Friday, February 18, 2011

Books: The Flight from the Enchanter

Finished Iris Murdoch’s The Flight from the Enchanter last night. This was her second novel, published in 1956 when she was roughly my age now. As always, I find her descriptions of relationships fascinating and her characters intriguing. However, this isn’t one of her better books and the plot was disjointed, the characters a little too enigmatic to be able to fully enjoy.

The Times Literary Supplement said about this book: “Most readers will probably find something in The Flight from the Enchanter to amuse or interest them, yet few possibly will have any great feeling of satisfaction when they put it down.” That expresses quite well how I feel.

Typical of Murdoch’s novels, The Enchanter tells several overlapping stories. There is one character, Misha Fox, which I assume is the enchanter – but while his behind-the-scenes manipulation was suggested at throughout the novel, frustratingly the extent of his influence was never actually revealed.

Another central character is a woman named Rosa who leads a tangled life which includes complex relationships with illegal Polish immigrants, the dominating Misha Fox, a spineless brother and a flighty boarder. There is also a plot line around an old feminist magazine which is run by her brother but threatened by Fox. The most broadly entertaining part of the novel was when the founding ladies of the magazine, now grey-haired and hard of hearing, arrive at an annual meeting to prevent the magazine from being sold – a meeting which descends into scrimmages over champagne and tea yet manages to save the journal.

There are various other characters who get more or less developed as the book goes by. It almost feels at times as if Murdoch was never quite sure where to go with this. Perhaps she invented for herself such a colourful, populated world that she could not figure a way to leave anything or anyone out. But ultimately, this weakens the novel as the story meanders and finally peters out, leaving the reader with the dangling threads of unanswered questions.

Yet despite this negative review, I still enjoyed the book. Murdoch’s characters are so far from two-dimensional – it is no wonder that they often slip out from her grasp.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Defended!

So the defence went as well as it could. I had about 10 minutes to present my thesis. I was asked questions by the two members of my committee. For all the formality of the defence, the questioning was quite informal – more like a discussion than a firing squad.

The funny part was that I forgot to invite people to this defence. So it if hadn’t been for a friend who happened to be in town, and who V happened to think about inviting this morning, V would have been the only person at my defence who as not required to be there. It was strange to be in a large room set up with seating for about 20 and have only 2 guests. But this added to the informality and ease of it all.

It almost seemed like we should have been doing the whole thing over coffee – with such a small gathering (8 people in total), it seemed odd to be seated alone at a table facing a practically empty room.

After all the questions my committee left the room for about 10 minutes. When they came back, the chair announced that my thesis was accepted without revisions, given the highest mark, recommended for a prize and for publication. This doesn’t mean that I will get a prize or get published, just that they recommend it. Feels very good.

And as you can see from the photo, there was quite the spread laid out – fruit and cheese platters, crackers and 3 bottles of wine! Everyone sampled and sipped a little as we stood around talking afterward. But given that it wasn’t yet noon, we were all quite restrained.

Afterward V and I went for a lovely lunch at Domus, where it was nice to see old co-workers and my former manager – and to enjoy the complimentary glasses of bubbly sent to our table. I think over lunch it was finally sinking in that I really did get the best outcome I could have hoped for with my thesis. After all this time, it was a very nice way to finish.

But now I must say I mostly feel tired. Heading off to bed.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Prepping for my defence

So tomorrow I defend my thesis. It’s been such a whirlwind with my new job that I have not had the time to prepare as I would have expected to.

But today I think I have managed to get the important things done: I bought a new top to wear and got a hair cut (not thrilled about it, but at least I don’t look quite so shaggy). Oh yes, I also prepared my speaking notes and a hand-out for people who will attend (and who might they be? I have no idea – apart from knowing that my committee and my husband will be there. Perhaps that will be it.)

I’ve also spent some time preparing answers to the questions I’d been given in advance. I wonder if by having the questions beforehand the expectations are going to be higher. It’s like a take-home exam versus an in-class one. I remember when I naively thought that a take-home would be less work – until I realized that I ended up writing an exam for 20 hours as opposed to 3. Now I say give me an in-class exam any day, although I do apologize for my handwriting which after two hours becomes an illegible scrawl.

So do I feel ready for tomorrow? I guess so. Don’t really have a choice, which is probably just as well. Sometimes I find that the less time I have to prepare, the less time I have to be nervous. I used to get so nervous about giving presentations when I was an undergrad – then I discovered that if I reached a certain point of stress , I would care more about simply getting it done than about how I would do. This would get rid of my nervousness (no time for such foolishness!) and I would actually end up doing better on my presentation. Fight of flight.

And so it is just as well that I go in to tomorrow with only a modicum of preparation. But on the other hand, I have now been researching this topic for 3 years and I am quite sure that I will know it better than anyone who will be in that room.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Bill C-23B - part II

Yesterday I wrote about how Bill C-23B, a piece of legislation on the table, aims at extending the length of time before which offenders can receive pardon. I said that I would explain today how such legislation could actually make communities less safe.

First, to be clear, pardons do not mean that people’s criminal records are erased, but that the information is removed from public record so as to improve their chances of obtaining employment and reintegrating into society. For example, a pardon ensures that a sexual offender's criminal record doesn't show up on checks of the Canadian Police Information Centre, unless the offender applies for a job involving children, the disabled or any vulnerable group of people.

Pardons can only be applied for after the expiry of a sentence, which means people have paid all restitution orders, served all of their time and satisfied their probation orders. Since 1970, more than 400,000 Canadians have received pardons, 96% of which are still in force – meaning the recipients remain crime-free within their communities.

But the government is proposing to extensively lengthen the amount time before which people can apply for pardons – to 5 from 3 years for summary conviction crimes, and to 10 from 5 years for more serious indictable offences, such as manslaughter

And in addition to delaying pardons, the cost of applying for pardons will increase to $631. Only 2 months ago they already bumped the price to $150 from $50. This may not seem like a lot of money too most, but to people who have been unable to find real work due to their criminal records, this could be an insurmountable obstacle.

Because without a pardon – in other words with a criminal record – a person’s chance of finding decent work is extremely limited. And lack of employment is very highly correlated with likelihood to re-offend. Unpardoned, people also continue to live with stigma and oppression, exacerbating such things as low self-esteem and social isolation which further contribute to anti-social behaviour.

So essentially, by making it harder for people to obtain pardons, the government is increasingly the chances that they will commit more crime – in other words, actually threatening the safety of communities.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Bill C-23B - Proposed changes to Canada's pardon system

I spent much of the day researching a piece of legislation currently on the table in Parliament. Given that it’s been a long day (including a few hours observing the Standing Committee on Justice and Human Rights on Parliament Hill), I’m going to turn these notes into a blog. And as a warning, I’m likely to only become more interested in issues of criminal justice and so there will be more blogs about topics such as this. This blog will also be divided into two parts – with more to follow tomorrow.

On June 17 of last year, the House of Commons split Bill C-23 (An Act to amend the Criminal Records Act) into 2 new bills - C-23A and C-23B. Bill C-23A was passed quickly without much debate – pushed through because Karla Homolka, having completed a 12-year manslaughter sentence, would have been eligible for parole under the old legislation and the government used her example to push for legislative changes. It essentially allows the National Parole Board to “deny any pardon that would bring the system into disrepute”.

The second part of the bill – C-23B: Eliminating Pardons for Serious Crimes Act, is currently before the house. It addresses the remaining aspects of Bill C-23 with such things as substituting the term “record suspension” for “pardon” and extending the period of ineligibility for a record suspension to five years from three for summary conviction crimes, and to 10 years from five for more serious indictable offences such as manslaughter. It also makes those convicted of sexual offences against minors and those who have been convicted of more than three indictable offences as ineligible for a record suspension.

And as with the other current ‘tough on crime’ legislation initiated by the Tories, there is no evidence that this Bill will result in gains to public safety or that it will further the objective of protecting victims. Instead, it’s been described by Kim Pate, executive director of the Canadian Association of Elizabeth Fry Societies, as “yet another sad and sorry attempt to inflame, rather than to inform, the public.”

Tomorrow, I will offer more information about why such legislation is actually counter to efforts to build safer communities.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Dinner out at Fraser Cafe

We had dinner last night at Fraser Café, a fantastic restaurant in New Endingburgh. I know the owner-chefs from back when they were working at another of Ottawa’s great slow-food restaurants, Domus, and I was bartending there. Around here, we’re big fans of their cooking.

