The Year I Didn't Understand

Apparently ostracism and estrangement are common features of Slavic families. I've met many children of Slavic families whose families have engaged in years-long feuds. Because of one of these feuds, my father did not talk to any of his family, with the grudging exception of his brother Jack, for close to twenty-five years. After a few years of rapprochement, he was on the outs again, and that was the end of that.

So I find that part of my family tree almost irresistibly fascinating. Today's blog is about my aunt Toni and her house, both major features of my life until I was eight. On my eighth birthday, everything changed.

This is my aunt Toni and her husband, my uncle Larry, on their wedding day in March 1957. Since I don't know much about her, I don't know how old she was when she got married, but I am guessing she was seventeen or eighteen. (Incidentally, on the left side of this picture are my paternal grandparents. My paternal grandfather died just a few months after this wedding — a fact I learned only a few weeks ago. On the right side of the picture are my uncle's mother and step-father.)

If I've ever talked to you about my aunt Toni (and it's pretty rare that I do), you will know that I think she's gorgeous. Truly: in my opinion, she's a knockout, absolutely stunning. This scan does not do justice to her, but I like the picture.

This is the living room my memory goes to often at Christmas. This is my aunt and uncle's house at 7711 - 149A Avenue; we are viewing the west wall of the house. Other features of this picture: my two grandmothers sitting side by side in front of the piano (maternal grandmother on the left, paternal grandmother on the right). The piano is the piano I learned to play on when I was three or four. Cut off on the left-hand side of the picture is Toni's dining room, where we would eat Christmas dinner and other family meals. For whatever reason, that house was magical to me, and I can still walk through it clearly in my head. The perfect Christmas nostalgia scenario involves cracking nuts and listening to Nana Mouskouri's Christmas record.

This picture is another in a set — earlier I posted a picture of me from the same event. My father is at the right of the image, smoking. To his left is my uncle Greg, and going into the shed is my uncle Larry. The head in the centre of the image is my mother's. All I see in this picture is the sky and the patio lanterns. I have no idea was year this might be, but I would guess it's July (possibly Canada Day) and either 1973 or 1974.

For the second half of grade two, I walked to Toni's house every morning and at the end of each school day. (She lived across the street from my school and down one street and across the school field diagonally from my family house.) She was my babysitter while my mother went to work with my father and his brother Jack in a short-lived and highly regrettable business venture. (My brother was in daycare.) Things began to break down in the family that summer, until my grandmother posed an impossible ultimatum. My father was then left effectively an orphan, not merely from his mother (who lived until just a few years ago) but from all of his blood relatives. Though he puts on a brave face, he has never recovered from that, nor from his father's early death. I remember wonderful things from this time, like details of my aunt's kitchen and my learning to read Enid Blyton, Thorton W. Burgess, and Laura Ingalls Wilder because of my cousin Wendy. What shocked me about this time was the discovery that other people didn't drink Labatt's Blue for breakfast — and that anyone would have any interest in my beautiful auntie's doing so.

So. There.

"You Didn't Write a Blog Today..."

... observed B, by way of normal human interaction.

Argh. Commitment. Expectations. Deadlines. Procrastination. Delivery. I'm better with starting than with finishing.

How about this? I'm stupid and my mother dresses me funny, and I have the pictures to prove it.

No?

OK. I wasn't going to do this so soon, but I have nothing good to write today.

#1: Carillon Tower: That's my mother's handwriting on the photo. This is the Deeds Carillon in Carillon Historical Park in Dayton, Ohio, where I lived for a few months while my father went to cash register college. I have many happy memories of Dayton, in particular NCR Old River Park, which we used to visit regularly. (No photos of that, however, although it's connected to Carillon Park in some manner.) I don't remember seeing this tower, but I must have; I do know that the word carillon immediately makes me think of my mother.

#2: Kitchen, December 1981: This picture was taken in my parents' old house; the event is my birthday. My father is in the foreground, my mother is wearing the headphones (which were my birthday present), and the older people are my maternal grandparents. I am the photographer; I took this picture with my tiny Kodak C-110 camera (also a birthday gift, but from an earlier birthday). In case it's not obvious, my mother loves yellow. I think B dies a little every time I buy something yellow and homey (or homely: your mileage may vary).

#3: Backyard, Summer 1985. I also took this picture, using the same tiny Kodak camera. While ostensibly this is the backyard of my parents' house in Kilkenny, it is also the site of my Biology 20 ecology experiment (I did that course by correspondence, along with math and psych and French and...). This picture shows only a portion of the yard: there's another garden, including a pair of apple trees, beyond the right-hand edge of the photo. I love so many details of this picture. Most importantly, it's one of those long summer nights that I live for. The ill-fated boat in the foreground is the Tarantara; the last time I saw it, it was filled with rocks. My father is on the roof of the house, roofing. I've seen a lot of the city from the roof of someone's house (including that one).

Et voilà. Now, off to prep for tomorrow's teaching and figure out how to fend off an imminent pizza party in my classroom.

Big surprise?

Just took one of those "What _____ Are You?" quizzes. This one promised to identify which mark of punctuation I am.

Unsurprisingly, my result was question mark.

Inquisitive? Quizzical? Curious? Uncertain? Puzzled? Puzzling?

