mid-January thoughts

It's true, the light is on our side of the pitch now... (an oddly British expression, that, but it seems right.)

Afternoon stretches way past where it was a month ago, and although the cold weather is here, to reassure us that winter still exists in spite of global warming, there's something in the slant of sun giving me hope.

 Not that I am not happy in this season, for indeed I am, as I've long had a passion for snow -- and as for skating, back in the day  (Ottawa, the early 80s), I'd be up well before dawn to take my place at Brewer's Park speed-skating oval or down on the canal, slipping over the ice by starlight, happy as a ... hmm... happy as a... what? Well, certainly I was happy then... and I remember the sensation of skating with something akin to pure joy. In fact, it WAS pure joy.

No doubt my skating days are over -- only last year, cleaning out the cellar, I gave up a pair of skates I'd saved for 25 years  and took them, rusty and pathetic, to the Recycling Shop in Anduze. But my love of snow, no never, it's with me forever. Sadly, I avoid going up to the mountains here where there is snow this time of year, because snow tires are not part of one's kit in the south of France, roads are often slippery with black ice and drivers here seem not well trained to brake correctly in icy conditions (meaning that the accident rate in the hills is daunting). But when snow visits me, I am enthralled.... a child again, standing under the falling flakes with my mouth open and my tongue extended: exquisite pleasure.

Here's the snowfall from my bedroom window, over looking the vineyard

And here from the back terrace over looking the river Ourne,

Arbitrary Division...the New Year

Nearly two weeks into January, and I have not had the heart to write much here in these past days... On New Year's Eve, with my neighbour Dede, I took his old black labrador Nelson (named after Nelson Mandela) to the veterinarian in nearby Ales, for the final and fatal injection to end his life. The poor dog was in such pain, the "putting to sleep" was an act of mercy I could only wish for myself when my time comes.

In the past year or two, Nelson has spent increasing amounts of time at my house, and in the last months he has been a fixture, either under the piano bench or on the carpet closest to the fireplace. Arthritic, deaf, and incredibly smelly, he was still one of the most adorable creatures I've ever known, and I loved him dearly. Some days he was nearly puppy-like in his enthusiasm to come in the house, or to receive a few extra scraps for his supper... but much of the time he slept... As he is here, is how I will remember him...

 Nelson, under the the mulberry tree.. let sleeping dogs lie....

OUT OF SYNCH -- April 2012 returns!

(It would appear that, once an entry gets misplaced in the system, there's no way to put it back where it belongs, so if you come to this now, in January 2013, you must let your mind drift back several months to last year's springtime... and for further enjoyment, you can always visit Beth Kaplan's blog, any time of year....)

Well, as you've noticed if you come on to this blogsite from time to time, I only come on here from time to time too... I wish that I had the blogger's gifts of dedication, continuity and constancy, but the truth is, I am just getting used to this idea, and it turns out that I am slow to the boil (and so if I were a sauce, you'd say I was a bit thick... well maybe that's the problem!)

Still, here I am again to report that Beth Kaplan's visit to Le Mas Blanc Writer's Retreat was an unqualified success (although she did make a few improving suggestions which I will follow) and for a more thorough story on that account, check out her website from where you can easily move to her blogsite... http://www.bethkaplan.ca/

The day she left, I went up to Paris by train for an overnight on my way to Rotterdam... Paris presented itself as the gorgeous city we all know it to be, and the sunshine reflected beautifully off the perfectly cleaned front face of Notre Dame. I visited my old friend Brian Spence, proprietor of THE ABBEY BOOKSHOP, the only true Canadian bookshop in Paris (29 rue de la Parcheminerie, just off the Boulevard St. Germain at the corner of the Cluny Museum and that lovely old church Saint Severin).

And then on to the Netherlands where I had the good fortune to lead a workshop with ten exceptional women, including one other Canadian, Kate Carpenter, who lives in Brussels now with her husband and family, and who has just released a terrific CD -- her own voice singing, her own compositions, and the haunting back-up harmonica of an extraordinary Argentinian muscian... It's called TRAVEL ME, and you can get more info about this from k.carpenter@base.be

With my friend Conny Steenman-Marcusse, a Dutch academic whose great interest is in Canadian literature, I spent some happy days at her house south of Rotterdam, and we cycled through the tulip fields, me thinking that I must have died and gone to heaven... We were joined by my old friend Sheila McCook (with whom I hitch-hiked through Europe back in the 60s), who presented a wonderfully rich paper to Conny's English class on the writings of two artists, Vincent Van Gogh and Emily Carr... An innovative and exciting look at how artists present themselves in words.