They opened a new restaurant not too long ago, a bigger space than their old place. It has a nice layout in that the space is semi-divided into parallel rooms, and an open kitchen toward the back. A nice buzz, warm atmosphere, funky lighting. All-in-all a great vibe.

The menu changes frequently but always includes a ‘kitchen’s choice’ which is a blind option. One of our friends couldn’t resist leaving his whole meal to the chef’s whim. He described his appetizer – pan-seared tuna with fried risotto and smoked tomato with truffle oil sauce, and some wild mushrooms – as “extraordinary” and “out of this world” (once again I’m shamelessly using my friends to help blog). His main – pork done two ways – was also deemed good, although admitted to be over-shadowed by the appetizer.

“I started the evening with a fantastic martini, that definitely helped things out,” said his wife. She was wowed by the ambiance and the service, adding that the food was fantastic all night. She had the kitchen’s choice Cesar salad with pork-belly bacon and shrimp. For her main she had a duck which was “done to perfection” – although she regretted not discovering the cranberry sauce till half-way through, which apparently just added to the fantastic combination of flavours on her plate.

“Really didn’t need to follow it up with rice pudding,” she noted, “which was just another layer of richness.”

V and I also had fantastic meals. His app was a thick fish cake with smoked trout crème-fraiche and a kitchen’s choice main – lamb with a curry cream sauce. I had a tomato, cucumber, olive and goat’s cheese, a main of salmon in a miso sauce with bok choy and wild mushrooms. Delicious. And mine was the kind of meal that was filling without being too much – like my perfectly balanced dessert – a nutty chocolate brownie that was satisfyingly rich, but not too sweet.

Compliments to the chef!

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Rideau canal

For living in Ottawa and being not too far from ‘the world’s largest outdoor skating rink’, it’s sad to admit that we hadn’t been out on the canal yet this winter. But since friends are visiting from out of town this weekend, it was a good excuse to get out there this afternoon.

But the weather was deceptive today. Although the temperature read only -4˚, there was a strong wind blowing that made it feel much colder. The wind was so strong in fact that our friends on skates could just spread their arms at times and be pushed along by the wind. But despite the blustery wind, it was fun to be out on the canal in the middle of all the skaters – although V and I chose to stick to the safety of our boots since neither of us is too stable on skates. M was strapped into a little toboggan we pulled along.

Our friends donned skates and weaved around us, circling back to find us trudging along the side. A couple times they would take Miya for an extra-fast dash along the ice.

“I look forward to skating it every year,” said out-of town friend, T, “beside visiting our best friends in Ottawa, the Rideau's my favourite reason to come to Ottawa in the winter. I’m a better skater than I ever was before and that adds to the enjoyment.

“One of my favourite things about skating the Rideau is looking at the type of skates people have,” like the old beat up hockey skates, the speed skates, the longer skates that look like cross-country ski-skates.

“Sitting by the fire was a nice way to finish up a long day in the fresh air,” she added, “and beavertails are always good.”

“Some day I think it would be very cool to throw a curling rock the length of the canal,” said her husband, although admitting that it would take several throws, musing that a 100-ft throw would be a good one, and we’re looking at 7.8 km. My concern is the other skaters who would not appreciate being taken down by a 40-lb rock, but these things could be worked out.

Friday, February 11, 2011

Fridays with my daughter

Since shortly after Christmas I have spent nearly every day, all day, with my daughter. Until this week, that is, which has been a bit of a transition. While I’m very excited about my new job and enjoying the opportunity to be back at work, I find myself missing Miya a lot more than I had expected.

So I look forward to Fridays, my one-on-one day with my little girl.

We have a very busy morning, starting with gymnastics at 9:15 (we are almost always a few minutes late). Most of the class is little circuits in various parts of the large gym area – things like walking along balance beam of various heights, hanging from the rings, climbing, crawling, jumping. The instructor will assist kids through movements like somersaults on the beam or over the bar. She had M doing headstands and backbends today. M is really good about letting the instructor flip her around, although she gets a very serious expression at the time.

After gymnastics, it’s straight from there to the senior’s centre where we spend an hour visiting and playing. M was fantastic today – she had wanted to bring along her WWF orangutan this morning and she was proudly showing it off to the seniors. I’d suggest a resident she could show it to and she’d run over and put the furry little orangutan in their hands or on their lap. Sometimes they would dozing off and wake to find a little person thrusting a bright orange animal at them. But they always responded with joy. She’d sometimes let them hold it for a few seconds, then she’d take it back and come running back to me. I’d point out someone else in the room who might like to see it, and she’d head off. Very cute.

After our visit, we head back home for lunch and nap. Then in the afternoon we’ll go out and do some errands – probably going to pick up Valentine’s cards today since she loves decorating cards. Colouring and putting stickers on cards for her friends will likely easily fill up the rest of our afternoon.

Time goes quickly when we’re having fun with someone we love.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

The Dater/Sitter Co-op

Parents of young children don’t get many opportunities to go on dates. If we pay for childcare during the day, we aren’t too likely to want to pay again in the evening – especially if you know that all the person will be doing is sitting watching a movie or reading a book while your child sleeps soundly in the other room.

And so I’ve come up with a plan. I call it the Dater/Sitter Co-op. Here’s how it works.
Ideally we would have 6 or 8 families who live in the same neighbourhood and who know and trust each other to be in our homes and look after our children. Contact information would be exchanged among members.

The group would be divided, by couples, into two pools – Daters and Sitters. (Initial division could be random or by first-come-first-serve). The distribution in these pools would be indicated on a website – and updated through member log-in/management.

When any couple in the Dater pool would like an evening out, they can send a request to the people in the Sitter pool. Someone from the Sitter pool who is available and willing to sit will let the Daters know and the details can be worked out between them. Obviously, the assumption will be that Daters will not abuse the system – the idea is that parents can go out for dinner or drinks, not all-night raves.

Once a Dater/Sitter pair has come to an agreement, they switch pools. The Dater couple is now in the Sitter pool, the Sitter couple are now Daters.

An understanding could be that if Daters cancel arranged plans, they still have to switch pools with the Sitter couple – but if the Sitter couple cancels plans, they have to go back to the Sitter pool and the Daters go back to the Dater pool.

The goal of this system is to remove some of the hassle in finding babysitting so as to have the occasional evening out. This would also remove the guilt of asking friends to watch your kids. By asking people in the Sitter pool if they want to sit, you give them an opportunity to move to the Dater pool.

So, anyone interested?

Wednesday, February 09, 2011

Forum for Criminalized Women

As part of my new job, I spent the afternoon at a community forum on criminalized women. This is a subject on which my knowledge has been only marginal, but I’m now getting a chance to sink into it. What I am discovering is quite sobering and disconcerting.

For example, women are the fastest growing prison population not only in Canada, but worldwide. Of the over 1,000 women in Canadian federal institutions, almost a third have a self-identified mental health disorder, the vast majority are poor and under-educated, and over 85% were abused.

If this begins to paint a picture for you of the type of women behind bars in Canada, add to it that over a third are Aboriginal and two thirds are mothers.

Further, almost half of the crimes that they have committed are crimes of property – such as theft and shop lifting. The majority of women charged with assault or murder were acting against an abuser of themselves or of their children. And over 70% of women who are sent back to prison are re-incarcerated because of a technical offense, such as failing to fulfill a parole requirement.

Are these women such threats to their community that they must be locked up for months or even years far from their families and support networks? Because there are such fewer women prisoners then men, there are also fewer prisons, half-way houses, services, etc. – meaning inmates can be thousands of kilometres away from home and support.

Across the board, research shows that offenders are better able to reintegrate into society and less likely to reoffend if they have community support. Yet repeatedly in the discussion today we heard how there is a lack of support within the community, a lack of funded and available programs.

Our government is moving to build more prisons, extend prison sentences and impose more mandatory sentences – none of these things have been shown to deter crime or lower rates of re-offending and none of these things will give criminalized women what they most need – which, as one speaker put it, is support, respect, meaning, healing and connection.

I’m just new to all this. But I’m getting fired up already.

Tuesday, February 08, 2011

thesis defence

The date for my thesis defence has been scheduled. Feb 17th, 10:30 a.m.

