I have another book review up on Brian Henry’s Quick Brown Fox blog. Go here to see my take on The Best Laid Plans by Terry Fallis. Funny, funny, funny!

On the umpteenth rainy day and after a long, long week, I really want to lie in bed and read today. Alas, a child’s birthday party, laundry, meals, groceries, etc., etc., etc., beckon.

What would I read if I could read all day?

Stories I Only Tell My Friends by Rob Lowe

I read an excerpt of this memoir in a magazine (Vanity Fair?) and it was engaging. There is a whole bunch of name dropping, but it’s the fun kind — stories about famous people before they were famous people. I received the book as a Mother’s Day gift and look forward to finally delving into it.

The High Road by Terry Fallis

I just finished reading Fallis’ The Best Laid Plans. A review is forthcoming, so now I’ll just say that it is hilarious and I can’t wait to see if the sequel pulls off the same humour.

Tamperd by Ross Pennie

I read Pennie’s first novel, Tainted, about a year ago and found that it offered a fresh approach to mystery. I enjoyed the Canadian setting and characters and am excited to try out the second installment in the medical mystery trilogy.

When you go

I sit at the foot of your bed, glancing sometimes at you and sometimes at the reflection of me in your mirror. I know I will miss you when you go. I want to go with you, but I know that it’s a night for grownups.

Dad is waiting downstairs, so far patiently. You carefully slide on blue pantyhose. They’re so sheer and silky; I wonder how you get them on without tearing them. You wiggle up your girdle. I think you’re skinny and I don’t know why you need that. You ask me to find you a handbag, so I rifle though the tiny cupboard at the end of your dresser. I pull out several. Together we decide which one best matches your navy suit. You let me play with the other ones, so I focus on the mirror. I imagine I’m a lady like you. I put on your shoes while you deke out to brush your teeth. You ask me how your hair looks at the back. I think it looks fine and I tell you so. You ask me to find earrings. I dig through your jewel box and hand you two dangling gold clip-ons. Perfect, you say. You let me play with the rest of the jewelry. I pretend I’m getting ready for a party too. You button your blouse and adjust the shoulder pads and ask me to zip up your skirt at the back. You need your shoes back. Dad calls up Dear and you start to hurry. Granny has arrived. She will tuck in me tonight. I know I will miss you, but I’ll see you in the morning.

You spray Chanel No. 5 on your wrists and then rub your neck. You bend down to slide on your high heels and I grab the perfume bottle and copy you. You look glamorous and beautiful tonight. You take a final glance in the mirror. I stand beside you; now I can see us both together. You bend down and kiss me on the forehead as I watch the scene play out. I love you, you say. I love you too, I say to the you in the mirror. You grab your clutch and head downstairs. I follow you. Dad is starting the car. I open the screen door and say ‘Bye to him. Be good, he says. I love you, I say to him. You have your coat on now. You give me another kiss on the forehead and then you leave. I run to the front window and wave as you and Dad pull out of the driveway. You wave back. I know I will miss you, but Granny is here.

I go to find my library book in the kitchen. Granny, let’s read before bed, I say. We head back upstairs. We take turns reading the pages and then it is time for me to sleep. Granny bends down and kisses me on the forehead. Sweet dreams, she says. I love you, I say to her. I close my eyes. I miss you, but I know you’ll be here when I wake up.

The sun sneaks through my yellow curtains letting me know that it’s morning. I peak in to your room. You’re not in bed, neither is Dad. I slept late. I start downstairs.

The kettle whistles and I hear Granny talking. Dad is at the kitchen table with her, his bare feet crossed on the chair across from him. I look around the corner for you. Your chair is empty and I hold my breath. From the dining room you walk in behind me. Morning Honey, you say and you hand me four blue taffeta bundles. Confetti candies from the wedding last night. My reward. And you’re home.