All in all, a most satisfactory time. And now I am home, and am going to see what I can do to add a few photos to this page... Without Beth's help, it could be tricky.

webby surprises

I was recently surprised -- that is, right now, today,  at the end of 2012 -- by this blog post by Catherine Zobal Dent  -- her informative and cross-conversational post Signs, Sentences and Thunder, which  had as its focus in mid-November two of the stories from my first collection, THE ELIZABETH STORIES.... I can't tell you (well, yes I can) how heartening it is for an author to learn that her work is still being read many years after having been published,  and that her notions about the human condition are still in some way relevant...

As a latecomer to the world of blogging, I am still mesmerised by the very idea that  devoted readers are exchanging views in this way... It is not yet my way but  -- who knows?  I am so thrilled by the positive comments about my stories on this website, I may want to enter the fray myself to add my own remarks concerning books -- those I have liked or loved, that is. I'd rather not do another writer harm by making negative comments here.

In the meantime, thank you Catherine Zobal Dent, whoever you are.... Come vist me at LE MAS BLANC WRITER'S RETREAT website some day....

As we bid a final farewell to 2012, here is a photo taken down on the Mediterranean not so long ago...

SOLSTICE MORNING.... BOXING DAY

In the happy belief that no one is paying attention to my blog -- or anyone else's -- this time of year, I've not been assiduous in keeping up my weekly patter... But I intend to remedy that omission now with a few lines. Somehow we're already well along into Boxing Day morning, but what I want to talk about is the morning I woke up to the sunrise below... December 21, Solstice, the turning of the seasons, the coming of the light -- and not the end of the world.

Woke up, it was a solstice morning, and the first thing that I saw....

For me, this glorious sky is a good omen of all that is to come, and I want to share it with you, whoever you are reading these lines.

Now we're several days past this point, Christmas has come and gone, and we can feel the flow of time pulling us forward. The wrapping paper from the Christmas presents has been gathered and burnt in the fire place, and the living room is beginning to look normal again, with a few presents still stacked here and there. One of my favorite gifts was a CD of Christmas music recorded a few years ago on Toronto Island --  YET I WILL BE MERRY, sung by KITH & KIN, who are Ivy Mairi, Martha, and Kathleen Farquhar-McDonnell... their carols made a wonderful addition to Christmas morning.

This year,  miraculously all my Christmas wishes were fulfilled, among them  Alice Munro's new collection DEAR LIFE tempting me to just cozy down on the sofa and read and read and read....

However,  after several days of rain and mist which provided a good reason to stay indoors,  the sun is shining brightly this morning and the hills beckon. It's warmer than usual just now -- 12 degrees Celsius -- but that doesn't mean we won't have bitter cold later in the winter, and usually a few days of snow. Today, however, is perfect for a walk and my daughter & I are going to tackle a fairly steep trail on the other side of Anduze that will give us a terrific view of the snow-capped Cévennes mountains in the distance. 

almost too much to carry

Friday evening, and plans already being made for Saturday morning at the Uzes market where I will go with my daughter who is here visiting from Toronto... A happy enough evening, until  the sick, awful shock from the American news about the school shooting in Connecticut...And I note that on my "followed blogs" there is a response to this tragedy from my good friend Lauren, who has posted music, "Prayer for the Children", being sung by the Baylor choir... And what else can one do, in such a situation? We need to find ways to connect, to relate, to spread out threads of compassion among friends and strangers to draw us together for however long it takes to gather strength from each other and weave ourselves back into some cohesive idea of what it means to be human... and to somehow go on, bewildered by evil and fearful of the constant threat of violence. Now, I don't mean that the threat we feel is only a "it could happen to me" personal fear..... No, our entire planet is threatened by violence, of so many different varieties that my head spins crazily even contemplating this notion. Clearly a subject to be addressed in blogs-to-come...