I have only 15 minutes to present my thesis – which is 158 pages long. I then have 10 minutes with each of the two professors on my committee to answer their questions. Oddly, in this program the committee emails the questions in advance. So I have the pleasure of knowing that I will be asked such things as:

- What do you think we gain from typologies/efforts to categorize social phenomena? What do we lose/what risks are posed by efforts to categorize?
- You state: “I am not suggesting that [the actors] are ‘evil’ perpetrators’ of violence, but rather that they are social actors responding to, and shaping, their physical, social, economic and political environment.” By excluding concepts like “evil” and “primeval” what do we gain? What is lost if we do exclude them?
- Does your viewpoint have an ideological blind spot?
- How would you categorize complex cases such as Hamas in Gaza City, Islamic Courts Union/Al Shabaab in Mogadishu?

Again, I have 10 minutes to address these and other questions. I am actually expected to do this? Can I talk so fast that they hear only a blur of words and assume that I have presented a satisfactory argument? What would happen if I said, “That is a very good question. If I were writing a doctoral dissertation, I would like to address it. However, I have presented a master’s thesis that is already 50% over-length and thus I do not feel that I have the scope to develop my material in the direction you suggest.”

Oh, and then there is round two – questions for which are not pre-disclosed. But I only have 5 minutes to answer them. Perhaps they will ask how my theory of organized urban violence applies to the recent political unrest in Cairo. That is something appropriate for a 5 minute answer.

Luckily, because my university used to be a seminary where the sacrements could be given anywhere on campus, each room is licensed to serve alcohol. Apparently the college provides a bottle of wine for a post-defence toast. I think I will need it.

Camel ride

Tired of Canadian winters, Miya recently hitched a camel ride to head for warmer climes.

Originally destined for Egypt, recent political turmoil deterred them, so she and her traveling companion were forced to remain within the Children's Museum.

This is likely just as well. Neither of them held a valid passport and we suspect that the money she carried was a forgery.


Monday, February 07, 2011

Top 10 Places: Northern Saskatchewan lakes

So far, all my top 10 places have been cities. I’m not a particularly an urban girl, so it seems odd to me that I’ve chosen only urban centres. And so, to end this series I’m not choosing a place that can be so clearly pinpointed on a map. I’m going off road – on to the water.

I first discovered northern Saskatchewan lakes as a kid when our parents sent my sister and me to camp. We did the usual summer camp things, like sit around bonfires and learn to canoe. I fell in love with being on and in the water, so different from a pool or the salty, tumultuous ocean.

Over the years, I would return to northern lakes as camper and counsellor. I not only learned how to canoe, roll a kayak and drop a ski, I also learned how to scare away bears that roamed into camp. I once told my young campers that bears don’t swim, only to have a big brown bear paddling around by our cabin the very next morning.

Later I became a certified canoe instructor and taught lessons to various groups, including a bunch of Thai exchange students who, as it became clear once they were on the water, understood little of what I had said. For a few summers I was part of a team that took Saskatoon street youth up north to canoe and camp. We paddled the rivers, built shelters, sat around campfires and gave the kids a break from their daily struggles on the street.

I was also once one of the leaders on a canoe expedition in northern Saskatchewan that nearly ended in disaster as we faced hypothermia, broken bones, lightening strikes - as well as running out of food rations.

For each of these trips I could tell endless stories – and those who know me have probably heard a few of them. But it’s more than all that. It’s the beauty of the northern lights, the pristine clear waters, the rich silence of the forest, the call of the loon. It’s night-swimming in the path of moonlight dancing on the lake’s surface. This is the magic of northern Saskatchewan lakes.

Sunday, February 06, 2011

Top 10 Places: Barcelona

I visited Barcelona in 2004 following my second pilgrimage to Compostelle. On that trip I became good friends with a girl from Girona in the eastern coastal region of Spain. She invited me to come and visit her, so after completing the pilgrimage I took the train to Barcelona where I stayed for a few days before travelling on to her village.

In my typical fashion, I arrived without knowing where I would stay or what I would do. I simply wanted to discover the city. I ended up finding an under-the-table hostel in some seedy part of town that was run by a group of pot-smoking hippies who didn’t charge too much for beds in a communal room filled with bunks. It suited my budget and tastes just fine. One of the hosts even gave me directions to a used clothing store (not as common in Spain as in Canada) where I was able to get a few things to expand my paltry pilgrim wardrobe.

One of my favourite discoveries in Barcelona was the Sagrada Familia, an amazing church designed by Spanish architect, Antoni Gaudi. Construction of this unique and ambitious basilica began in 1882 but is still incomplete. I don’t understand all the intricacies and challenges of its construction, but I know that Gaudi’s design of the interior columns was unique and based upon his study of plants and nature – not upon the typically geometric calculations commonly used in architecture.

His unique designs, as well as the detailed facades outside the building, were absolutely breathtaking. By the time I came to the Sagrada Familia I had been to more than my share of churches and cathedrals along the pilgrimage trail. Many seemed cold and dead to me. This church was magical.

Really, it was Gaudi that made Barcelona for me. It wasn’t just his church, there were various buildings of his scattered around town as well as the Park Guell, a beautiful public park/garden filled with his unique architecture and mosaic patterns. I’d never paid much attention to architecture before or had a real affinity to on architect. But Gaudi artistic, organic and magical works inspired me as I would never have expected.

Saturday, February 05, 2011

Uncovered poetry

Some days I just can’t come up with something new to write. And so I turn back to old writings - there are so many of them. Boxes of diaries. Scraps of poetry. Letters unsent. Fiction unfinished.

So for today, here are two poems uncovered in old files.


Overgrown
Distance makes the heart grow fonder.

Or perhaps it just grows,
sprouting wild shoots that crop up like dandelions
in your carefully groomed backyard.
One morning you wake to find your heart a dense forest of undergrowth,
tropical flowering vines spanning the continent.

So you follow the vines across the miles
to see if they bear fruit. Arrive with a wavering smile,
cupping your dirty hands around your heart.
But tendrils creep between your fingers,
trip you when you step off the plane.

If he is surprised by your leafy appearance, he doesn’t say
but kisses you quickly and leads you away.
Carelessly stepping on a fallen frond.

He had tried to warn you that tropical vines won’t grow in this climate
and he looks at you with disapproval and pity
when you undress and reveal your budding body.
You believe, you believe that once he tastes their nectar
he will plant you in his yard to drink from you each day.

His forage into the forest is cautious,
like an explorer in new land.
He is astonished; he is pleased.
He grins like Adam when he first sees Eve
and he grasps your colorful petals in his pale hands and caresses each stem.

But soon you notice your leaves begin to fall,
the flowers droop and the tendrils stall in creeping
to hang limply along your thighs.

Foolish, foolish, we’ve all be foolish.
Pick up your dead leaves and broken vines
and return to your own earth.
Wait till spring and plant a garden
outside your window, not outside your berth.


Falling Angels
Better the angel you know
even if fallen angel is.
Your mother’s voice is a reminder
of a broken adage,
a needle through your thoughts
trailing scarlet thread.
The cliff of indecision is your to stand on
and fall from.
A cloud of distracted wisdom
the flimsy net to catch your fall.

Friday, February 04, 2011

Top 10 Places: Bangalore

As I’ve been writing about these top 10 places, I have picked places that I’ve known as an adult. As a child I was lucky enough to visit places such as Hong Kong, Shanghai, Calcutta, Sydney and Christchurch. I grew up in Nepal, living for the last year in Kathmandu –probably one of the most interesting places I’ve ever lived in. But it’s hard to write about a place that I knew so distantly and in a childlike way.

So it is that when I think about cities in Asia to include in my top 10, I am going to talk about Bangalore and not the many other places I visited as a child.

My husband’s family is from this state capital in south-central India. In 2008, V and I visited his extended family there, timing our visit in order to attend weddings of two different cousins. It was a whirlwind of meetings with relatives and taking part in the many and lengthy marriage celebrations. I blogged about this trip a few years ago.

As I noted then, the trip for me was an odd combination of new and familiar. I had never been to Bangalore before, but so many things reminded me of my childhood in Nepal and India – the open markets, customs, food and clothes... Also, V and I weren’t there as tourists, but rather as family members. So instead of tramping around to check of guidebook recommendations, we spent most of our time visiting with family. This is an interesting way to approach a new city, diving in right past the exteriors and introductions to living rooms and family conversations.

But the whole new/familiar dynamic was also caused by the different ways I have of seeing things now as opposed to 20 years ago. I was more acutely aware of urban poverty and populations – especially coming from Ottawa (population density of 279 per sq km) to Bangalore (10,100 per sq km). I noticed the informal shacks built on roadsides, the acres of slums. Cows in the street, that wasn’t new - but an interest in broader urban issues, that certainly was. And in this regard, I could only scratch at the surface.