Well, there's at least some validity to the quiz.

Want to find out what mark of punctuation you are? You can take the quiz here. Have fun!

Encore

One last page of images, and then I'll get back to writing. Or at least, I'll get back to my usual anonymity.

This one is from May 1987 at Nicole's high school grad; the location is the Jubilee Auditorium. I gave her the Ziggy doll; Nicole was happy to be leaving high school. I still miss the 80s, if not high school.

This one is from May 1987, too. I was in a dance competition; this picture is me rehearsing at home, a couple of hours before the performance. For me, the most interesting part of this picture is the background. Weirdly, in one of the frames in the background is a picture of me rehearsing the same routine a few months earlier — but with blonde-blonde hair.

This picture was taken in my parents' house in September 1990. Clearly I'm looking for a good movie to watch.

Yes, I'm in this image. This is at the Alberta Forestry Service Training Centre in Hinton. I took training and led a session on giving presentations to elementary students. How far I've come since then — or maybe not so far at all!

This picture is from Christmas 1995, upstairs in my in-laws' house in Brooks. Looks like I hadn't given up spiral perms quite yet...

This picture is from September 1996. On the day this picture was taken, Earl became the official Executive Director of the Western Board of Music and I solidified my position as a project editor at the U of A Press. Sadly, the house we're standing in front of no longer stands there: it was removed, with its neighbours, a few months ago to make space for new construction on the U of A campus. So long, 11044 - 90 Avenue!

Heh. This is my favourite kind of picture of me. This was taken in summer 2008, near Squamish. I had no idea I would find a jet-ski so much fun!

And thus ends the visual blogging. At least for now...

Mimi-Mimi

En vacanes, sorta. Here's a set of pics with a common theme.

This one is part of a set from my grandmother's photo box; it's probably the least blurry of the group. It shows several important things: my hair has always been multicoloured and I have always thought something else was more interesting than having my picture taken. And I was probably talking.

This one is also from my grandmother's photo box. On the back, my grandmother wrote that I was watering the plants in Toni's backyard. I remember the yard fondly, particularly the willows in the background (we had the same willows growing along the side of my parents' house) and the patio lanterns at the left side of the image. And those lawn chairs.

Apparently this picture was taken in 1976. I assume it was Halloween. The dress was my mother's. (She's very short, and the styles were too!)

This picture was taken in the summer of 1982. That's my brother in the background and the fireplace in the right-hand foreground.

This one was also taken in 1982—obviously at Halloween. My brother is Garfield; I made the ears for his costume. On the back of the photo, my mother describes my costume as "Spook." It is actually a Gene Simmons-style mask, a black wig, and another of my mother's dresses—plus some of her jewellery.

Greetings from Vancouver, where it's rainy and mild. Bonne journeé!

Come Sail Away

In honour of our trip to Vancouver in less than twelve hours, here's a photo from July 1994 that captures the essence of sailing for me.

To sunny days and good winds!

We Were Young Once — But Not Soldiers

According to the notes on the back of this photo, it was taken at a Western Board of Music awards recital exactly nineteen years ago today. I remember that it was a Sunday afternoon and we were at Alberta College, but not much else.


Who could know, looking at those young, innocent faces, that there stood an academic and a communications superstar in the making? And isn't it funny how times flies? In my memory, the WBM days happened only a short time ago.

Here's to being only as old as you feel. (In which case I'm about 107 now.) Cheers, Earl!

Family Resemblance

A few years ago I acquired a box of photographs from my paternal grandmother. She didn't know I had it, and she died without my returning it to her. As my parents were once again on the outs with that side of the family when my grandmother died, the photos are my last connection to her. They are personal photos—pictures of her from her youth, pictures from friends from Russia, numerous pictures of her children and grandchildren, and more—usually with names, dates, and locations written on the back.

From the box came the following images of my father as a child and young man.

There's something about the contrast in this photo that I just love. My father is at the far left; my aunt Toni is at the far right. (Isn't she beautiful!) The oldest boy is my uncle Jack, and the youngest boy is my uncle Greg. I'd love to know more about this picture, but my grandmother didn't write anything on the back of it.

This picture does have a brief description: it's my father with a neighbour girl. So the setting is somewhere in Riverdale. I don't see my father in this child, but I love the period clothing. And wow! The neighbour girl looks like she could have walked off the set of a WWII movie.

This picture carries the brief description "Sash." (I love Russian and the many diminutives of personal names.) I'm guessing this photo is from my father's high school days. This is one of my favourite pictures of my dad.

Today I'm grateful to my grandmother for this tiny legacy. There's so much life and culture in her photo box. I wonder what the grandchildren of the future will do with our troves of digital images?

My favourite author pic

This is a picture of Brant Ducey, one of my favourite authors from my time at the Press. Also in this picture is my former intern, Andrew; I see his name around town every now and then, although I haven't run into him in person for years.

Brant's book was about his father, John Ducey. It was well written and lovingly researched, and Brant himself was a joy to work with. If only all book projects were so easy!

I believe this photo was taken after Brant's book launch. That was a long, fun day. I still refer to this project when I teach book editing, particularly with respect to raising interest off the book page and tying in with local daytime TV opportunities. Brant was an ace. Too bad more authors aren't like him.

