The book is well written and poetic but it doesn’t appeal to me. I will finish reading it because it is for book club. It is the kind of book I have to take to my reading hideout in the market parking lot and finish as I eat an oversize sandwich on whole wheat with choice of pickle, celery or carrots and drink dark roast coffee. I can’t read this book at home.More to the truth, I won’t read it at home. The afternoon sun will fade. Grey nothing best described as late afternoon surrounds the car and I drive home. It is the way this book is tolerated. In a few days there will be a meeting and we will have a good time as usual for this is the book that has brought us together. A well written, poetic book,complicated and thoughtfully done, it has merit. Historical, educational, sensitive and bluntly graphic with images of sunlight on the feathers of geese and the flight of a terrified child falling into defective net,a flag held by other children,breaking both arms and no one coming to help. It has become a chore and most likely worth finishing to get the full benefit. My book, which I’ve never written glints in the moonlight. No geese.
Category Archives: politics
Watching from the recliner with supper on the tray
it seems to be more
let alone all the opinions
waiting or interjecting
to be heard
while the others on split screens try to dazzle with a smile that is brightest or fake a frown or shake a well groomed head in argument
while the program host tries to either clarify or aggravate the debate even further
the outcome being an observation of two distinct sides
willing to argue but not willing to see
that might be a consensus or at least promote some understanding
it is a game
where it is fun to fight in a sport of trash talk
that makes it meaningful somehow
and the references to…
doubling down or walking back or finding the come to Jesus moment or sending in a Hail Mary pass or insisting that… here is the thing …that a fact is not what it is because it isn’t a fact on their side of the aisle and never will be and so there…
(fake smile, hair toss, serious frown and repeat as required)
everyone, myself included, recliner engaged
just sit back and let the battle rage
in front of ever accumulating flags with waving signs and huge groups of supporters standing there
or lining up
in front of pavilions
rallies and protest …take your pick
and it never really looks like there will be a solution
unless someone can
serious, very serious, scary nonsense
the ceiling fan and the surprising chill
the night caused me to wrap up in the summer quilt
me off guard
my dream worked
seeing someone surprised at me being in their house
checking on things and scaring them no doubt by hearing my footsteps
at their front door
shocked at what was
and then only a few moments to make the morning coffee and see the neighbour
before finding out the news
yet again about the crazy
that happen oddly
a form of shock
had the impact of overwhelming
and a need to either go back to sleep or find a place with flowers and trees where some beauty remains
Well now, if you are tired of the old run of the mill kind of song and dance type theatre offered up by the typical theatre companies and would just like to check your disbelief at the door and join in something that is a disturbingly funny storytelling and theatre experience, Have I got a show recommendation for you!
If my blog title doesn’t ring a little bell in your head try singing it in a jingle way…meh, maybe you won’t ever get it by doing that. Perhaps just google for the sake of time.
( Mr. Burns, A Post Electric Play, McManus Theatre,London, Ontario. )
Everyone involved in this madness of art, tonight, opening night, “bravo”in an old school way and I’ll be back to see it again!
( Yes, I am the mother of the director but this is my blog and I’m plugged in, shamelessly.)
Thick with dust, the two very old military history books were stored on a neglected shelf in a damp glassed in veranda in the farmhouse. Not the most interesting looking, they were somehow saved in a box and moved to storage. Condition ranging from musty, torn cover to musty and fair shape, the two books didn’t attract any attention at a family garage sale. Next stop was going to be the charity store or the recycling bin. However, the books seemed to speak to me as I drove home with my other more practical treasures from the sale. The chatter was enough for me to call back for the books and they were given to me, free of charge. Family garage sales are excellent for such bargains!
Plans for the two old books are of a decorative nature. They will be displayed together on a fireplace mantel or coffee table along with other battered, ancient books . The books evoke a kind of dignity to me that is difficult to express but easy to feel. Oddly enough, I found myself reading them well into the night not minding the mustiness or faded pages. They will open again in due time anytime a guest notices them and maybe someday be used as reference material for a story or two. That is the beauty and value of these books that somehow seemed to speak to me. Listening seems to come naturally.
Here and there and everywhere little sentiments are in the forefront of my rather significant collection of favourite books on my bookshelves. A picture of my Dad and myself, another of my mom and a niece, my ( retirement) brass school bell, “Mumma’s” delicate rose and blue china cup, my son’s baby photo, a neutral faced theatre mask, a carved wooden angel holding a bountiful floral garland, two die-cut cards from my son, figurines of dogs, birds, old souls and a snow globe shaker containg a picture of my sweet departed cat, are a fair representation of what is gathered there.
These things sit usually at the corners of the bookshelves but often are moved to centre place when access to the books hiding behind them are sought. Books are so plentiful that they are stacked vertically on the shelves rather than horizontally. Another bookcase might be purchased soon if my budget can stand it.
My books are organized at this moment in my life. The two top shelves are dedicated to classic literature as I feel that is only fitting for Shakespeare and those I’ve grouped with him there. On the next level are two full shelves of Canadian literature full of strange, often grim but treasured thought. On the shelves beneath contemporary American and European literature balance each other well.Further down, the two lower shelves begin to appear archive like holding assorted children’s books, art books, (several) books on the monarchy, some of my Aunt Bea’s book club books, baskets of CD’s and a few photo albums. Dear Maeve Binchy has an entire lower shelf dedicated solely to herself as she helped me survive my divorce twenty eight years ago. She provided the wholesome comfort of gentle romance when I was dashed and broken by my own decision to remove myself from my marriage. She stays on her shelf for all time, not ever in my lifetime to be culled in a book clearout as she deserves a permanent home.
The really old books that I collect are relegated to my bookshelves built into my bedroom. Among this assortment are my treasured old school readers, honoured for being the delicate rare taste of literature I was exposed to as a very young child. Along these shelves are little ornaments my mother kept so special in her heart. Things like little wooden shoes that have their own story,small framed pictures of Dad, my brother and an eccentric uncle, little flower vases she liked are arranged amongst the books and Bibles stored there.
All the cookbooks I’ve collected fill another full bookshelf in the small family room beside the kitchen. Several of these books are hand written or collections of recipes from my family’s heritage pasted into old scrapbooks. Many books about gardening and healing are also propped up there. These shelves are decorated with some funky pottery and woven baskets.
The spillage of books and sentimental clutter often needs to be tidied and refreshed. At the moment, a good couple of hours dedicated to decluttering, putting things away, sorting through some recently acquired books from the used book store and other housekeeping duties is most likely a good idea. If only I had the luxury of a daily domestic helper, like Maeve often described in her books these things might be more consistently done. It is perhaps better that I do this work myself. After all, I know where things belong.
A little bit of a chorus line, mixed with a gospel revival and a tad of mid summer night’s dream..oh and some my fair lady with a dash of Saturday night live …and that’s how my valentine’s celebration at the theatre tonight turned out. The production of Bat Boy at the Mc Manus Theatre, (Grand Theatre) London, Ont., Canada runs until February 23. Tonight was opening night and I plan to go again several times. To say it is an unusual story is an understatement. What I experienced was an intriguing night of entertainment and I took away the message that the ones we shouldcomfort, love and protect are vulnerable to danger, mistrust and ignorance and we are often too damaged ourselves to really sort these problems out. Pretty much, that’s the lesson in a nutshell. Oh yeah, did I mention that my wonderful son, who never thinks just inside the box, is the director…?.(and set designer…and other stuff.) Quite the musical !