Thursday, February 03, 2011

Top 10 Places: Havana

Like yesterday’s entry, this choice of a top ten place is not a city I know particularly well – but one that I found quite fascinating and would like to spend more time in.

V and I had been together only a short time when he asked if I’d like to accompany him to Cuba to attend his friends’ wedding. I happily agreed, although stipulated that I wasn’t interested in spending the whole time at a resort and would like to have the chance to visit Havana.

We arranged for a stay in a ‘casa particular’- a private home in that lets out a room or more to guests. Essentially it was paying someone to sleep in their bed, eat at their table and sit on their balcony. But I’ve always preferred to travel in a way that gets me past the tourist facade – and this, for all its unpredictability, seemed like a good bet.

We got in many ways what I’d hoped for – a glimpse into the daily life of Cubans. One of my favourite memories is sitting on the small balcony of the apartment we stayed in, watching the casual comings and goings of neighbours. We could hear drifts of conversation and laughter, listen in on the violin practice of a young girl across the street. Night fell as we sat side by side in the humid summer air, sipping rum and eavesdropping on Havana.

Cuba is a fascinating place for its resistance to capitalism and defiance of its colossal neighbour to the north. Being in Cuba is like visiting a Petri dish of social and political experiment. Yet the ideology which holds this country in a vice grip seemed tenuous to me – I kept thinking that everything might change in a matter of months. Yet years have gone by now and I wonder how much has really changed.

Politics aside, Havana is known and celebrated for its arts. There is Hemingway, of course. We visited the hotel he most frequented, drank mojitos on its roof. We also heard music in the streets, watched dancing and puppetry in the street. In cafés we were serenaded by singers with more passion than talent. Altogether captivating.

Wednesday, February 02, 2011

Top 10 Places: Los Angeles

I was never interested in L.A. before I visited it, and I’m a little surprised that I’m including it in my top 10. And yet, it is one of those places that has stuck with me and kept me thinking long after I’d left.

I first went to L.A. on a sort of arts junket, part of a group looking at the role of Canadians in Hollywood. We did the studio tours and schmooze fests. The dollar figures tossed about by our enthusiastic guides when referring to various film and television productions were so surreal that I found myself laughing. I couldn’t help by translate these figures into monies needed to fight poverty, AIDS, malnutrition, malaria.... anything. It was all so ludicrous that I found I could only laugh and disengage. Otherwise, if I had started ranting, I feared I would never stop.

So L.A. seemed to me a ridiculous, self-absorbed, elite enclave that seemed to function on an entirely different plane than the rest of us. And if it hadn’t been for chance encounters, this probably would have been my final impression.

But I actually ended up meeting and dating someone from L.A. It was as short-lived as one would imagine a relationship over 4,500 kilometres apart would be. But it was enough to give me a glimpse behind the Hollywood facade. To see the L.A. that was much the same as most other American, and even Canadian, cities I’ve visited – climate and palm trees aside.

It was this juxtaposition which intrigued me. Meeting students and people with everyday jobs, having a coffee at Starbucks that tasted the same as it did back home – taken alongside the extravagance of Hollywood. It was also a little surreal to go for a walk and recognize the view before as one I had seen several times on the screen.

While touring the studios we visited the sets of some television shows like Friends and Gilmore Girls. It all seemed so fake, these odd rooms with missing walls filled with props. We could see the boundaries of the fantasy, the drab reality beyond the view of the cameras – which essentially is what I found so fascinating about L.A.

Tuesday, February 01, 2011

1 down, 11 to go

Well, it’s the first of February. One month of blogging done. And I have a new (used) first gen ipod touch as a reward. I was expecting something like flowers or a sorry-I-forgot-IOU so I am very impressed and excited about my new toy. It has already proved useful for stealth checking emails while Miss M is around.

Funny how over the span of a month each day feels much the same as the one before, and yet when I look back I realize quite a bit has changed. I’ll be starting a new job in a few days, and Miya has a new nanny (after quite a frantic and rather discouraging search).

I also have, for the first time in my life, been able to get into the routine of regular meditation. No vistas of enlightenment to report, but I noticed after a few days that my mind is clearer and I feel sort of energized – in a calm way – after meditating.

My down time of the day is the short hour or so when Miya is napping. It used to be that this was rarely enough time to feel rested. Sometimes I would just lie down for a nap, only to hear her call for me from the other room. But now I find that meditating for around 10 minutes clears my head and gives me a new energy and focus for my afternoon. I still find it very, very challenging to keep my attention on my breath – but am encouraged that even my amateur, bungling attempts are making some difference.

Those are probably the biggest changes in my life over the past month. The other things are little – like finding new ways to keep Miya entertained. The other day we were stuck in a long line at the grocery store and ended up pretending the zucchinis were phones. She got a lot of smiles from people around as she held the zucc to her ear saying, “Hello Grandma, hello Daddy.” I’ve also learnt how to draw penguins for her to ‘colour’. A very valuable skill.

And thanks to those of you who take the time to read these blogs. More to follow...

Monday, January 31, 2011

Top 10 Places: Amsterdam

It isn’t a city I know well, but it certainly is one of the more interesting places I’ve been to.

I went to Amsterdam in 2007 for a conference and extended my stay a little in order to explore it. It was a fascinating place to walk around in. Unlike most cities which are dominated by cars, Amsterdam has several alternate modes of transportation, especially bikes. Despite the bumpy roads it is a cyclist’s heaven with its many designated bike paths. Although apparently you don’t want to invest too much into your ride since theft is common – so most cyclists use old-fashioned three-speed bikes that are easily replaceable.

The canals also serve as thoroughfares through the city, especially on the weekend where it seemed that cruising on the water with a boatload of friends was a popular way to spend the afternoon. Certainly looked very enjoyable, even if there were some traffic jams to get under narrow bridges.

The canals are lined with the unique, picturesque narrow buildings – including the home that Anne Frank and her family lived in. I also loved looking at all the houseboats and daydreaming about living in one.

Bikes and canals aside, Amsterdam is most famous for its libertine reputation – especially the coffeeshops and brothels. The red light district seemed to be some sort of mecca for young men who roamed the streets in drunken, stoned packs, ogling the girls who display themselves in neon-lit windows. I found it hard not to stare at the girls myself. Not because I was shocked, but because I was curious. Were they happy? Were they there by choice? Most of them just seemed bored, especially those working during the day who had few customers to pass the time.

But I didn’t just explore the streets of the city. There are several museums and I enjoyed spending some time in looking at Van Gogh’s bold paintings. I can’t say I found any restaurants to write home about, but the beer was good and the coffeeshops were an interesting experience.

All in all, it’s the kind of place I would love to go back to – although not necessarily as a family vacation with young children.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Inspiring yarn geniuses

We interrupt this series to bring you some breaking news from the world of creative knitters and urban yarn graffiti.

The first is the Beardo – a toque which has a knitted beard attached to it by Velcro (thanks for the tip, Doug). Not surprisingly, this creation is from a Canadian: Jeff Phillips, although apparently he’s not the knitter, just the creator.

Phillips is quoted as explaining that, “Some people wear the Beardo so they can experience the joy of facial hair.” Maybe I should get one for my husband who complains because I won’t let him grow a beard. With a Beardo he could “experience the joy of facial hair”, but take it off before he kisses me. And be extra warm in the winter too. Brilliant.

I was trying to think of a woman’s equivalent for the Beardo – not to say that women can’t wear the Beardo of course; more power to those who embrace their furry side. Perhaps a toque with long braids or a lush ponytail? I was going to try to make one before doing this post, but realized that would just delay this indefinitely.

The other important news is this stunning urban yarn graffiti I read about in yesterday’s Globe and Mail. Olek is a Polish-born crochet artist. She takes yarn graffiti to a whole other level – such as covering the Wall Street bull in New York. She crochets complete rooms, costumes, walls, floors.

She is currently doing an artist’s residency in New York where she “can be found ... with a pile of movies to watch, and a bottle of spiced Polish vodka, aggressively re-weaving the world as she sees fit!” She truly amazes me – although I can’t say I’m too fond of the title of her current exhibit – “Knitting is for Pus****”.

