Coming into a world
so down trodden and
beaten, each child born
knows only of
hunger and a yearning
to be cared for.
With the blossom of youth,
accepting life as it has become,
the yearning is still to be loved.
In the journey of
moments,
years and
decades
there is more doing than being
while beneath it all
remains the desire to be loved.
“We are all born for love. It is the principle
of existence and it’s only end.”
~ Benjamin Israeli, British Prime Minister & writer
.....that today is National Love Your Pet Day. I’m not certain how I feel about being included with all pets - or that I’m even considered a ‘pet’. After all who does run this household, with efficiency and proper timing? And only one day! Are we pets just supposed to be tolerated all the rest of the time? Please! We are really just too loveable every day. Oh, that’s right, I’m supposed to be offended to be considered one of the pet continuum. Well, just don’t forget to feed and love me - and all the rest of the pets (even dogs).
“You cannot share your life with a dog…or a cat, and not know
perfectly well that animals have personalities and minds and feelings.”
~ Jane Goodall,
primatologist & anthropologist
(1934 - 2025)
There were two of them ~
whirlwinds now spun away
leaving in their wake
toys,
games,
flowers,
a birthday card,
dishes swiped clean from chilli and stew
dishes crumbed with chocolate cake and
sweet memories of laughter, love and fun.
and one cautious black kitty out of hiding.
“Children have one kind of silliness, as you know,
and grownups have another kind.”
~ C.S. Lewis
Slipping through photos
each memory reaches out
to that part of my heart
where joy and love resides.
“Memory is a way of telling you what’s important to you.”
~ Salman Rushdie, author
Energy is not necessary
to read a book
to go outside
to be present
to focus on
what you love to do
Sparks of energy can come
from music
from silence
from a child’s laugh
energy bubbles up from joy.
“We accept the love we think we deserve.”
~ Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower
This is such a fun, romantic novel. I think I enjoyed this second read more. In my first review, I said I thought “the ending was rather weak”. On this read, I felt that it was just right. The trip down the Seine, in France, on Jean Perdu’s barge, the Literary Apothecary of books, took Jean, and his passengers Max and Cuneo on more than just a river cruise. It was learning about life and love for two middle aged men, Jean and Cuneo, and a young man, Max.
From May 15, 2019:
The Little Paris Bookshop will remain on my bookshelf to be reread and reread. Unfortunately for me and for this post, I was unable to attend our book group yesterday. A suspected cold (or was it allergies) had exhausted me, so erring on the side of caution I sadly missed the discussion. Nina George has penned a beautiful love story. From a man’s perspective. Monsieur Jean Perdu, his only love having left him twenty-one years past, has sealed off that part of his life. He does not speak her name, even to himself. He lives in an apartment in Paris surrounded my other long term residents. Most of them chatty, and a bit nosy, women who quite like him. One woman who has recently moved in, divorced and heartbroken, has nothing in the way of furniture. A brief encounter with her cracks open the seal he has so carefully guarded. His work is on a barge named the Literary Apothecary, where he provides books as a physician would write a prescription. Moored on the Seine, he shares this floating library with two cats, named Kafka and Lindgren. A young author, Max Jordan, has moved into the same apartment building and as the story progresses, joins Jean Perdu on his quest to find his long lost love and to resolve his great sadness. He has a problem with that scenario: he has learned that she has probably died. My only concern with this novel is that, for me, the ending is rather weak. Of course, I had decided on certain editorial changes that could have been done to make it more satisfying for me. Regardless, I loved this novel of Jean Perdu and his passengers as they travel down the Seine in fair and foul weather, stopping in ports along the way. Books, food, romance and France set the scene.
“And yes, being lovesick is like being in mourning. Because you die, because your future dies and you with it…There is a hurting time. It lasts for so long. But it gets better. I know that now.”
~ Nina George, The Little Paris Bookshop
Title: The Little Paris Bookshop
Author: Nina George
Copyright: 2013
Translation Copyright: 2015 (Simon Pare)
Published in the United States by Penguin Books
Format: Novel
Type: Hardcover and paperback
ISBN: 978-o-553-41879-8
ebook ISBN: 978-o-553-41878-1
Update:
Humdrum, mundane ~ two words that do not fit with this beautiful story. My second read of this story is fraught with the realities of war. I really didn’t want it to end, reading each page as a treasure. There is history in this story relating to the war between China and Japan. The tensions between Judge Teoh, and Aritomo, the gardener, because of the cruelties of the war, slowed their precious love story.