 

Another Life

Earl wondered aloud what I might have been like in high school. I told him I was a pain in the ass. Every. Single. Day. So what's changed?

Here's the evidence. And oh ya. I had chemically blonde hair in high school.

Exhibit 1. Grade Nine Graduation, 1984: This is the only picture I or anyone in my family has of my leaving junior high. (There are no photos of my high school graduation except the official one taken at school.) The photographer was my mother, who was the only family member attending this ceremony. The scene is the school gym on a Wednesday afternoon in late June, and the tall man is my home-room teacher, who told me a couple of days later that had my marks been lower, I would have been held back a year because of absenteeism. Unfortunately, I seem to have lost my "diploma" and my honours award.

Exhibit 2. Klondike Days 1984. I've always liked dressing up, so why not be a dance-hall girl? This picture was taken between 100 and 102 Streets, south of Jasper Avenue, overlooking the river valley; it's a Sunday afternoon, the Klondike Promenade, which was discontinued a few years later. The photographer is the man I was dating at the time. There are so many things wrong with this picture that I don't even know where to begin.

Exhibit 3. Violin Concert. The only pictures I have of playing in any of the innumerable concerts I took part in are due to Nicole's mother, who took this picture and was kind enough to share a copy with me. (Well, I guess there are some in yearbooks, too, but that's not the same thing.) I'm pretty sure the setting for this picture is QE High School, but I surmise that based on the companion picture to this, which was definitely taken outside QE. This picture was taken in the spring of 1986. I've known Nicole for a long time! We're laughing/smiling, I think, because Nicole's mother said something amusing, but we spent most of our lesson times laughing, or snickering, or snarking, rather than playing our violins.

Exhibit 4: Wedding. I'm in this photo, standing behind Nicole. Signing whatever documents the JP is responsible for is my patron of honour, Tim. This is a Friday evening in August 1986, in a backyard in Sherwood Park. I'd finished high school about six weeks earlier. Off to university and lots more trouble! — and class skipping, of course.

So. That's a brief history of what it would have been like to know me in high school. Or the photographic evidence, anyway.

Once again, my thanks to Earl for the inspiration.

Throwback Saturday

I know, I know. The correct use of the meme is Throwback Thursday. I missed.

Here are two of my favourite photos ever, from just shy of twenty-five years ago (Feb 1990). With me and B are James and David, friends we lost track of a couple years after graduation. The location is the A&W in HUB Mall — it's still there.

Thanks to Earl for the inspiration for today's post.

Why ads in bathrooms are a bad idea

At my workplace, ads are posted on the inside of the stall doors in the women's washrooms. (Maybe in the men's rooms, too; I wouldn't know.)

Let's say an editor had bodily functions. Let's say that editor went into a women's washroom. The picture below is what she might see if she were in a stall.

Let's just say she'd be in the right place to deal with her probable response. (Thanks for that line, C!)

What surprises me most is the advertiser. I would think such a major financial institution would have the resources to hire a proofreader.

Or maybe there's a new way to spell roommate, and I just haven't learned.

Anyway. Editors: beware bathrooms.

And oh yes: that reflection you can see is mine. But it certainly doesn't mean I was functioning bodily with my phone out. And ew!

My Mother Always Told Me...

In the textbook project I'm working on, one of the chapters exhorts readers to embrace the backchannel.

In my head, I hear C saying, "Oooh! Dirty." Every single time.

I'm not old enough for my life! : )

Beyond hope

"When you're buying music online and you giggle evilly, it doesn't fill me with hope."

Just bought an album by a singer-songwriter I've been admiring for a couple of years: Sleeping at Last. It's an album of seven highly stylized 1980s covers, including "Total Eclipse of the Heart," "Private Eyes," "The Safety Dance," and "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)".

It's possible these songs may have been mysteriously removed from my computer the next time I go to listen to them ...

Definitely wide-evil-grin time!

Tallying Up: 2014

Happy New Year! Welcome to 2015! Let's toast to the year that will be.

Today's post, being something of a tradition, looks back at the year that was in music and books.

Top 50 Songs

The following list represents the fifty songs played most often on my iTunes, combining my laptop and mobile phone.

Hello Good Morning (remix) — Diddy with Dirty Money

Brand New Lover (single) — Dead or Alive

Run the World (Girls) — Beyoncé

Someday — LP

Dreams — Brandi Carlile

End of All Hope — Nightwish

Do I Wanna Know? — Arctic Monkeys

Rich Girl — Cole Vosbury

Love Runs Out — One Republic

Tsunami — DVBBS & Borgeous

Kiss You All Over — Exile

Them Kids — Sam Roberts

Burning Bridge — Kate Bush

Summer in the City — Lovin' Spoonful

Summer Night City — ABBA

Invasion #Tih — X-Cite

Bit by Bit — Mother Mother

Dirrty — Christina Auilera

Professional Griefers — Deadmau5

This Is the World Calling — Bob Geldof

How Do I Make You — Linda Ronstadt

Hungry Like the Wolf — Duran Duran

Killer Queen — Queen

Moves Like Jagger — Maroon 5

I Did It for Love — Harlequin

I Love You — Climax Blues Band

Take a Chance on Me — ABBA

The Love of a Woman — Klaatu

Let Go the Line — Max Webster

Running Up That Hill — Kate Bush

Long Train Runnin' — The Doobie Brothers

Madness — Muse

Suspended in Gaffa — Kate Bush

Hazy Shade of Winter — The Bangles

The Flesh Failures — Cast of Hair (Broadway Soundtrack)