Olek likens her crocheting to madness. I’ve always thought of knitting as my yoga or a pseudo mediation. But then again, I’m not a prolific, internationally recognized artist. Maybe I should let my knitting become my madness, abandon child, husband and work for the pursuit of knitted inspiration...

Or maybe I’ll just stick to my placid little knitting and admire the mad geniuses from afar. Chapeau!

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Top 10 Places: Santiago de Compostela

To many, Santiago de Compostela is a simple, unremarkable Spanish town. But for the thousands of pilgrims who arrive each day on its doorstep, it is the momentous completion of a journey – for some of days, others of months.

I arrived in Santiago twice – the first time after walking 1,600 kilometres, the second after a mere 600. My affection for this place would obviously not be what it is if it were not for the journeys which led me there - but to write about the whole pilgrimage would take far more than 365 words (in fact it’s more along the lines of 105,461 words).

Santiago is, on its outskirts, a drab, non-descript city. But its heart is a maze of narrow cobblestone streets which converge into asymmetrical plazas then jut off at odd angles to squeeze between rows of tightly-packed three and four storey buildings. If you know where to look, you can find little metal plates in these streets, each one marked with a scallop shell. Follow them and you arrive at the grand plaza and the majestic cathedral of St. James.

For pilgrims arriving in Santiago, there are celebrations, music and laughter in the streets, reunions of old friends. And one of the most beautiful parts of this celebration is the pilgrims’ mass each day at noon. At the end of the service, a giant incense censer is brought out. More than a metre in height and weighing as much as eight men, it is attached to a thick rope that reaches the rooftops, filled with incense and lit by the priest. Eight men grip onto the rope’s opposite end and together give rhythmic pulls which sends the censer ever higher, trailing a stream of sweet smoke. Organ music surges from innumerable pipes, a nun joins in a clear, high song. Above faces upturned in awe, the huge censer swings higher and higher, almost touching the lofty ceiling; a plume of sparks and smoke fills the cathedral with a sweet aroma. I returned each day I was in Santiago, and each time my eyes teared up and my heart leapt.

At the end of a long journey, Santiago is a beautiful reward.

Friday, January 28, 2011

Top 10 Places: Montreal

I should have at least one Canadian city in my top ten – and of my favourites it’s a toss-up between Vancouver and Montreal....

Vancouver is the city I was born in, a city I do not know well but one which strikes me with its postcard-perfect beauty whenever I visit. And last time I was there I took part in a demonstration for affordable housing, which seemed quite fitting.

But for many of the reasons I love Paris, I also love Montreal - the cafés, the arts, the culture – that certain ‘je ne sais quoi’ that gives Montreal its unique style and appeal.

I lived there for only a year – but I loved my little apartment with sunshine-yellow walls, the curving staircase on the outside, a small balcony from which I could see the giant cross on Mont Royal hill. This stay directly preceded my years of living and traveling in Europe and was a perfect transition. I got a taste of the café culture, meals worth lingering over, of urban parks and captivating streets.

It was in Montreal that I began my habit of urban roaming. I would wander the streets for hours on end, sometimes heading toward the mountain and not stopping until I reached the peak. I explored the café and boutique-lined streets of the Plateau district I lived in, the fascinating Rue Ste Catherine - which leads through the gay village, the seedy stripper bars and the city’s downtown shopping hub.

One of my favourite discoveries was the Sunday tradition of tam tams drummers congregating around a tall angel statue on Mont Royal. Often there would be a group of exceptional drummers and musicians – playing simply for the pleasure of sound. People would be dancing, tanning, playing hacky sack, chatting, flirting, smoking... I could easily spend hours just listening and watching.

As I love Paris for being the home and haunt of Satre, Beauvoir and Beckett, I love that Montreal has produced some of my favourite Canadian artists – Leonard Cohen, Oscar Peterson and Mordecai Richler. But I love Montreal most for being the first city to captivate me. And I return to visit old haunts like one dropping in on old friends.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Top 10 Places: Paris, je t'aime

It seems cliché to say Paris is one of my favourite places. But I can’t help it. It just is.

I think I liked Paris long before I went there (not counting a short stay there as a child). I liked the idea of Paris, the dream of something chic, romantic, French.

I went to France as an au-pair in 1997 and my initial encounter with Paris was rather chaotic. I missed the train which left from the station near the airport and had to make a frantic rush through the metro maze while feeling completely disoriented and clueless.

I didn’t return for several months, but this was the beginning of when I fell in love. I’d been working as an underpaid, over-worked nanny. Being on holiday in Paris, free to spend my days roaming the city, lingering in cafés and indulging in wine, felt like heaven. I discovered Sacré Coeur, a beautiful white cathedral which is perched high above the vast, grey sprawl of Paris. I walked along the Seine, looking at old books in the little wooden stalls which line the sidewalk.

In the years that followed, Paris became my stopping-off point when arriving and leaving Europe. I had some close friends I would visit and stay with for a week or so at a time. During each visit, I fell a little deeper in love –exploring the Left Bank and historic places such as Shakespeare and Co., a little bookstore frequented by authors such as Ernest Hemingway, or Café de Flore where Satre and Beauvoir spent much of their days, writing side by side.

It was always my dream to live and write in Paris and in the summer of 2004, I briefly did. I rented a room in a 6-storey walk-up and staying for several weeks to work on a manuscript and spent my days reading and writing at a small table in a room whose walls were bare but for the few photos I pinned up. I slept in a sleeping bag and had little material comforts. My life was simple but full – full of words running through my mind and of a city I would never tire of discovering.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Top 10 Places: Timbuktu

Coming up with daily content is quite a challenge when the routine of my life is not exactly news-worthy. So I’ve decided to do some topical series - this one will be of ten of the most interesting places I have been lucky enough to visit, in no particular order.

I’ll begin with Timbuktu – or Tombouctou as it is locally known – which I visited in February 2004 while doing an internship in Mali.

Called 'la ville mysterieuse’, Timbuktu was founded more than 1,000 years ago. During the 14th century, when the Malian Empire stretched from the Atlantic Ocean to present day Nigeria, it was a cosmopolitan centre of culture and commerce. Camel caravans made the long and difficult journey across the Sahara desert, bringing salt from the north and exchanging it for its weight in southern gold.

During the 15th century the town became a rich, highly acclaimed centre of Islamic education. Doctors, judges, priests and scholars all lived on the generous tab of the Malian Empire King and mosques that still stand today served as universities for both religious and secular fields. While there, I saw treaties on Islamic law, politics and medicine, as well as copies of the Koran and beautiful prayer books, dated as far back as 1204 AD.

These days there are still caravans of camels carrying salt through the city. But the city is, for the most part, a poor, dusty shell of its former glory. For seven months of the year there are no fresh fruit or vegetables. There is little economic activity, and despite the dozens of international NGOs that have set up office there, employment and opportunities are scarce.

Yet at the same time, mystery of this ancient city could still be glimpsed in the labyrinth of winding streets no wider than sidewalks. It was felt walking across the desert under a bright crescent moon, listening to musicians plucking bowl-like guitars and softly padding their animal-hide drums. It was in the stories and poetry that have been passed on and created here, in the silent procession of camels and the way the borders of the city just seemed to dissolve into an endless horizon of sand.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Robbie Burns Day

Well, it’s Robbie Burns day. No, we did not have haggis, nor any other part of a sheep’s intestine for dinner. Nor have we any Scotch whiskey to drink (the closest we have is some malt whiskey from Bangalore which tastes vaguely of mangoes to me). We had take-out from our favourite Thai bistro instead. I’m not even Scottish.

But I like that the life of a poet and folk song writer is celebrated around the world today, that there is an evening at which his poems (albeit one which is an address to sheep guts) are read aloud.

Years ago I went to a pub for Robbie Burns night, where there were poems and pipes and lots of beer. I wish it was more a part of our culture to celebrate poets and literature.

When I was in Africa I happened to be in Timbuktu for their annual poetry festival. During this week-long event, poets from across Africa came to recite poetry on a stage set on sand dunes. I’ve been to writers’ festivals, poetry slams, poetry readings, etc in Canada – but nothing can compare to the magic of sitting under the star-filled desert sky, listening to Timbuktu’s poetry.
But it wasn’t just the location that made it so exceptional – it was that children were crowded around the stage, listening with rapt interest, that people of all ages filled the grounds, laughing, clapping and responding with obvious pleasure and appreciation. One old poet, who spoke in a local dialect I could not understand, was such a hit with the crowd that people were continually coming up on stage to stuff money into his clothes.

