martha and I finished them off - none left at all.” Elizabeth had put the last pot away, made sure the refrigerator was stocked and called him before leaving for home. “Martha stayed overnight with me. We talked late, late. Drank tea, ate cake and all the raspberries. I’m all cried out now, Samuel. But enough of that.”

Samuel, in the house, took his hat off and sat down in his easy chair while Elizabeth was talking. “You sound like your old self. Maybe a little wore out, but pretty good. What're you goin' to do now?”

“Today, I’ve been at work. Such a relief! The other thing I want to talk to you about, Samuel, is a picnic on Sunday.” Elizabeth heard a muttered grumble. “Before you get all blustery about it, we’ll get  picnic tables out. Nobody’s going to sit on the grass. First of all it’s still too wet and second, you’ll be hard to get along with for weeks.”

He decided he’d better hear her out. He didn’t want to get her upset again. She may have said she’s all right, but he knew her better than that. “All right then, Elizabeth, tell me all about this turn around. What do you need me to do?”

“Well, it started when I went to James office to order some groceries.”……………….

~~~~~

“James, are you busy?” Elizabeth tapped on James' office door. “Just finishing something up, Elizabeth, but come in and sit down. I’ll be right with you…..Okay, what do you need? How are you?”

Elizabeth Saunders, Cook for the Beaufort Estate, had everyone concerned. It had not been like her to fall apart. Today, she seemed quite fine, as though nothing untoward had happened. He'd learned of her only sister's passing when Martha had stopped into his office in the morning. He turned from his desk to listen to her. “Oh, I’m just fine, James. Everything is just fine and Miss Emelina has given me a job to get done this weekend. Dr. Jeremy has some days off and the two of them will be living in the upstairs. I’ll be ordering groceries in the morning for their meals.”

“That’s quite all right, Elizabeth. Go ahead and order what ever you need. I wonder if Dr. Jeremy remembered that Miss Emelina’s birthday on Sunday.” As long as James had been butler for the Estate, he had kept note of everyone’s birthdays.

“Oh my, I had forgotten. I’ll make sure there’s something special for her. Hmm…….” Elizabeth looked out the window.

“What is it? What are you planning, Elizabeth? I know that look - it’s the same one Martha has when she’s up to something?” James sat forward in his chair, smiling.

“Well, can I use your phone? I need to call Martha. I can’t say anything more until I talk with her.”

~~~~~

Samuel wondered what Elizabeth had cooked up. “Martha and I have decided on a picnic for the wedding reception for Dr. Jeremy and Miss Em and for Miss Em's birthday. It’s short notice for Miss Dez, Matt, and Giles and Melanie, but Martha has already called them and they’ll be able to come. James will be calling Dr. Jeremy to get him in on the surprise.” Elizabeth sounded more excited than Samuel had known she could be, especially after her upset of the last few days. “This is where you come in Samuel - you’ll need Giles to help with the picnic tables. We need to have good distancing for us all…………..”

~~~~~

Elizabeth’s sore heart had been eased. In the quiet of her home that evening, only the scratch of pen on paper and the tick of the clock could be heard. She kept her box of tissues handy to keep her eyes dry while she wrote. Finished, she folded the paper, slid it in an envelope and addressed it to Charles B. Pickham. “I’ll get a stamp at the post office tomorrow. It is so strange that this letter is to Lily's husband and not my dear sister Lily. I will miss her forever.”

“Tears shed for another person are not a sign of weakness. 

They are a sign of a pure heart.”

~ José N. Harris