Infinitesimal — Mother Mother

When Time Turns Around — The Spoons

In My Mouth — Azar Swan

Run for Your Life — The Beatles

Leave It Open — Kate Bush

Breathe You in My Dreams — Trixie Whitley

Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover — Sophie B. Hawkins

The Wire — HAIM

Come with Me Now — Kongos

Fire on the Water — Chris De Burgh

Judas — Lady Gaga

Only Teardrops — Emmelie de Forest

Ramble On — Led Zeppelin

17 Days — Prince

We'll Carry On (Prelude) — Jimmy Rankin

I opted to tally the top fifty songs this year because I noticed that, by the middle of the year, my play counts were clumping, with eight or ten or more songs tied at the same number. The top-fifty list also reveals much greater continuity in my listening over the last several years than a shorter list would have shown; once again, in 2014 I indulged in lots of comfort listening. But I am pleased to see some recent music in the list as well.

In the second half of the year I did a lot of bike riding and walking, usually accompanied by my phone, listening to one of my up-tempo playlists. That accounts for some of these songs. It also accounts for the many songs not listed here that also have significant play counts. Of some 13,000 songs in my library, I listened to more than 75 percent at least once; of those I did not listen to at all, most were classical or holiday music, or recently added tracks.

The play counter has been reset. We'll see what changes next year.

Books Read This Year: 157

This number is so disappointing and marks the lowest tally I've registered since starting to post these figures. Yes, I average three books a week, which is — for most people — a remarkable amount of reading. But remember that I am a professional reader. Between editing, reviewing, and prepping, I am obligated to read every day — and then there are the dozens and dozens and dozens of books to read just for fun. So this number tells me important things about the year just passed.

A look in my calendar tells interesting stories. In January and February I did a great deal of reading, with 40 books tagged by Sunday March 2. My reading gets much lighter in March and April, with only 61 books tagged by Sunday, April 27. Still, at that pace, I could have expected to end the year around 180 books. In May I read A LOT, with 79 books tagged on Sunday, June 1. But in July and August I read very little. There are two weeks with 0 books tagged, and several weeks with only one or two. Through the fall I read two or three books in an average week, but there were two weeks with only a single book tagged. Argh! That's not a me I recognize at all.

Much of my reading came from books I'd been asked to review; reviews have a deadline, so those books tend to get read promptly. I discovered two series — "trashers", of course — featuring women detectives. Since reading Amanda Cross years ago, I've become a sucker for a women detective. I worked through Sue Grafton's alphabet series to W (now waiting for X, supposed to be published in 2015) and am getting through Sara Paretsky's VI Warshawski series (more difficult because the library doesn't have paper copies of many of the older novels). I also tackled the Temeraire series, which traces an alternate nineteenth-century history featuring dragons. I read numerous YA books, both for reviews and for fun, and of course a substantial number of books from my various academic disciplines.

I continue to struggle with very short books and with books I edit. I read dozens of picture books that I didn't count (but I did add them to LibraryThing, of course), including, most recently, Neil Gaiman and Chris Riddell's captivating The Spindle and the Sleeper. Maybe I need to refine my scholarly interests? Meanwhile, two books I worked on had fairly short texts, so I didn't count either one. Maybe I should have. Another book I edited in early 2014 is not yet in my library (that is, I haven't received a gratis copy), so I haven't seen the final pages and don't know how different the text might be since my last pass — so I didn't count that one either.

So while my tally here gives an overview of my reading, it lacks a lot of detail, obscured by my own need for rules and consistency.

I'm looking forward to getting back to my personal reading "normal" this year. As I posted yesterday, I have a substantial list of books I'm eager to get to. In fact, I think I'll go read something now...

I wish everyone a bright and brilliant new year. Here's to the reset button: cheers!

***

Coda: Still more detail

B pointed out, helpfully, that one of the causes for my reduced reading in the summer was my attempt to get through Shogun. (Thanks, B!) Still not through it, grrr. I find it a tough go. Maybe I'll tag it this year. Meanwhile, I already have my first book for 2015 (because I started it last year, of course!) and am on to my second.

Also, Earl has tallied his reading for 2014 and captured some features that I'm going to steal freely. (Thanks, Earl!) In particular, Earl identifies genres and author genders.

Looking back through my list, I pulled out the following stats:

• Books written by women: 106

• Books written by men: 47

• Non-fiction works: 36

If you're doing the math, you crafty thing, you, you'll notice that my stats identify 4 books as "other". That means they featured mixed-gender joint authorship, were mixed-gender edited collections, or lacked a gender-identified author. Also in deference to clarity, for me "non-fiction" includes scholarly books, textbooks, and memoir but excludes poetry.

So that's just a little more about my reading in 2014.

My Reading Rainbow

On the eve of the new year, here's my round-up of reading past, present, and future. Obviously future. I mean, have you seen my To-Be-Read pile?!?