~~~~~
Original: September 2016
From the first page, the beautiful writing drew me into this story. The Garden of Evening Mists by Tan Twan Eng opened our new season at my book group. What a wonderful read. The story opens in Malaysia as Judge Teoh is taking an early retirement from the bench in Kuala Lumpur. Returning to the Cameron Mountains, she plans to go Yugiri, the Garden of Evening Mists. She reunites with Frederick Pretronis on Majuba Tea Estates neighbouring Yugiri.
Judge Yun Ling Teoh is returning to the Garden to recover her past and honour her sister. They had both been in a Japanese internment camp when she was nineteen and was the only surviving member of this brutal camp. Later she was a research clerk in the War Crimes Tribunal while waiting admission to law school at Cambridge University in 1949. Her early retirement was prompted by early signs of dementia. Yun Ling begins to write her memories that span forty years from World War II through the early 1950’s and into the 1980’s before they are lost to her.
Yun Ling’s story unfolds in layers of present and past, much like the layers in the Japanese gardens that she and her sister loved. The memory of the gardens that kept them alive in the camp. Yugiri was designed and cared for by Arimoto, who was once the gardener to the Japanese emperor. Yun Ling, despite her hatred of all Japanese, determined to keep her promise to her sister to create a Japanese garden.
Spontaneity in her life was as contrived as the outlines of Yurigi, whose stone placements, foliage and pathways were designed and placed with thought only to the image. Beneath the surface of the present images designed to deceive, lay feelings of hatred, anger, and the guilt that only a survivor knows. The principle of shakkei or borrowed scenery, the use of nearby or distant landscapes, including the sky, is used in Japanese gardening. This principle seems to be a part of Yun Ling’s whole story. The past, the present and memory all shaped her story without intent.
Winner of the Man Asian Literary Prize, The Garden of Evening Mists is a book I will read again.
“Memory is like patches of sunlight in an overcast valley,
shifting with the movement of the clouds. Now and then
the light will fall on a particular point in time, illuminating it
for a moment before the wind seals up the gap,
and the world is in shadows again.”
~ Tan Twan Eng, The Garden of Evening Mists
Title: The Garden of Evening Mists
Author: Tan Twan Eng
Publisher: Weinstein Books
Publication Date: 2012
Format: Soft Cover
ISBN: 978-1-60286-180-0 (pbk.)
ISBN: 978-1-60286-181-7 (e-book)
Type: Fiction
Relying on myself has been a pretty big deal over the last many years. In retrospect I couldn’t have made my sojourn to Texas, my return to Canada, my move to Victoria and my return to Regina without the help, support and love of family, friends and neighbours. These big moves were each so I could move forward. Garage sales, a traveling companion, Trip Tiks from my Uncle, phone calls, meals, encouragement, muscle, a bed for the night and just being there when asked. Sometimes, even when I didn’t ask. With each move, someone helped me find my way around a new city, new job and new friends.
I’ve made a lot of small moves within each city. I’ve received the same help and support regardless of my reasons. I bow my head to each of you.
“Always remember people who have helped you along the way,
and don’t forget to lift someone up.”
~ Roy T. Bennett, The Light in the Heart
Is there any purpose?
Should any of us be here?
Does any of it matter?
Seeking purpose, the answer is seldom in my mailbox or in a phone call, so
I am offered two choices:
throw a fine pity party or
wiggle my toes in the sand
gaze at the vast, blue sky,
say goodnight to the stars in the sky,
dance on the ground beneath my feet
and share in this great community
witnessing it all while I
live, love and have fun
leaning into life as it is and as it becomes
accepting cloudy days and the blossoms of spring
most of all to cherish family and friends.
“Yes, I know: the thread you have to keep finding, over again,
to follow it back to life; I know. Impossible, sometimes.”
~ Jean Valentine, Door in the Mountain:
New and Collected Poems 1965-2003
 |
| October, 2012 |
in the colours of a long ago autumn, under grey skies and blue umbrellas in the quiet of misty Vancouver Island rain.
“The scent of first rain; it always reminded me of that feverish first love”
~ Priya Prithiviraj, I Still Remember
Very Un-James-like
“Images flash before my eyes, James.” Martha was quiet. Usual for her when she was troubled. But not for long. James was a patient man, so continued reading his evening newspaper. “Are you sure you want to travel into the snow and mountains?” He folded his paper neatly and set it aside. He hadn’t told her that he was having second thoughts. James Digby, not one to spontaneity, always needed a plan. After reading his brother’s letter the week before, he had wanted to visit Tom right away. Thus the suggestion for a winter holiday. Martha had been both excited and hesitant at the time. They’d had little talk about it in the days to follow, but he had noticed that Martha had been unusually quiet, so hadn’t brought it up. “Yes, I heard you. What has you worried?”