Lauren is a Canadian fiction writer (I believe I've mentioned her and her work earlier, and I'll speak of her most recent novel, OUR DAILY BREAD, another time)... For now, you might want to check her site, which can be found at http://laurenbdavis.com/blog




And you look at this box of children's toys, for sale at a flea market here in Anduze not long ago, and  you begin to truly consider the origins of the violence that intrudes even into the lives of small children... where does it start and how can we stop it? And can we? Or are we meant to accept it as part of the human condition? Oh, surely not...
**

I also notice some mail in this evening from another wonderful writer-friend, Elizabeth Hay, who has become one of Canada's foremost novelists in the past few years (although she's also a dab hand at short stories). Lizzie and I have been friends since being introduced many years ago by our mutual friend Sheila -- with whom I hitch-hiked my way through Europe back in the mid-60s, you may recall that  I've spoken of her recently as she came down from Amsterdam for a visit with my Dutch friend Conny....

I cannot imagine my world without Lizzie.... An indispensable friend... une amie indispensable... (SAME word, but it sounds utterly different in English or French, depending on the syllabic stress....And I find my attitude toward the word itself alters slightly too... Somehow I prefer the French sound of it...)  You no doubt already know her work,  so check out her blog too, she only posts when she has something elegant or funny or insightful to say... www.elizabethhay.com/blog/

And while I am speaking of friends with blogs, it's a good time to mention my dear friend Beth Kaplan, who came here to LE MAS BLANC WRITER'S RETREAT at the end of March for a few days, and who posted lots of photos and info about my place on her site... I follow her now -- as I am learning the ins and outs of this new world of blogging -- and am always rewarded by what I read, whether it's her personal take on events in her life OR her writerly overview on something she's read or heard. I always come away feeling richer and wiser.... www.elizabethkaplan.blogspot.com/



 and here we are, Beth and me, last March when she was here at LE MAS BLANC WRITER'S RETREAT...
we were supposed to be discussing her latest draft, but I have a pretty good idea, looking at this photo now,
 that we had edged over into more chummy terrain...we go back a long way, after all... Beth read "Celia Behind Me" --from THE ELIZABETH STORIES -- back in the 1980s on CBC Radio's ANTHOLOGY, that incredible repository of Canadian short stories, under the careful and affectionate guidance of Robert Weaver.



ONE OF THOSE DAYS

It's been one of those days that, now that it is nearly over, I am hard pressed to describe, hours that have blended into each other in the most extraordinary way to make a whole Sunday... Some outdoor work (raking leaves that have fallen from the micocoulier tree that resides by the house and covers the terrace with its leaves... taking these leaves down to the fruit trees to spread around the base of their trunks to keep them warm over the coming winter), some sorting of papers, some reading of manuscripts sent by email in the Humber School for Writers' correspondence program (even though I keep saying I don't work on weekends), a long SKYPE call with a friend in Hobart, Tasmania, and making vegetable soup that will see me through the week... and what else? Somehow, the day fills itself, and I find myself finally at the end of it sitting by the fire, watching the embers glow, listening again to Miles Davis (KIND OF BLUE) and yes, feeling a little blue. As it happens, I was listening to this CD exactly a year ago -- you ask how can I recall? strange but true -- and the 12 months since then have utterly collapsed, just as today has done.

Blue, yes, but not so blue that I am not rejoicing in the memory of last weekend in Marseille, where there was so much stimulation for all my senses, and where I came across an inscription -- carved in stone across the portico of the restored Opera House -- that has taken up residence in my head ever since. Something to think about -- and I offer it to you, dear reader... Here it is in its original French, and then with my (no doubt imperfect) translation.... (remember, I do not have the capacity to add accents on this blog, at least not until Amanda, my friend from TEAPOTES who helps me with this blog, shows me how).

L'art recoit la beaute d'Aphrodite, le rhythme d'Apollon, l'equilibre de Pallas et doit a Dioynsius le mouvement et la vie.
**
Art receives its beauty from Aphrodite, its rhythm from Apollo, its order & balance from Athena and to Dionysius, it owes its movement and its life.
**
Good writing -- perfect art -- requires all of the above, doesn't it?  And it should be delicious, in some way too... no?



Life is not a bowl of cherries