Favourite Books Read in 2014

• Leonard S. Marcus, ed., Dear Genius: The Letters of Ursula Nordstrom: I wish I had known Ursula Nordstrom. Her letters are so witty, and this collection lets us inside the mind of the twentieth century's top book editor for children. A pivotal book for my academic work this year, and a captivating book for my professional interests. I can't believe I waited so long to read this book!

• Markus Zusak, The Book Thief: I wanted to read this book before the movie came out — or at least before I saw the movie. I've read other books by Zusak, but this one is definitely my favourite so far. I raced through it, fearful for the ending; I see myself re-reading this novel this year, so I can enjoy the word play, the narrative, the smartness of its construction. A Holocaust story, but also so much more. Published for children but written for anyone with a soul.

• Teresa Toten, The Unlikely Hero of Room 13B: I will be using this novel in my seminar that starts next week. It has not received the praise it deserves, in my opinion: it's a sensitive yet funny book — and much, much better than OCD, The Dude, and Me. It's a story of mental illness, love, and growing up, written with tremendous insight and compassion. I loved this book!

• Andrew Piper, Book Was There: Reading in Electronic Times: Such a pleasure to read a book by a scholar roughly my age who "gets" the pleasure of the book. In the future, I might require this text for my print culture course; it's rich with observations, personal stories, and bright imagery, and I admire the fresh scholarship. A small but outstanding book.

• Gabrielle Zevin, The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry: If you love books — and you know I do — you cannot miss this story of a curmudgeonly bookseller and his relationship with books. This year books and reading have had the spotlight; as I've argued elsewhere, reading snobbery has been a big feature of 2014, with personal, aesthetic, sociological, economic, and moral significance being attached to the act of reading. Zevin's book is a fully human response to the culture of reading. I loved this book.

• Miriam Toews, All My Puny Sorrows: A tear-jerker, but never sentimental; as in most Toews novels, comedy is snuggled up tight with despair. This novel tells the story of a suicide and its aftermath, but it is also about resilience, family, and choice. There's a reason this book has showed up on so many critics' Best of 2014 lists. I'm glad I read it, though I don't know whether I'd have the strength to read it again.

• James Daschuk, Clearing the Plains: Disease, Politics of Starvation, and the Loss of Aboriginal Life: Probably not a book that would show up on most people's "favourite" lists, but I found this book deeply disturbing and profound in its accomplishments. Since my supervisor requested a new angle on my dissertation research, I've been making a point of trying to understand the history of the aboriginal peoples in western Canada. This book took me a giant step forward. But be warned: it implicates contemporary Canadian governments in an ongoing effort to destroy "the Indian". Powerful, chilling, thought-provoking.

• Charlotte Gill, Eating Dirt: Deep Forests, Big Timber, and Life with the Tree-Planting Tribe: Spending several weeks on the BC coast made this book much richer for me, but I'd been meaning to read it for years. I like memoir, and this one is well written; I also like sociology, and this book delivers that, too, plus some environmental observations. A thoroughly enjoyable read.

• Janice A Radway, A Feeling for Books: The Book-of-the-Month Club, Literary Taste, and Middle-Class Desire: I've been meaning to finish this book for years and am so glad I finally did. This book led directly to a conference paper and will likely influence my thinking about reading, books, and class for the next few years. The book is part ethnographic study of the Book of the Month Club and part critique of the social construction of professional-managerial–class readers. For anyone interested in print culture, this is a must read.

Books I'm Glad I Read

• Jacqueline Woodson, Brown Girl Dreaming: Memoir of the author as a child, cast in verse. I've read a couple of Woodson's YA novels in the past and since reading Brown Girl Dreaming, I've read some of her books for younger readers as well. This year, American publishing has realized it has a diversity problem: that is, there's very little diversity in who writes, edits, publishes, markets, and sells books. I hope readers who encounter Brown Girl Dreaming push for more books like this: it's a story of  resilience, of beauty in the ordinary, of life becoming.

• Michael Kutz, If, By Miracle: A Holocaust memoir written by a scrappy boy who survived. I have a life-long fascination with Holocaust writings, and I was very glad to read this book, which I probably would never have encountered had I not been reviewing it. It's intended for a teen audience but makes no compromises. Adult readers will learn something about how great adversity can produce great people.

• Neil Gaiman, The Sleeper and the Spindle: Not yet published in North America, this book arrived from the UK earlier this week, and I'm glad to have read it (although it's too short to count on my annual list). This smart, strong retelling of Sleeping Beauty has received a lot of publicity because of the kiss that awakens the sleeper, but that's not the most significant element of the story. The illustrations are glorious, and the writing is playful, clever, and powerful. Loved it!

Honourable Mention: Favourite New Author Discovered in 2014

Lemony Snicket. Well, this is a little unfair, because I first read a Lemony Snicket book about ten years ago, but it didn't take at that time. This year I received a new Lemony Snicket book to review (When Did You See Her Last?) and enjoyed it, so I read back through the Snicket catalogue (still haven't returned to the Unfortunate Events series, though). Snicket/Handler has been in some trouble for thoughtless remarks lately, but I think he's a good guy. I'm still a fan.