In Mali there were also poets/singers who were hired to come to weddings and compose off-the-cuff lyrics about the couple getting married and the guests in attendance.

Don’t get me wrong. I love the written word. I love curling up with a good book or reading poetry. But I also love it when poems, stories and lyrics come alive through performances and readings.

So an evening which celebrates a poet, an evening at which poems are read and songs are sung – now that is certainly worth raising a glass to.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Indirect communication

In the front page of an Iris Murdoch book I got from library is a little list, written in cramped cursive.
pray
brush teeth/floss
wash face
pee
ear drop

I find this quite funny. And when I was listening to the CBC on Sunday, I heard a suggestion on why this may be so.

Apparently, we are hard wired to put more weight in things we overhear than in things we are told directly. I didn’t catch much of the interview in which this was discussed, but it was talked about in the context of gossip and Twitter – such that we get great pleasure out of listening in on others. We also tend to take more seriously things we overhear said about ourselves than the things people say to our faces.

Surely the mass appeal of Facebook must be based on this same principle. Because really, why should I care what an old high school friend writes on the wall of someone I don’t even know? Why should it matter what my friends say to each other or what comments they attach to their profiles?

Well, the success of Facebook proves that to most of us, these things do matter in some way – or at least we pay a significant level of interest in them.

It’s all quite strange when you think about this with regard to the relationship mantras of always communicating openly and directly with people we care about. Perhaps we’ve been doing it all wrong. It seems that if I tell you directly either the good (I love you, I value you, I respect you) – or the bad (I feel neglected, betrayed, hurt), these things are less likely to be heard than if you ‘accidentally’ overhear me telling someone else that I feel these things about you.

So maybe what we should be doing is allowing others to overhear us talk about them. To talk a little too loud on the phone or forget to close the computer after drafting a tell-all email to a friend.

This could utterly turn relationship counselling on its head.

Maybe I’ll start a new school – the indirect communicators – beginning with a list in a library book.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Cold snap


I’ve been in Ottawa for ten winters now and have grown a little spoiled by the mild winters – well certainly, mild in comparison to Saskatchewan where it got so cold my eyelashes would freeze on my walks to school. When I moved to Ottawa, I couldn’t understand why people complained of the cold. But it’s a damp cold, they’d say. Well, it may be a dry cold out West, but it’s a dry cold that drops below -50˚. And you can’t tell me that kinda cold ain’t cold.

But today, with a low of -30˚ and a wind chill of -39˚, I am reassessing how mild Ottawa winters really are. We went for a walk this afternoon – with Miya bundled up “snug as a bug in a rug” in her fleece wool-lined stroller and cozy blanket, but with both V and I freezing. We came back to find that the locks on our doors had frozen shut. Now that’s a first, even for a girl from the prairies.

Luckily the neighbours were home, so Miya and I took shelter next door. I suggested to V that he go to CanTire and get some lock de-icer, but by sheer strength and persistence he managed to get the lock unstuck and let us back into our home.

But despite everything, I actually don’t mind the cold – when I’m dressed for it, that is. I was in the military while living in Saskatchewan and we used to go on exercises in the middle of winter – which involved living and sleeping outdoors. I loved it. We had fantastic gear – albeit very heavy for hauling around in sleds – like triple-layered, down-filled, fleece-lined sleeping bags, complete with a hood. We had huge parkas, immense mittens and thick boots. It was great fun romping around on snowshoes, pitching tents, mucking trails. I discovered a whole new appreciation for winter.

And here in Ottawa, I love the winter snow – deeper and fluffier than we ever had on the dry prairies. While V might curse it while shovelling the driveway, I love the thick blankets of snow on the ground, on houses, on trees. It may be cold outside, but it sure is beautiful.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Big Love

Just watched the Season 5 opener of Big Love – a show about a modern polygamist family in Utah. V and I have been watching it faithfully (in the PVR sense) since the start, but I can’t say always with complete enjoyment. The actors and premise make this a compelling show, but the narrative can get quite soapy at times. For example, if you ever have a character saying, “And I still have to go tell [my second wife] that my brother killed her father,” you know the plot has become a touch too melodramatic.

Much of last season revolved around the patriarch of the family, Bill Hendrickson, pursuing ownership of a casino and a seat in the Senate. But there were far too many subplots swirling around and the narrative became so bogged down at times that even the actors seemed exhausted.

Nevertheless, for me this show worth is watching for the strong performances of the three wives and the relationship dynamics between them, their children, and their shared husband. The Los Angeles Times critic, Robert Lloyd, comments that “All of the wives are more interesting than their husband. [Bill] Paxton’s [the lead] character remains a problem for me and, as the pole on which this tent depends, a crucial one.” I fully agree.

While I find the show interesting for all its relationship dramas, I’ve never managed to really sympathize or identify with the central character. His bull-headed pursuit of his own objectives and constant tendency to stir up trouble and controversy gets tiresome – like a friend who is always complaining of problems of their own making, after awhile my sympathy runs thin.

In this way, watching Big Love gets me thinking about who I feel sympathy towards, and for what reasons. From experience, I know that I don’t just sympathize with those whom I agree with – and yet, how do I decide where my sympathies lie? What exactly does sympathy, or empathy, mean? How easy is it to feel – and not just to intend – sympathy and compassion towards those who differ from us? Where does it stop? Where does it begin?

So for all its faults, at least this show gets me thinking.

Friday, January 21, 2011

Looking back - being an au-pair

I pulled up some old diaries from the basement tonight. I used to pour my heart out in them, write pages almost daily and recount everything with purposeful honesty. My journal entries now are sporadic, often months apart. With so much space between entries sometimes I don’t even know where to start. But when I read these old diaries, forgotten memories come back to me – tinted perhaps with humour or sadness through these lenses of time.

In an old black diary I rediscover that 13 years ago I was working as an au-pair in Bordeaux, France, completely overwhelmed by caring for two toddlers.

In my January 22, 1998 entry I write: “Tonight was absolutely horrible with the kids. As soon as I walked in Vincent [the older boy, around 2 ½ years] started screaming “vilian, vilian” and carried on for about 45 minutes – with both him and Camille [his younger sister, 16 months] screaming if I tried to do anything with them.” I even go on to complain that supper was a plate of cold tuna and corn salad – which apparently brought me close to tears.

It’s interesting to read how I struggled with the two kids, especially now that I am a mother. I knew almost nothing about childcare when I became an au-pair. I was thrown into a broken home with two children only about a year apart in age. The first few months were hell.
Of course, I learnt a ton. In caring for Miya I find myself still recalling things I learned there - like ways to keep on top of the day, to distract from and anticipate problems, to soothe and amuse little volatile beings.

It’s interesting also to see how much of what I wrote was about relationships - relationships which are now for the most part only a distant memory – or in some cases, completely forgotten. And yet, for a certain period of my life, I was absorbed in how I felt about them, wondering how they felt about me. “To be completely known and completely loved – is it too much to ask?” my 23-year old self asked so long ago. How would I answer her today?

Thursday, January 20, 2011

The time goes by

I’m cutting this pretty close. It’s around11 p.m. and I still haven’t blogged. I haven’t meditated either. Where does the time go?

Much of it was spent, as most of my days are, with my daughter. I never considered myself a real routine-type person and yet M and I fall into rhythms and patterns which seem to suit us both.

This morning however there was a slight deviation in the routine since it was her daddy, not mommy, who took her to playgroup. (Daddy is becoming more exposed to the world of kiddy crafts and circle time since our nanny quit.)

I dressed up and headed in to the office where I had the pleasure of working at a computer that kept restarting every 7 minutes. Each restart labouriously reloaded my personal settings. Two minutes after I’d be working again, I’d get another 5 minute warning. No option to postpone. I’d frantically try to finish what I was doing before it would shut down, then I’d wait for it to reboot, for my settings to load... only to get another 5 minute warning. After a few rounds of this I used the 5 minutes to forward everything I needed to my own email, left the office and went to the coffee shop where I was able to get everything done much more quickly on my own computer.

Back home to baby and hubby. Hubby off to his office and baby and I back to our routine – although today with an added difference of going to check out a home daycare. This, of course, is followed by the circles of thought, the weighing of pros and cons, the anxiety about the lack of certainty. When I hire a nanny I can tell her: this is what I want you to do in caring for my child. When I visit a daycare, they tell me how they care for children and I have to figure out how that fits for me.

