Drawing on Voice

Veronica and Betty, teenagers and best friends, didn’t have much of a voice in the 1960’s; more than their mothers before them and less than their granddaughters today. Spinning from comic books to graphic novels, to TV and to movies they advanced like chess pieces, only a smidge, so their voices could be heard but still easily silenced. But Veronica and Betty, still teenagers, were best friends then, all the way to now. From comic book characters to stars of the silver screen, still chasing Archie, Veronica is still rich and Betty, that girl next door.

“It takes courage to grow up and become you really are.”

~ e.e.cummings

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

A Storied Visit

The  progress we’ve made in this life is so fascinating. We have brought our hearts with us and our stories. The stories of how our parents lived and raised us. The stories of crinolines and houses. Crinolines that fluffed out poodle skirts and the saddle shoes we wore. Cold, cold houses without insulation we take for granted today. Stories that come flooding about getting dressed under the covers, dancing the twist and teenage enchantment of the music of the day. Verandahs that held magic, fun and plants on the window sills. Hardwood floors to slide on when the waxing was done. Stories of all of that fun that we had as kids. The hard, hard work our parents did to keep us fed, clothed and educated. The memories are beautiful and too often tinged with great sadnesses. We build our storied memories without knowing what will have been special pieces of our lives. Some will be stories shared with siblings. Shared stories like multicoloured glass panels in an amazing mobile. Beautiful panes of glass etched with shades of each experience. Special moments of age and of time. As children we treasured moments without knowing it ~ we each hold these fragile pieces of our shared memories.

“Grown ups are complicated creatures, full of quirks and secrets.”

~ Roald Dahl

In Memory - Darryl Ward

Looking through old family photos for a picture of Darryl Ward was not completely futile. Ever the boy, teen and man that brought smiles and laughs to many faces, it was curious that he was not in family pictures in my collection. There was one family picture with Darryl sitting on the front row, but he was in shadow, much like his passing has brought to his family and his friends. I tried to clear it up, but an old picture and my limited technology didn’t allow it. Another photo was of a disgruntled teenage Darryl avoiding the camera. The clear photograph I did find is one that brought a smile to my face as I remember Darryl this day. Darryl’s smiling, clear-eyed, upside-down face ~ a soul that spread joy and fun just because....

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

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

~ Winnie the Pooh

After School

A good book

words flowing

telling a story

of deep faith

until

they lift gently off the page

word by word

mixing

swirling

eddying

floating through

the trapped air of

the city bus

the story put away

calming the words within

away from bright teenage chatter

punctuated only by giddy laughter

and the ding of ‘Stop Requested’.

“Pay attention to the intricate patterns of 

your existence that you take for granted.”

~ Doug Dillon

Understanding

Our first Writer's Ink group of 2017.  Our assignment for this month was to begin with - 'Just tell me why you did that……' The following is my offering for today. I had fun writing this bit of dialogue this morning.

Understanding

“Just tell me why you did that. I really don’t understand and I would like to.”

“I threw the lamp across the room because I am so frustrated with getting old!!!” Myrtle was sitting on the floor with a colourful box of tissues, wiping her eyes.

“But throwing things is what children and teenagers do. Have you lost your mind or are you just regressing into your second childhood?!” Her daughter, Sophie, was scared. Scared and feeling helpless.

“Neither.” Myrtle blew her nose and tried to land a the tissue in the wastebasket. “See, I’m too old to even hit even a wastebasket anymore.”

“Well then, why, mom? Do I need to take you to a doctor to see if there’s anything wrong? You’re on the floor? Did you fall?” Sophie had never seen her mom like this.

“No, I don’t want to see a doctor. I didn’t fall. And I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Good heavens! How can I help you if you don’t tell me how I can fix things for you?”

“Oh, honey. You can’t fix things for me unless you have a magic wand to reverse aging - including your own. It’s just that, sometimes, the principles that I’ve lived by and believed in, have become as invisible and ancient as I feel. And yet our world is dealing with all the same problems that I just know I could fix.”

“Will I ever understand what you’re going through?”

“Oh, you will, but not today. I remember having this same conversation with your grandfather when I was your age. Only he didn’t throw a lamp. He kicked his vintage Oldsmobile. He loved that car. The rest of us kids couldn’t even touch it without his permission. Anyway, we had the same conversation. Now I know what he was feeling and you will too at some point in your own growing up.”

“Growing up? I thought we were talking about aging?” Now Sophie was really concerned and confused.

“Well, sweetie, aging is just another phase in the growing up process - just a different bunch of numbers.”