_______________________________________

If Her Shoulders Slouch

She raised her kids, now she helps them with theirs

She earned her retirement, now she volunteers her time

She cared for her parents and his through the end, now she tends to her siblings

She’s battled illness often, but counsels those who still suffer

She’s shaped countless students, but beams as her grand kids start school

She’s watched the world change from year to year, but pitches common-sense basics

She may walk a bit slower, but she’s still one step ahead

She may ask a question twice, but she’s bang on with advice both times

She may take longer to think of the words, but she’s still the one to calm, challenge, and amuse

If her face shows lines, it’s from thoughtful concern for friends and strangers

If her hands ache, it’s from pulling up others over and over again

If her shoulders slouch, it’s from years of us leaning on them

Hypothetically

Our feet shuffled the sand as we slowly rocked on the swings. We were too old, really, to be spending time at the playground, yet too young to have anywhere else to be on a Saturday afternoon.

“What would you do if someone told you that Mark was cheating on you?” she asked.

It was a strange question, out of the blue. I guessed that she was just curious, filling the time with hypothetical questions, maybe trying to grasp this whole boyfriend thing, new to us both. I played along.

“Well, I guess I’d ask him if that were the case or not.”

“So, if he said ‘no,’ you would believe him, and not the person who told you?”

“Of course I would.” It seemed logical, hypothetically.

I found the note later that week, placed strategically, though they would swear it had been mistakenly, between pages 32 and 33 of my French textbook. A handwritten conversation between friends, about me.

Should they tell me? I wouldn’t believe them, I’d already said as much. Well, what were they to do?

I got it then. The earlier enquiry hadn’t been a game to fill the waning hours of sunshine, but rather, a scouting mission to let the group know how I might react.

Hypothetical now real, I believed them, not him. I wished they had just told me.

I have a review of The Unforgiving Tides up on the Quick Brown Fox blog. The tale of Ross Pennie’s stint as a young doctor in Papua New Guinea is a great read. Read the review to find out why.

This is my second review posted to Brian Henry’s site. The first was of Colin McAdam’s Fall, another excellent Canadian book. You can read that review too.

He Comes and Goes, He’s My Brother

—From the eye, and heart, of my little girl

He’s my big brother, but I don’t see him all the time. He has another family and he spends most of his time with them.

He comes to our house every other weekend, and we drive out to see him on Wednesday nights. I like leaving daycare early on Wednesdays, but I get tired of the long drive.

I don’t get tired of seeing my brother. Sometimes I think he gets tired of me. But, he’s a lot older than I am, and our house has mostly my stuff, and it’s mostly pink, so I guess I understand.

We do fun things when he comes over. We play cards and watch movies and go tobogganing and swimming. We go camping and take car trips. He helps me build forts, and we play hockey in the driveway and hide-and-seek in the living room. We feed the fish together.

He has other brothers and sisters at his other house. They do fun things too, when he’s there instead of here. That’s when I get to do fun things with just Mommy and Daddy, which is nice. I get lots of extra cuddle time and stories, and we do crafts.

We talk about him when he’s not here, when we think of funny things that he likes to say or do. Sometimes it makes me sad, but mostly I laugh. Sometimes, when he is here, I wish I could have more of my cuddle time and more time to play my games and watch my TV!

He’s lucky to have two mommies and two daddies! But, he’s always a bit sad when he has to leave. I’m sad when he goes too, and I’m glad that I don’t have to leave my home.

I’m lucky to have my big brother when he comes here, and my own special time at home with Mommy and Daddy when he goes.

In the midst of a dreadful deadline at work that has had me at my overheating notebook computer from early morning to late night, coming up for air to do the school drop-off and pick-up and make the occasional meal, I’ve finally carved out some time to write. OK, I’m paying for it, literally, but it works and it has me feeling a bit refreshed.

Since my first session this week of a new workshop (The Moving Pen), I’ve been squeezing in some writing in my own time as well. So, it’s well worth it so far. I’ve even been doing some writing with my left hand, which, after typing at turbo speed and fiddling around with a mouse, is frustrating indeed, but I’m sure it’s stretching some brain muscles that haven’t been used in months.

When life gets in the way, sometimes the best way to step back and get back to the basics is to pay for it. You can go here to read about why I like, or perhaps need, writing workshops, though it may seem silly to fork over moula just to write.

