Growing Versions

Cheap entertainment is thoroughly undervalued and boredom just might save us. We went from climbing up the walls to decorating them and scaling them and surmounting them. Walls, what walls? That's a screen. That's a theatre.

It all started one day on the walk home from the grocery store. My son picked up a stick off the ground that vaguely resembled a dog on a leash and he proceeded to walk "it" home.  He insisted on having me do "the voice".  All the way home, his new friend told him about his life up in the trees and his abrupt relocation to the ground and to a new neighbourhood.  The stray stick explained that he was excited to move to a new neighbourhood that he had only smelled before and heard about through the trees.  My son promised his new charge that he had two kitties at home and that they would all have a lot of fun together. When we got to the Pride Parade the other day, the stick obediently waited up against a building while we enjoyed the parade, and then we gingerly walked him through the crowds, careful not to poke out any eyes on the way back home. This morning, he found yet another little guy who also has a very good knack for smelling his destination.  He ...

I am taking it as a good sign, not a troubling one, that I cannot seem to keep anything in my mind these days. Words escape me. My thought processes have slowed to a trickle like a drought addled brook. Things I normally am juggling or pitching about or manoeuvring are sliding right off my plate. I am denaturing. Maybe its not words and arguments and trains of thought that make me who I am. Maybe its something else. Maybe, but right now, I don't have the words for what that might be. 

You know those times that still stand out in your memory? The all-nighters, the times of being stranded with strangers in a youth hostel, the weekends away with people you have just met (and maybe never get to see again).  Can you still remember the buzz of excitement that ran a current through that time? A time, apart from normal daily life, apart from what you thought was normal before then, but not after. Do you remember a time, perhaps when you met your partner or someone you once were in love with, when you were cloistered away together in a perfect cocoon of good feelings and mutual enchantment? Those memories are technicolour in their loveliness, aren't they? The adrenaline rushes through those minutes, those hours shaped by forces that are unforeseeable before hand and indescribable later on. These bottled moments consist of hands brushing against each other, rising sunrises, epiphanies that get had. Someone has to leave to get beer, a new person joins you, the ...

My daughter started reading early.  As far as I could tell, she skipped right over the sounding-words-out stage and saw words as words early on. She is a competent reader, now we are working on getting her to read for pleasure.  It was not a struggle to learn to read, I hope it is not a struggle to get her  to read. My son has gone through the first years of his life with the attitude that since my sister and parents know how to read already, what is the point in me even trying?   He's only five, he hasn't started school yet, so we're not expecting him to read yet, but the contrast has been noticeable.  Until recently we didn't even think it was on his radar.  He was too busy constructing tunnels and slides and running and jumping.  Fair enough. No worries. However, over the past few months, he has begun to ask us to read to him frequently. He takes pride in remembering stories and re-reading them to younger cousins.  At the cottage, he and...

I made jam. I smoked a cigarette (just one). I stared at the stars for a long time. I mean, really stared. I sat and simply looked up. I read Archie comics and spent most days in my bathing suit. I floated and dove and picked peas right out of the pod and strawberries out of the field. I ate picnics at every meal. I cleaned with bleach. I re-decided what music I like. I told my son he was clever because he had spotted a creature in the woods. He responded, "I used my vision." I used my vision. I shut my eyes. I turned off every tap. I let my vision lead the way.  

"In order to swim one takes off all one's clothes. In order to aspire to the truth one must undress in a far more inward sense, divest oneself of all one's inward clothes, of thoughts, conceptions, selfishness, etc., before one is sufficiently naked."  - Soren Kierkegaard

 There is a time of light that I am beginning to love.At this time, the light gushes through the curtains and drenches everyday household objects in a drippy honey coloured liquid. Distilled in amber, pots and pans and abandoned toys look like preserved jewels.

 The summer is often a time of release.  All pent up after months of rain, fog and obligations, we are ushered into a season of non-stop action and fun. There are amusement parks and fair grounds to visit. There are road trips to embark on and late night parties on the long ambitious list of things to do. The fun is fun. Don't get me wrong.  The din of bbqs and social gatherings and the trips to the beach with friends are what I crave all winter long, and finally it is here and it is great. However, the part that I seem to persistently overlook is that I still need to rest. My kids still need time gather their thoughts and figure out what they think about things.  After a string of busy activities, my kids often get to a point of frustration and if we go past that point, downright fury. Summer is a great time for thrill rides and adventures and socializing. It is also a time to grow and learn and be quiet and amble and sit and think and dream and b...

Everyone discusses my art and pretends to understand, as if it were necessary to understand, when it's simply necessary to love.-Claude Monet Several years ago, I learned a good technique for discussing art work with kids.  A grade one teacher suggested that instead of saying : What a nice dinosaur! or What a lovely flower! , one should wait a beat and ask, Do you want to tell me about your picture ?  This keeps the door wide open, allowing the child to tell you what they want you to see.  After all, what looks like a beautiful flower, may in fact be something else entirely.  It may not be a  thing  I am looking at, it might be a  verb or an idea or a feeling   that my kids want me to see or feel.  I don't know what makes me think that kids are so determined to capture things.  They also are brimming with emerging concepts, ideas and a love of beauty.