“So. Let me get this straight. When I was a kid and I threw something and I broke it, you gave me hell and told me to grow up. So I did as I was told, at least in front of you and dad, and stopped throwing things. Now you’re throwing things and said you’re just growing up? Are you sure you don’t need to see some kind of doctor?”

“Well I don’t know any good broken lamp doctors, and I really did a good job on this one, didn’t I?” Myrtle smiled. Deep inside, and a bit shamefully, she was amused at her poor daughter’s reactions.

“So what’s the moral, mom? You always have a moral - that’s one of your principles.”

“Here it is: If the lamp is broke, don’t even try to fix it. Go shopping for a new one………...

Sophie finished her mother’s sentence……"…..and get over it. Just grow up.”

“Growing up, I have discovered over time, 

is rather like housework; never finished.”

~ Lois McMaster Bujold

Book Review: The Illegal by Lawrence Hill

I hesitated to write this review tonight because of the election in the United States. Not many will show an interest in a book review when the government of a neighbouring country is mired in the election of two figures who both have questionable popularity. 

However, Lawrence Hill’s most recent book, The Illegal does show the reader what can happen when a government disrespects individuals within their countries. The Illegal read like a political thriller, fairly perdictable and straight forward, with completely fictional countries in a completely fictional sea. The protagonist, Keita Ali, is the main ‘illegal’ amid many, many individuals that were undocumented or just the wrong social group. That is unless they were useful to someone in governmental or monetary power. Journalism and the spread of alternate ideas and exposés was brutally excised. Keita Ali is a young man whose only desire is to be a marathon runner, yet he finds his ability to run races easily challenged by needing to stay ahead of those that would control, kill or maim him. His father, an independent journalist, is killed by this government. Later in the story, his sister is imprisoned, again by the government. Keita Ali must run actual races for the money to save his sister, and run a race against time to meet the deadline he was given to get the money in.

My main take away of this story, is that when there is trouble, many very disparate people step up to help. Keita Ali comes in contact with several characters, all completely different in gender, age and ability, that ultimately aid him in his race to the finish.  Tough Viola Hill, proud, gay, and disabled, is a hard headed journalist who wants to find out the truth about government corruption and a disappeared young woman. John Falconer, a young and very gifted teenager, runs throughout the story, chasing down the players for a documentary that he is making for a school assignment. Ivernia Beech, an 85 year old woman who is at risk of losing her independence finds purpose in helping many illegals and especially Keita. These are only three, but they each find their own place in the story.

An easy read, The Illegal told a story that, globally, most are all too familiar with. Refugees that are homeless and stateless and must just survive. Lawrence Hill has made this struggle palatable for his readers. 

“Every voter knew that the Family Party had come to power promising to deport Illegals, to manage it’s borders more efficiently and to ensure that people of traditional European stock weren’t overrun in their own country.”

~ Lawrence Hill, The Illegal

Title:  The Illegal

Author:  Lawrence Hill

Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

Publication Date: Hardcover 2015

Format:  Pbk edition 2016

ISBN: 978-1-55468-384-0 (hc.)

Type:  Fiction

Saturday Afternoon at the Symphony with Elvis

It was an amazing tribute. A Tribute to the King. Once more this gang of rather mature teenagers took our seats for an afternoon at the symphony. Elvis and Symphony!? Scott Coulter, Graham Bailey, Justin Talkington and Michael Holland with Danny Mallon on drums took us from the 1950’s through the Las Vegas years. They clearly told us they weren’t Elvis impersonators. Their show was their tribute to Elvis Presley, with bits of history added between songs. They included the Jordanaires, who sang backup vocals for Elvis from 1956 to 1972, in this musical tribute. I did not sit still throughout, except during the ‘slow’ songs (Are You Lonesome Tonight). Backed up by the Victoria Symphony, the music rocked with depth and power that I’m confident would have made Elvis proud. I mean really, kettle drums, cellos, brass and violins! It was just plain fun. (The early years were my favourite - Heartbreak Hotel, Blue Suede Shoes…….)

“Rock and roll music, if you like it, if you feel it, you can’t help 

but move to it. That’s what happens to me. I can’t help it.”

~ Elvis Presley

Learning to Believe

When I was tiny

I learned to believe that 

I would always be too small

When I was little

I learned to believe that

I would never be good enough

When I was a teen

I learned to believe that

I would never be right enough

When I was a young adult 

I learned to believe that

I would never be fast enough

Now I am older.

I have learned to believe that

by willing to be small,

I am always

good enough

right enough

fast enough.

“The most useful piece of learning for the 

uses of life is to unlearn what is untrue.”

~ Antisthenes