Books I Wanted to Like More Than I Actually Did

• Julie Schumacher, Dear Committee Members

• Jo Walton, My Real Children

• Louise Fitzhugh, Harriet the Spy

• Allie Brosh, Hyperbole and a Half

• Laura Moriarty, The Chaperone

All of these books are very good in their own way, but in my mind I'd built them into something greater before I'd read them. Dear Committee Members is an excellent takedown of contemporary academia — so identifiable! I'd hoped My Real Children would affect me the way Among Others had; still, I puzzled for days about the core of My Real Children. Maybe I can go back to it again when I've changed. Harriet the Spy bothered me as a socialist; perhaps it's a book I'll want to write about in a few years. I liked the Hyperbole and a Half blog, but found it didn't translate to book form very well. And The Chaperone was thoughtful and surprising, but my expectations were misplaced; that said, the novel is really worth reading, Louise Brooks or no.

Books Acquired in 2014 That I'm Most Looking Forward to Reading

• Ted Bishop, The Social Life of Ink

• Daniel J. Levitin, The Organized Mind: Thinking Straight in the Age of Information Overload

• Peter Mendelsund, What We See When We Read

• Al Silverman, The Time of Their Lives: The Golden Age of Great American Book Publishers, Their Editors and Authors

• Pamela Smith Hill, ed., Pioneer Girl: The Annotated Autobiography [of Laura Ingalls Wilder]

So that's it for 2014. Here's to great reading in the year to come.

Goodbye, Library Cat

As some of you know, we put our elder cat, Samantha, to sleep on Wednesday, October 29, 2014. She had fought a long battle with old age, but her various complications caught up with her and she was suffering. It was a very difficult decision to let her go.

At the time, I couldn't write about it or even talk about it much. It's still not easy, but today I pay tribute to our Library Cat.

Samantha was by far the smartest cat I've ever met. Zak claims this is because when she was young, in the lead-up to our move to St Albert, she spent a lot of time sleeping on our Encarta English Dictionary and various other reference books. She also had a life-long affinity for books.

If I were reading a book, Sam would rub her cheeks against the top of the spine and the corners of the covers (preferably while someone scratched her). We came to refer to this beahviour as cataloguing, and it was part of Samantha's night-time ritual for years and years. In fact, one of the ways we knew she was losing herself was that she stopped cataloguing, then stopped jumping up for night-time scratches altogether.

Here's a picture of Sam in Griesbach, with the compact OED in the background. Goodbye, Library Cat. I miss you every day.

Book Brahmin

So, one of the many publishing-related web resources I subscribe to is a daily mailer called Shelf Awareness. It comes in two flavours: for professionals and for readers. (Apparently they are mutually exclusive categories.) One of the regular features on Shelf Awareness is a set of interviews with up-and-coming authors called Book Brahmin. Since sometime in 2015 (I hope) I will have published my first real book, I decided to do a Book Brahmin with myself, using the Shelf Awareness formula. Here it is!

On your nightstand now: Several books in various states of completion: Sara Paretsky, ed., A Woman's View; Joel Coharroe, ed., Six American Poets; Geoff Pevere and Greig Dymond, Mondo Canuck; Jame Clavell, Shogun; Jessica Kluthe, Rosina, the Midwife.

Favourite book when you were a child: It's really difficult to narrow my favourite book down to just one: I re-read my favourite books with alarming frequency when I was young, and there were many of them. As a compromise, I think I'll submit Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House series as my childhood favourite. (Never cared for the television series, though.)

Your top five authors: Margaret Atwood. John Irving. Tom Robbins. Virginia Woolf. Timothy Findley. Honourary mentions to Charlotte Brontë, Judy Blume, and Robert Kroetsch. And ...

Book you've faked reading: I was an honours English major; I've faked reading many books! Moby-Dick is likely the most notable one.

Book you're an evangelist for: I do not feel I'm an evangelist for any book; if anything, I'm an evangelist for books and reading generally.

Book you've bought for the cover: Wide Open by Nicola Barker. Still haven't read it.

Book that changed your life: While I have enumerated a few dozen books that have changed my life in some way or another, one that I have recently come to recognize as life-changing is Wuthering Heights. I was fourteen and in grade nine when I read it for the first time, inspired by the song by Kate Bush. I can draw a line from this book to important school-assigned texts such as East of Eden and to self-directed texts such as Jane Eyre. And of course I've seen the film, watched various TV adaptations, and read various spinoffs and books inspired by Emily's original.

Favourite line from a book: As I've noted before: "All of us are better when we're loved" written by Alistair Macleod in his grand novel No Great Mischief. But a close runner-up would be Dumbledore's "few words" to address the great hall in the first Harry Potter book: "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" Then he sits down.

Which character you most relate to: Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre. She wants so very much to be a good person, but she has so much anger!

Book you most want to read again for the first time: Probably 1984 by George Orwell. But that's a long story.

Book you think everyone should read: The Diviners by Margaret Laurence. Or maybe Another Roadside Attraction by Tom Robbins. No, The Cider House Rules by John Irving. Or maybe The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry by Gabrielle Zevin...

Planting Seeds

In January I will begin a new phase in my academic career when I teach my first baccalaureate seminar ("special topics") course. The course will examine editorial issues in children's and YA books from both technical and political economy perspectives — fitting, eh?