“Oh, all the airport issues that have been in the news, people not getting to where they want to go or getting home. I know that most of that is the south holidays but I can’t help but think it would affect all the rest of travel. Then, we really aren't ‘snow people’ James. And I heard Miss Emelina saying there is a new Omicron variant out there. Something about more transmission or something. James we can’t afford to get sick and not be at home and Tom and Sofia get sick because of us……..” She stopped to take a breath. “ Martha, I’ve had second thoughts as well. I just wanted to see Tom when I brought it up, but I’ve had time to consider all the risks. We’re not that young anymore. I also saw the pandemic issues brought up in the paper tonight.”
Martha brightened. “Let’s go out to supper James! It’s been too quiet around here and we’re getting to be a couple of old fogeys.” She already had her jacket on, and picked up her purse. “Wait for me!” James had been ready to just put his feet up and listen to some opera. It was his habit to enjoy the quiet. “I guess we have been too quiet, but shouldn’t we be cautious about this new variant. A restaurant?”
“James Digby, don’t be an old fuddy-duddy. Of course we should be cautious, but if we go to our same restaurant, wear our masks and do all that social distancing, we should be all right. They are so good about cleaning all the tables, still wearing masks…..they take care of their customers.” She handed him his jacket, took out their umbrellas and started out the door. “It’s still wet from the snow, Martha, be careful where you step.”
~~~~~
Arriving at the restaurant, it had started to rain heavily just as they parked. “It’s not much of a walk to the door, but let’s not get soaking wet before we go in.” James agreed and they both hoisted their umbrellas against the rain's onslaught. A quick glance across the parking lot for cars coming, they walked quickly to the door. Shaking the rain from their umbrellas, they folded them up and stepped into the warm foyer. “Here, James, I brought a bag for them so we don’t drip all over the floor.” Stashing them away, she looked up. “My, it’s busy in here tonight. Isn’t that Samuel and Elizabeth over there.” She waved. Elizabeth had seen them come in and beckoned them over just as the maitre’d was about to ask them where they’d like to sit. “I see our friends over there, dear, we may be joining them.” The young woman nodded and spoke to the next group in line, thinking to herself, ‘I hope they do, because they won’t get a table.’ A new smile pasted on her face behind her black mask, she hoped her eyes crinkled enough and went to the work of escorting the group to the only remaining table.
“Come, join us!” Elizabeth scooched over in the booth to let Martha in. Samuel moved his coat behind him. “Here James, guess this seat’s for you.” Everyone settled, they beckoned their waiter over. Elizabeth volunteered “Could we have two more table settings, please? Our friends are joining us. We can share our menus.” A cheerful young man, he quickly brought the necessary settings. “I’ll bring water for everyone and give you time to look at the menus.” Samual already knew what he was having and slid his menu over to James. “The Philly steak’s on special tonight. They do a good one here.” Turning to the ladies: “I suppose you’ll be having salads.” Elizabeth looked at him sharply. “Sam Forrester. I cook all day, every day and it’s time for me to have someone else’s cooking. I’m having that fancy steak and mashed potatoes dish ~ see here on the menu. Then I’m having the tiramisu.”
Samuel laughed. “I suppose I’m paying for it all.” Only James and Martha knew that they went on regular date nights and Samuel always paid the tab. If he was ever questioned about it “I’m old fashioned and the man pays for his girl.” Their young man returned to take their orders. The men just saw themselves in the young men doing what he needed to hold body and soul together. The women, a sly nod to each other, saw the young man of their teenage dreams waiting on them. He saw the two couples as ‘elderly’. He had gotten used to being eyed approvingly, by women old enough to be his grandmother. At first embarrassed by it, now he was just respectful of them.
~~~~~
Over their suppers, they had discussed the world’s problems, including the winter trip that the Digby’s had considered. Solving little but the fact winter was no time to be traveling in the mountains, they enjoyed each other’s company away from the Estate. Paying their bills, they went their separate ways. The rain had let up and the clouds had cleared. A oval waning moon, lit up the dark Island night. City streets glistened black, reflecting streetlights and traffic lights. “Let’s drive along the water, Martha. Out of the city’s glare.” Martha patted his arm. “Why James, are you taking me to park? I’m not sure my parents would approve of you keeping me out this late.” He pulled into a parking space above the ocean. “You’ve caught me, my sweet. That’s exactly what I’m doing.” He turned the car off, put his arm around his wife and stroked her hair. She leaned into him and sighed. “It’s been a wonderful evening.”
“Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess’d,
when but love’s shadows are so rich in joy!”
~ William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
