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Ordinary Lives

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On Monday this week, I listened to BOOKSPO, KerryClare’s podcast , where the author being interviewed spoke of Alice Munro as the inspiration for her book. And then, Alice Munro died. Quite serendipitous, in a strange way, I would say.  To honour Munro, I pulled out one of her books and read a short story, in fact one of the ones, Dimensions,  mentioned in the podcast. Munro writes about ordinary women with extraordinary complexity. In one interview, Alice Munro said she didn’t think anyone was, in fact, ordinary. The older generation is often encouraged to write down their stories, pass them along. And that may have been true of the silent generation, who lived through wars and hardship, rationing and scarcity. But is anyone now, apart from family and a few friends, interested in the stories of the ordinary lives of my generation, the Boomers? My life was (and is) ordinary. Perhaps even Alice Munro would not have been interested. Who would care that I grew up in a two-bedroom apar
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May Is The Month Of Hope

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  April can be a cruel month, weatherwise, with hopes of spring dashed by the occasional snowfall or ice storm. But it can be cruel in other ways too. In a previous post I mentioned the osteoporosis diagnosis. I want to reiterate here for those of you women reading this (I doubt if there are any men) that a scan for bone health is delayed (often too late) unless you are considered at risk, or specifically ask for one. It’s important to be ahead of it, to know your bone health BEFORE it begins to deteriorate. There’s more to this health story, and I don’t want to make it into a woe-is-me sob story, but women’s health issues are often under the radar, the symptoms (or lack of) different from men. So, we must advocate for ourselves. I’ve had a bunch of routine tests lately, and while blood work has been good, an ECG revealed – I might have had a prior heart attack? To say I was gob-smacked would be putting it lightly. I sat, stunned, in my doctor’s office. What? Me? A heart attack? I ha
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What Is (Fill-in-the-blank) Privilege?

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  It was a post by Ageless Possibilities that got me thinking about privilege. What does being privileged mean? Does it mean having a comfortably well-off life? Having doors open easily for you? Not being subjected to discrimination?   Sometimes I think we tend to mix up terms, equating being privileged with being well-to-do or affluent. Although I think the real meaning is not being disadvantaged, being part of a group that gets preferential treatment that others do not, simply because you’re automatically assumed to be in a higher echelon of society. Being privileged means one is not subjected to automatic demeaning perceptions, judgments and hardships that others may face daily. Words become buzz words and then after a while some tire of them and begin to sneer and speak of them with ‘air-quotes’. I’ve listened to conversations where people bemoan the fact they are now hard done by because of their so-called ‘white privilege’. They believe they’re not privileged at all because th
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April Shuffle

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  What I’ve been watching : I went with a couple of friends (who once lived in Bhutan) to see the movie “The Monk And the Gun” which was part of a film festival last year. It is set in Bhutan, where the king is abdicating in favour of transitioning the country to democracy. The Bhutanese don’t know how to vote in an election, and so officials stage a mock election, while a visiting American is there to secure an antique gun. A monk is also out searching for two guns, an odd request by his lama, which he carries out unquestioningly but finds difficult in a country where guns are scarce. When the American and the monk cross paths, and the monk learns of the number of guns in the U.S., he exclaims, wide-eyed, “More guns than people?” The film gently, subtly, and humourously displays the contrasts between the Western world (the drive for money, power, and more, more, more), the divisions and violence and greed it creates in western society against the contented, simple, polite Bhutanese. T
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My Ideal Book Club

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  I've belonged to writing groups for many years, but I've never belonged to a book club. Nor have I ever wanted to. Why? Because part of my stubborn nature means I do not wish to be forced to read a book not of my choosing. I have friends who belong to book clubs, even writing group friends who straddle both kinds of gatherings. One format is: they meet once a month, and each woman chooses one book for the year and hosts that session. That would mean I would be reading ELEVEN books not of my choosing in a year. I don’t think so! Sure, they might be books I'd have chosen to read anyway. But that's not quite the point. I may have chosen to read them at another time, in another year, in another decade. If we’re not enrolled in some kind of educational course, any book one reads should be something you've personally chosen to read, depending on mood or interest or topic or circumstances. To be directed to read something takes the pleasure out of reading. I'
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Reflections On Reading

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  “ I opened a book and in I strode Now nobody can find me" Those are the first two lines of Julia Donaldson’s poem (you can find the full poem in the pic below). And that pretty much captures the essence of why readers read. In an online discussion group with Ageless Possibilities , we were talking about our relationship with books, and Kerry Clare’s essay came up which describes so beautifully a reader’s journey blossoming into a lifelong love affair. My love affair with books began early. As a child I LOVED Enid Blyton. In the early years, the Noddy picture books and Brer Rabbit, then the mysteries with the Secret Seven and Famous Five. And the Mallory Towers series. Why did English parents always send their kids to boarding school and why couldn’t mine? Boarding school was where it was at! I longed to go (the reality of course would have been quite different, but children’s imaginations don’t deal with reality). Then there were The Bobbsey Twins and along came Nancy Drew.
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On What We Need (Chocolate being one)

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  In our Spanish conversation group last week, the theme was: You plan to run for the office of president or prime minister of your country.  What are the four pillars of your political platform? All four proposals should be humorous or bordering on being ridiculous. It’s a mixed group with people from Canada, U.S., U.K. (the English speakers) and Spain and Mexico (the Spanish speakers). The format is one-on-one (or two-on-one depending on who shows up) for the first two breakouts where you speak about the topic in Spanish, then two more breakouts, but in English. The English speakers learn from native Spanish speakers and vice-versa, but it is invariably the Spanish speakers who master a foreign language better and can ad-lib without sputtering. Now, don’t get the impression that I’m in any way proficient in this language (given the themes). I prepare a few simple sentences in advance (using google translate and easy words I can pronounce), and I struggle but everyone in the g
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