Here's the reading list. Students are not required to buy or even read all of the texts; the idea is that the presenter will give us enough information about the book, its structure, its potential editorial issues, and its engagement with the larger themes of publishing for children and teens that we will all gain new knowledge regardless of whether we've read the books before or not. (I have, obviously, read all of them.) I hope the students understand that they should not present the books as literature: the course is emphatically not an English seminar. Ideally, seminar participants will encounter new books to read in the future and will learn more about the issues in this sector of the business. I'm interested to see whether this approach works.

• Rebecca Stead, When You Reach Me (I'm presenting this one)

• Neil Gaiman, The Wolves in the Wall AND Blueberry Girl

• Oliver Jeffers, The Day the Crayons Quit AND The Great Paper Caper

• Dennis Lee, Alligator Pie

• Philip Pullman, The Golden Compass

• J.K. Rowling,  Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

• E.B. White, Charlotte's Web

• Madeleine L'Engle, A Wrinkle in Time

• Natalie Babbitt, Tuck Everlasting

• Jeanne Birdsall, The Penderwicks: A Summer Tale...

• Laura Ingalls Wilder, By the Shores of Silver Lake

• Carol Matas, Pieces of the Past

• Jacqueline Woodson, Brown Girl Dreaming

• Laura Weiss, Ordinary Beauty (I'm presenting this one, too)

• Jaclyn Moriarty, Feeling Sorry for Celia

• Bryan Talbot, One Bad Rat

• Gabrielle Prendergast, Audacious

• Robert Cormier, I Am the Cheese

• Teresa Toten, The Unlikely Hero of Room 13B

• Martine Leavitt, My Book of Life by Angel

• J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

• Sherman Alexie, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian

• Emily M. Danforth, The Miseducation of Cameron Post

• Jo Walton, Among Others

• Megan McCafferty, Fourth Comings

• Mariko Tamaki, (You) Set Me on Fire

We are also reading two nonfiction how-to guides, one on writing and editing children's and YA books and one on analyzing narrative prose.

I'm excited about this course, as it may form the foundation of my academic work for the next couple of years. There must a reason I've been reading all these kids' books, after all!

Audience Participation Fiddling

Hey-ho! The other night I had the idea that I should organize an audience participation movie event. Something like Rocky Horror Picture Show, but with personal meaning. So I've come up with the Fiddler on the Roof Audience Participation and Singalong!

I can see it now. Just imagine the dress-up potential. Bring your hat for the Bottle Dance! Bring your pearls and gravestones for Tevye's Dream! Bring your suitcase for the train scene. Bring your hankies for "Sunrise, Sunset" and "Anatevka". Be sure to practise your grapevine step! Dress like a Cossack and get in free!

Huh. So just me, then?

Because I miss you

In the last couple of years this song has become dear to me. As the season approaches, I find myself listening to it over and over again. Wistful. Missing.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Let your heart be light

From now on our troubles will be out of sight

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Make the yuletide gay

From now on our troubles will be miles away

Here we are as in olden days

Happy golden days of yore

Faithful friends who are dear to us

Gather near to us once more

Through the years we all will be together

If the fates allow

Hang a shining star upon the highest bough

And have yourself a merry little Christmas now

So many notes!

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You may know that, despite owning an MP3 player and an e-book reader, I prefer physical media. Today I used one of my remaining Xmas gift cards to buy a handful of CDs. Hooray!

• LP, Forever For Now: I was one of the people who resisted learning about LP after she made a huge impression at Folk Fest last year. Silly, silly me. A few weeks ago I discovered her song "Someday," which I've been playing obsessively since. (Lesson: Don't resist the recommendations of people whose taste I generally trust.) Today I picked up the full-length CD and am listening now. Her styling really appeals to me, and I love her voice. Tasty!

• Red Hot Chili Peppers, Blood Sugar Sex Magik: I didn't buy this one back in the 1990s, though I should have. Now that CDs are so ridiculously cheap, I've been filling gaps in my collection. This one is iconic. (Earlier this year I bought Californication, too.) Crunchy!

• Tori Amos, Unrepentant Geraldines: I was drawn to this disc because of my long, long history with Ms Amos and my dogged sense of loyalty — loyal to a fault, sometimes. Haven't listened all the way through, but the first two tracks were pretty solid. Hopeful!

• Passenger, Whispers (deluxe edition): New discovery. Sensitive, intelligent song-writing and thoughtful musicality. Again, I haven't listened all the way through the disc yet, but I like what I've heard so far. And the deluxe disc is worth the extra four dollars: Disc Two provides acoustic versions of album tracks, and the booklet is breathtaking. Dreamy!

OK, but I also have to cop to buying Beyonce's "Run the World (Girls)" on iTunes the other day. Yeah, that's me bouncing in the driver's seat with the speakers turned way, way up ...

The vault of lost lyrics, chapter 101

If you were listening to music in the 1980s, you remember its excesses. (Not that every era doesn't have some excesses.) Culture Club had a hard time being taken seriously after "Karma Chameleon," and that's too bad because their singles reflect very pretty pop styling with catchy and sometimes clever musical details. This lyrically wistful song may make you smile — if somewhat wryly.