And this evening was the first of my knitting circles for the year. A small group, but good conversation and some delicious cookies – a very pleasant evening.

Squeeze in a blog and off to bed.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Meditation

I went tonight to an intro to meditation open house at the Shambala Centre in town. Have been reminded of so many things that I tend to lose in the clutter of my life, the clutter of my mind.

It’s been almost 10 years that I have practiced meditation on and off (with much, much more off than on). How is it that I can find something that is so good and yet so hard to integrate into my life? The instructor tonight relayed a comment he’d heard – if you don’t have time to meditate for half an hour every day, then you really need to start meditating. Too true.

Tonight we only meditated for 10 minutes – which really isn’t very long. Yet I found it so difficult to keep my attention on my breathing. I’d think about the others in the room, my day, my stresses, even about this blog – and then I’d think about thinking! I’d try to bring my attention back to my breathing and yet, before I knew it, my mind would be veering off somewhere else.

But for all the challenges of tonight, I realized something that now seems so obvious, and yet struck me like a revelation: although I have tried meditating for years, I have never managed to stay fully focused on my breathing to the extent of removing all other thoughts from my mind, except when I was in labour.

Before going in to labour I had read a lot about natural childbirth and the importance of relaxing and allowing the body to simply do what it needed to do and to try set aside all judgement and fear. As my labour began to get intense, I found myself focusing simply on my breathing and the word ‘relax’ – even saying the word softly out loud as I exhaled.

Tonight, as the instructor was talking about the focus on breathing, about mediation being used to overcome physical and emotional pain, I realized that I had actually mediated my way through labour – a labour that was amazingly positive and quick.

So if it got me through childbirth, I think it can probably help me cope with my day-to-day stress.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Soup recipe

It’s quite difficult to find something to blog about every day. My life is not very exciting.

So instead of describing my day, today I will describe how I make soup – because I’d like to think I make a pretty fine soup. And in my defense, a good friend once asked me for the recipe. And so, for you M, and for anyone else who is interested, here is my soup recipe. Completely informal. Varies every time. Gets better with practice – and usually tastes better the second day too.

Because I like to cook quickly, this recipe is designed so you can, for the most part, prep as you go. No need to chop everything up before hand – there is time to chop while other ingredients start cooking.

1. Raid the fridge and cupboards for vegetables: carrots, peppers, celery, zucchini, spinach, squash, sweet potatoes, etc. Some things like squash and sweet potatoes are best roasted, so I might throw them in the oven to roast during the afternoon or the night before.

2. Chop up an onion, a stick of celery and one or two cloves of garlic. Heat some olive oil in a big pot and throw these things in. Chop up a pepper and toss it in. When onions are translucent, add a shaking of chilli peppers and some salt.

3. While onions et al. are cooking, chop up other veggies in order of cooking time needed. Throw them is as they are ready or depending on how long you want them to cook. (I usually start with the carrots.)

4. When you are ready to add liquid (i.e. when veggies are starting to get soft) toss in about ½ or 1 cup of ready-made tomato sauce, about 6 cups of water (more if using a lot of veggies) and a stock cube or two. Suggested spices to add: basil, cumin, oregano, bay leaf, parsley.

5. Simmer until veggies are soft. If adding pre-roasted veggies such as squash or sweet potatoes, those can usually go in at the last minute.

6. Blend everything together with a hand-held blender.

7. Spruce it up with a dollop of butter or cream.

8. Serve and enjoy.

Monday, January 17, 2011

Childcare

Today two nannies failed to show up for work, leaving two mothers of 20-month old girls in the lurch.

In our case, our nanny not only used a text message to let us know she wouldn’t be able to come in today, but also that she would no longer be able to be our nanny. So much for contracts that stipulate 3-weeks notice. In my friend’s case, her nanny called in sick while both she and her husband had important work obligations.

So instead of having a day to go in to the office and get errands done, I ended up looking after two toddlers. At nap time this involved sitting on a mattress on the floor, rubbing the tummy of one sleepy child while my own fell asleep on my shoulder. I was then pinned for the next hour between two sleeping girls. It was tender, beautiful and boring.

And now I’m back in the position of frantically seeking childcare.

Before having a child, I had never anticipated how difficult childcare would be. In theory it’s shouldn’t be so hard to find a responsible, loving adult to look after your child while you do other work. But as I have discovered with so many parenting issues, theory and practice are miles apart.

Everyone parents their child a little differently, tweaking our own style to the temperaments of ourselves and our children, our expectations, our beliefs, our ideologies. When it comes to finding someone to parent in our absence, we want that person to take on all of these theories and practices. But of course, no one will ever parent quite like we do. The best we can hope for is some sort of compromise, someone who at least agrees with our core values.

And so it is that finding child care becomes a process not only of screening and interviewing, but also of assessing our values – what is non-negotiable? On what can we be flexible? And then there are the practical details that can weigh in just as much – how many days? How many hours? At what rate? Shared care or private care? It can easily be quite overwhelming.

And here we go again.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Football coverage

I’m sitting on the couch, watching the Patriots take on the Jets in the divisional round of the NFL playoffs. Ten years ago, I never would have imagined this.

One of my funniest memories from my journalism studies in Montreal was my very incompetent ‘coverage’ of a CFL practice. Our assignment was to get a quote in a media scrum but I hadn’t found a scrum to join, so at the last minute I called a classmate who said he was going to the Alouettes practice - there were scrums on the side of the field afterwards.

I knew practically nothing about the Alouettes or the CFL playoffs that year, but I was desperate so I decided to join in. I thought I could hang back, wait for a scrum to form, stick my mic in, get a quote and leave.

When I showed up, I was the only girl among the reporters waiting at the side of the field. They chatted stats and strategy while I tried to eavesdrop without being too obvious. When the practice ended, a coach came over to say we were allowed on the field. I was trying to be inconspicuous, waiting to see what the other guys would do, waiting for them to ask the questions, to start some scrums.

But then I saw that Tracy Ham, the 200lb Alouette quarterback, was making a bee-line straight for me. Maybe he wanted to talk to the only girl reporter, I don’t know and I didn’t want to find out. To put it bluntly, I ran. Well, I scurried sideways. He kept walking toward me. I scurried some more and hid behind a group of guys until Ham get held up by a pack of reporters.

In the end, I did what I went to do. I found my scrum and got my quote. But it was certainly not a shining moment as a fledgling journalist.

Fast-forward ten years and here I sit with my husband, watching the NFL. Sure, I find watching football a good excuse to knit, but I’ve also come to enjoy the game – although this still is the closest I will ever come to writing about football.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Blogging about blogs

For all my blogging, I don’t spend a lot of time reading other websites or other blogs. But seeing as I am now trying to blog on a daily basis and ideas are not always easy to come by, I have begun searching for other blogs of interest to follow.
Here, if anyone is interested, are some of the ones I have found which stand out for me.

- GlobalVoices, a site of bloggers and citizen media from around the world, is one of my new discoveries. Here, for example, I can read blogs and tweets from the current election in Southern Sudan where people are voting on a referendum on whether the South should remain part of Sudan. This is a story I’ve been following on CBC, but it’s neat to supplement this with perspectives and reports from random people on the ground in Sudan.

Head Down Eyes Open is a blog written by a guy in Switzerland who works with media for the International Red Cross. Posts about Haiti, Nepal, urban poverty... it’s the issues I not only research about, but also care about quite deeply. There is quite a scary/sobering entry about Kathmandu, my former home, topping the list of the world’s cities most at risk of being struck by an earthquake.

- Gazamom is written by a Palestinian journalist and mother from Gaza City, it is a blog “about the trials of raising my children between spaces and identities; displacement and occupation; and everything that entails from potty training to border crossings.” This certainly adds a different perspective to my own discovery of motherhood here in the suburbs of Ottawa.

- Scary Azeri is another mom-from-another-context blog (perhaps we sense a theme here). This is one of those sites I just stumbled upon yet return to because her writing is quite funny and again, it’s interesting to see issues of motherhood cast in another light, in another context.

I would certainly welcome any reading recommendations. If this is to be a year of blogging, I could use the inspiration of fellow bloggers. It’s also a reminder to keep my focus from fixing too narrowly on my own navel.

Friday, January 14, 2011

Earth wobble, zodiac kerfuffle

What? I’m a Libra???

Apparently the zodiac signs most of us associate with our birthdates are wrong. The moon may have wobbled. Or is it the earth? In any case, there has been some shift in the stars’ alignment by about a month. That, and you may be an Ophiuchus, although good luck finding that horoscope in the paper.