Camping poems for kids — they make me long for summer vacation.

Meteor Shower
Moonlight caresses and warm wind tickles
The picnic table our surfboard on land
Stars spring out of darkness, others they fade
An appreciative audience at hand

Ohs, ahhs, and wild gestures
Arms point north, east, south, and west
Look, did you see it? I missed it.
There’s more, ooh that one’s the best

Where to glance, with so many?
White sparklers lit, ready for a show
Wish on the stars that shoot tonight
And dream of where they go

The moon dips into the trees
Across the bay there’s light
Morning is awakening, as we say
Thanks sweet stars, Goodnight.

Camping Day
Speedboats and Seadoos whirred beyond the bend
Pool noodles fluttered about – a flailing yellow and orange octopus
Sunset nibbled at the summit of pines across the bay
Beach bags and hearts billowed with sweet reminders of the day
We trekked back to the tent
Our warm, crumpled beds awaited our nighttime tales

I don’t know how to spell colour. Or color. And I’m not sure what to do about neighbourhood. Do I go to the theatre or the theater? These are some of the questions at the center, or centre, of my recent blogging dilemma.

I am Canadian, so one might think I would just carry on the spelling I was taught in school. But, since graduating from university, I’ve been working in technical documentation, where the standard has been, almost exclusively, to use American spelling. Most of the software products I’ve written about have been targeted at American users, so it makes sense to drop the needless “u” in so many words. Even when the target audience is Canadian, it is still standard to use US spelling.

At my first writing job as a summer student, we followed Canadian Press style, which typically dictated use of the American version of words. So, even at a crown corporation in Ontario, Canada, with publications geared strictly towards Canadians, I had to get used to spelling words the way our neighbours/neighbors to the south do.

So, when writing professionally, I’m pretty much American. But, I have made it a point when writing non-professionally (for example, personal e-mails, creative writing, dealings with public administrators and local businesses, Christmas cards, grocery lists, and so on), to use Canadian spelling. This usually involves going back after a piece is written to change the words, since I’m so used to the American way. I do this to keep up my knowledge of how we spell things here and because the people I typically deal with personally would call me on it if I didn’t do so. I really like to be right. And being right means spelling things properly depending on when, where, why, and for whom they are written.

But now I’m blogging, and it’s a bit of a gray/grey area. Blogging seems to be a mix of professional and non-professional writing. A blog can be read by anyone, anywhere. In that regard, it makes most sense to use American spelling. Not doing so can even affect page ranking in searches. You might be an expert on fibre optics in Canada, but people won’t find you if they’re searching for fiber optics. This blog is to talk about writing and show people how I write. With that in mind, American is the way to go here (since I’m targeting an audience in both Canada and the US). I used to have another blog that talked about my neighborhood and presumably had only local readers. I could get away with using Canadian spelling there. But, even those readers are used to reading American online and in print news, so I could have stuck with American there as well.

Maybe it makes sense to just give up on “u” entirely.

Who says Canadians have identity issues?

This is my third attempt at blogging. Maybe it will be successful. Maybe not. I think it will have a few things working in its favour.

It will be less personal than my first blog. I liked telling tales about our life for family and friends but wasn’t keen on too many personal details and photos being in the cyber world.

It will be less formal that my second blog. That one was all business because I saw it as a professional reference. A nice, happy medium should allow me to write well-thought-out pieces, but not too well-thought-out.

I will concentrate on writing about writing and reading (details of workshops I attend, reviews of books I read, news about authors I love). But, I will also deliver other musings as the fancy strikes. I will write about what interests me and not what I think would look best professionally (day-job professionally).

And, new to blog 3.0, I plan to showcase more of my own creative writing (short stories, poems, memoirs/essays, and so on). I haven’t done this before. But, really, what is the point of writing it if nobody is reading it? So, I will thicken my skin for this purpose, and, who knows, maybe people will like some of it, and maybe I’ll write more.

Oh ya, final thing, I’ll actually tell some people about this blog…again, the whole, why write it if nobody’s reading it thing. More people will read it if they know it exists. At least that’s the hope.

So, here we go.