"Time (Clock Of The Heart)" (as recorded by Culture Club)

Don't put your head on my shoulder

Sink me in a river of tears

This could be the best place yet

But you must overcome your fears

 In time we could've been so much more

But time is precious, I know

In time we could've been so much more

The time has nothing to show

Because time won't give me time

And time makes lovers feel

Like they've got something real

But you and me we know

We got nothing but time

And time won't give me time

Won't give me time

Don't make me feel any colder

Time is like a clock in my heart

Touch we touch was the heat too much

I felt I lost you from the start

In time we could've been so much more

But time is precious, I know

In time we could've been so much more

The time has nothing to show

Because time won't give me time

And time makes lovers feel

Like they've got something real

But you and me we know

We've got nothing but time

And time won't give me time

Won't give me time

Tell-Tale Details

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Chatelaine magazine uses the following list of questions for its "Telling Details" sidebar in "Ms. Chatelaine" profiles. I thought it might be interesting to try answering the questions myself ... so ... here goes ...

MY PROUDEST MOMENT WAS ...

Crossing the stage at my doctoral convocation

I DEFINE DOWNTIME AS ...

Those glorious, fleeting minutes when I can convince myself I have nothing urgent to do and am not accountable to anyone else

I WAKE UP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT THINKING ABOUT ...

Everything I haven't done yet

MY FAVOURITE MOMENT OF THE DAY IS ...

The period between leaving my office and settling down for the evening's work

THE BIGGEST MISTAKE I EVER MADE WAS ...

Not renting the Miata for a trip to the West Coast in the early 1990s

I WISH I HAD MORE TIME FOR ...

Visiting with friends. Reading. Yoga.

MY FAVOURITE QUOT[ATION] IS ...

"All of us are better when we're loved." — Alistair MacLeod

I WISH I WERE BETTER AT ...

So many things! Piano playing. Various athletic endeavours. Time management.

MY PERFECT DAY WOULD BE ...

Sunny and hot — probably in July — and would involve the people I love best in the world.

I'M CURRENTLY READING ...

Last Night in Twisted River by John Irving

Bears Without Fear by Kevin Van Tighem

About That Night by Norah McClintock

So ... are you willing to share your telling details?

Ways in which the boat is trying to kill you

As B, C, and I began our formal boating course work, I realized that a
big part of my anxiety about sailing -- apart from the newness of
being on a boat itself -- stems from the many, many warnings in our
course books about all the dangers and risks involved in living on a
boat. B reasonably pointed out that many of the same risks and dangers
exist with RVs and cars. Still, I believe there is some
anxiety-relieving value in enumerating all the ways in which the boat
is trying to kill you. Thus, this list:

1. Hypothermia from falling in water

2. Hypothermia from being on deck without sufficient layers (this one
is a real risk, even in summer!)

3. Propane explosion

4. Accumulation of explosive gases associated with head

5. Accumulation of explosive gases in engine locker and bilges

6. Carbon monoxide from motor while motoring

7. Carbon monoxide accumulation in salon due to winds blowing exhaust into cabin

8. Crushing you against the dock if you fall in while docking

9. Driving over you while you are being rescued (from the water, if
hypothermia didn't get you first)

And there are probably more that I just can't think of right now. That
said, if you're reading this, you can feel assured that the boat
hasn't got me ... so far.

PS: So ... in the realm of mousies etc., I really do have good intentions for this blog. This post was originally composed Monday, 16 June; regrettably there was little internet out there in the coastal Pacific.
 

End of Week One

Greetings from Westview, BC. We are aboard the Shearwater, a 33-foot sail boat, en route to the Broughton Archipelago, by way of Port McNeill and Malcolm Island. At last I may visit the much-storied Sointula, which in some twisted way is the starting point of all this sailing. Hurrah!

It's been a variable week. Very few truly warm days yet I have a sunburned face. Lots and lots of rain, so good thing I have my rain gear. I have been sleeping more than usual, which is not to say I've been sleeping through the night but is to say I haven't been bouncing out of the berth at the first glimmer of sunrise. Days are generally leisurely. Sailing still tries hard to break my head. Those of us not to the manner born just can't get it as quick, I guess. (Wow! Who knew there's such a debate whether it's "manner" or "manor"? As a Marxist, I should prefer the latter, apparently, but the scholarly opinion seems to prefer the former. Hmm.)

Tonight we met many of the flotilla participants. An interesting group. Anne and Laurence, the trip leaders, seem like lovely people. And they're committed to making sure none of us ends up dead. Always a plus. Given the number of ways in which the boat is trying to kill us, I'm glad we have them  to follow.

Vancouver was gorgeous, as always. Since leaving False Creek we've seen many herons and eagles and other assorted birds, but no large mammals. Except seals: not sure whether they count as "large" mammals. Keep imagining orcas and shore-hugging grizzlies for me, please. As we go further north and into more remote areas, I will grow more hopeful.

That's all for now. Now that I know I can blog from my phone (despite serious doubts about my data plan) I will try to uphold my earlier pledge to write more often. Well, at least more often than once every six months.

Et c'est  tout! (Or "c'est yogourt", according to autocorrect. Thhhhhhhth!)

The promise of more in the future

I have been a terrible blogger for the last year or two. For a variety of "sundry weighty reasons" I believe I have nothing to say.

I will try to change that over the next three months. For a start, here's a placeholder quotation:

It is not from space that I must seek my dignity, but from the government of my thought. I shall have no more if I possess worlds. By space the universe encompasses and swallows me up like an atom; by thought I comprehend the world.

More to follow...