Now, I don’t seriously read my horoscope. I don’t think all other people born within the same few weeks as I share a closed set of characteristics and prescribed future. I also know that given general personality descriptives, people will tend to remember those which apply to them and forget those which do not.

All that said, I, among 2,824 other voters on CBC’s site think that my ‘old’ astrological sign is more like me (as opposed to those 358 who side with their new sign).

Take the following example: “Scorpios are fiercely independent. They are able to accomplish anything they put their mind to and they won't give up. They are perfectly suited to being on their own. They are not social butterflies”. Compare this with “Libras like to be around other people, they are all about partnerships and groups. They are happiest when other people are around and when other people are doing their work. They are lazy but like posh surrounding and nice decor.”

Have we met? How can you think I’m a Libra?? The earth would have to do more than a little wobbling to turn me from the introvert hermit I am into a social butterfly who would want other people doing my work!

Luckily for me, and any of the horoscope-faithful, “self proclaimed psychic and astrologer Walter Mercado confirmed that the traditional dates of the Zodiac ‘remain the same’.'' What a relief.

Seriously though. This is some story that broke in Minnesota. It’s made a bit of an internet viral buzz, as these things do. But my guess is that in a few weeks it will be forgotten about. Newspapers and tabloids will continue to print their horoscopes, citing the same dates they always have, and I can go back to being the uninformed, disengaged, independent Scorpio I’ve always been.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Waiting for Wii

My friend reports on Facebook that there is to be a Wii game based on Samuel Beckett’s play “Waiting for Godot”.

There is nothing to be done about such things.

I’m beginning to come around to the opinion that the Wii is everywhere and will capitalize on all. All my life I have been trying to avoid the Wii, saying to myself, Self, you must maintain the struggle.

So here I am again, struggling against Wii.

But am I?

I thought it might be gone forever. But I see that it is back.

Should I embrace it? Not now, not now.

One may inquire how I spend my time?

In a ditch. A ditch over there. A ditch where they cannot beat me with wiimotes.

I am beaten at tennis. I am beaten at Rock Band. I am beaten at yoga. All is futile. Zelda....

I am nothing more than a heap of dull bones. No doubt about it. It is too much for one woman.

On the other hand, what is the good of resisting Wii? I should have given in years ago, in my youth, in my metroid prime. Now it's too late. Now they won’t even let me play.

I want to play? What is the point? Perhaps I would be relieved... yes, relieved. Yet, at the same time.... appalled.

There is nothing to be done.

There is the story. The two men. They are plumbers. They go to the ends of the earth, the seas, the worlds, the clouds. (This is not boring you, I hope.) They seek a princess. She is never in the castle. Never. Always in another castle. So they can’t save her. They never can.

I can’t accept it. They perplex me. They leap on clouds.

I will sit under a tree. A better way to pass my time, I am sure.

But is it this tree? Is this actually a tree? Or is it a bush? It is winter. There are no leaves. How am I to tell? Shall I slash it with my sword? What are these items? Items of what?

It is useless. I should go. But no. I am waiting. Waiting for Wii.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Spam purchasing

I’ve never been one to follow a crowd. Usually I avoid them. And yet somehow I got sucked into the whole group-buying phenomenon. My inbox is now cluttered with daily deals from LivingSocial, as well the emails about “this great deal I just got!” from random friends and acquaintances.

I’m quite a newbie to group buying, as I think many of us are. Sure, Groupon has been around since 2008, but the whole group buying phenomenon exploded in 2010.

When I first heard about group buying, I thought it was the last thing I need. I am not an impulse buyer, and don’t intend to become one. I also don’t tend to make my purchases based on what most people are buying. And one of my criticism about “deals” is that they tend to make you buy something you weren’t already going to buy. Thus, instead of saving 50%, you are actually spending 50% that you would otherwise have not. I figured I didn’t want to be tempted into making purchases I didn’t need.

But then a parent sent out an group buying offer for a discounted annual membership to the Museum of Civilization (including the fantastic Children’s Museum and the War Museum which I still haven’t visited). I signed up and yes, I am guilty of sending out those “deal” email to friends (in my defence, I knew some of them visit these museums regularly).

Well, a month of group buying later and we now have annual memberships to 5 museums/galleries in town. You could say this only proves my point that I have may have saved on discounted membership, but ended up buying a lot more than I would have otherwise. I would argue that you probably don’t have an energetic toddler and those memberships will quickly prove their worth, but this doesn’t mean I’ve been won over to the wonders of group buy.

It’s too much like an on-line Walmart to me. Sure the deals might be good, but there are a lot more things which influence how, and on what, I spend my money than simply the biggest bang for my buck. And seriously, don’t we all have enough spam already?

My 20-month old could draw that

The Ottawa arts community is abuzz with the recent opening of an exhibit of Miya Nagaraj's latest work.


These bold, colourful pieces - praised by critics as a striking combination of innocence and bravado - are set to move quickly.


The paintings are a mixed media of water-soluble paint and dish soap on paper.


The artist, famously reticent in talking about her art and influences, has simply titled them 'paintings'.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Naked people have little or no influence on society ~ Mark Twain

It is a nice thing to have fashionable friends.

It is an even better thing to have fashionable friends who are much the same size as you and who are generous in lending.

I have an interview on Thursday. I don’t have a good interview outfit and I hate clothes shopping.

Then my friend stepped in to rescue me. She invited me over this evening, offered a few options and before leaving I had a great outfit – and even accessories to go with. How lucky am I!

I remember getting a lot of hand-me-downs as a kid. But unlike when a friend steps in to provide a much needed smart, professional outfit, the clothes I got were simply outgrown by my cousins and older sister. And I don’t think I was ever very grateful. Begrudging acceptance was probably more like it.

I do wonder though how much the clothes I was handed down could have been passed on after me since I was a bit of a tom-boy and regularly wore holes in my clothes. Good thing I was the youngest.

Maybe it was growing up with these hand-me-downs, but on into high school, college and university I would have a few girlfriends with whom I would regularly swap clothes, or at least we would borrow freely from each others’ closets. When I lived in dorm we would organize clothes swap nights where everyone would put outside their room things they wanted to trade. It was a fantastic way to overhaul a wardrobe without spending a penny – although certainly CDs and other items were thrown in to sweeten deals.

I suppose it’s part of growing up - moving out of communal living into solitary or marital quarters. There aren’t the closets to raid close by, there aren’t the friends dropping by to borrow a sweater or try on your new pair of jeans. So perhaps my gratitude to my friend tonight is about more than simply having something professional and suitable to wear to my interview, it’s also about a nostalgia for those years of living and sharing with friends – sharing clothes, books, food. It’s nice to realize to realize I haven’t completely lost that.

Monday, January 10, 2011

The magical Roll O Puzz (or as Doug would call it, pimping a product)

This Christmas my husband gave me one of the best gifts I’ve ever received. Okay, unconditional love, a child... all that aside, I’m talking about the Roll O Puzz.

To quote from Lee Valley (and yes, I still get to count the words): “These ingenious holders solve the problem of partially completed jigsaw puzzles monopolizing table space.”

You start to build a puzzle on the felt fabric. Then when your child wakes, or it is time for dinner, or you need to leave the house and you just know that you cats will be on the table the minute the door is closed, you simply roll the felt around a tube and the pieces stay more-or-less in place till next time you are able to unroll the felt and puzzle away some more.

There are many people who see puzzles as a ridiculous waste of time. I can see their point. One spends hours putting tiny pieces together to form an image which you already can see simply by looking at the box. And then, having completed the image, you break up the pieces and put them back inside said box.

But for some people, this ridiculous piecing together is relaxing and thoroughly enjoyable. Ever since I was little I have loved building puzzles and as an adult a holiday doesn’t quite feel like a holiday if I haven’t had the chance to build one.

Of course this all changed when we had a child – a child whose change table is also the dining room table, which is also the only puzzle-able surface in the house. Puzzles were relegated to the basement where they sit and collect dust.

Until the Roll O Puzz. And now, my world has changed. New vistas have unfurled before me. Well, at least a new puzzle can unroll before when I have the time to build it.

V not only gave me the Roll O Puzz for Christmas, he also bought me a new puzzle. A puzzle which I have been able to build over the last few weeks, put away as needed, and return to when I have the chance. Oh the joy!

Temporarily sold out at Lee Valley.