Happy Birthday, Stuart!

Every year around this day, or to be more specific, on this day, I get to say aloud what I think all the time, which is, "What a terrific man is this Stuart character I've somehow got myself hooked up with." Because he really is fantastic, and in seven years I've not even begun to get enough of his marvelous company, and I'm so proud of the thirty-year old man who's made a life for himself that that twenty-three-year old I met years ago would be in awe of. So grateful also that he's so unfailingly good to me, and for the life we've made together.

In short, he's fantastic, and during the past six months he's been put to the test, with his patience, caring nature, hilarious sense of humour, much relied-upon ingenuity, and his understanding rarely waning. And that they rarely waned rather than never did only shows he's human, but what an extraordinary one. Harriet and I are so very lucky, because he's an excellent husband and a wonderful dad. I love him very much.

Happy Birthday!

Halloween the First

Clare/Lawler Thanksgiving Menu

Butternut Squash Soup
Grandma Reynolds' tea biscuits
Roast turkey with blue potatoes and rainbow carrots
Sweet potato sausage stuffing
Steamed broccoli
Cranberry sauce
Apple Pie

It's hard to be hip over thirty

I've been rereading my copy of poetry collection It's Hard to Be Hip Over Thirty by Judith Viorst (of Alexander's No Good Very Bad Day). My edition is a gorgeous Persephone Book (endpaper as above) and I'm rereading because I'm turning thirty on Wednesday, and as I certainly found it difficult enough to be hip under thirty, I need all the help I can get. From the title poem:

All around New York
Perfect girls with hairpieces and fishnet jumpsuits
Sit in their art nouveau apartments
Discussing things like King Kong
With people like Rudolph Nureyev.

Meanwhile the rest of us
Serving Crispy Critters to grouchy three-year-olds
And drinking our Metrecal,
Dream of snapping our fingers to the music
If only we knew when to snap.

But it's hard to be hip over thirty
When everyone else is nineteenm
When the last dance we learned was the Lindy,
And the last we heard, girls who looked like Barbra Streisand
Were trying to do something about it.

We long to be kicky and camp-- but
The maid only comes once a week.
And since we have to show up for the car pool,
Orgiastic pot parties with cool Negroes who say 'funky' and 'man'
Seem rather impractical.

The Love Song of J. Aldred Prufrock,
Which we learned line by line long ago,
Doesn't swing, we are told, on East Tenth Street,
Where all the perfect girls are switched-on or tuned-in or miscegenated,
But never over thirty
Trying hard
To be hip.

Flowers in the window

It was four years ago today that I married my husband and started out on this rather mad journey that has been us as a family. And now we are three! And however terrifying and awful the past month has been very very often, the moments of absolute delight have been sparkling and they're really all that I'll remember of it anyway. Stuart's love and support has been unwavering, his patience infinite, and I couldn't imagine what this all would have been like without him. He's as good a daddy as he is a husband, which is certainly something. Harriet and I are a lucky pair, and we love him very much.

From the song we danced to at our wedding, which I heard for the very first time one sunny morning two days after we first met, when I just knew....:

There is no reason to feel bad,
But there are many seasons to feel glad, sad, mad.
It's just a bunch of feelings that we have to hold,
But I am here to help you with the load.
Wow, look at you now, flowers in the window
It's such a lovely day and I'm glad that you feel the same.
'Cause to stand up, out in the crowd.
You are one in a million and I love you so,
lets watch the flowers grow.

The Immovable Baby

Though we love our own mothers dearly, continental drift and late-pregnancy laziness meant they were sorely neglected today as Stuart and I enjoyed Afternoon Tea together, a Mother's Day treat for me though I'm not quite a mother yet. I did earn a bit of mother cred yesterday, however, when a doctor spent twenty minutes or so inflicting great pain upon my abdomen in an attempt to get our determinedly sideways baby to turn. (All reports say I was very brave! and then after I got Dairy Queen). Baby didn't budge, however, and I've got to respect that. And now, after about six weeks of trying to get Baby to move through a variety of means, I'm giving up. I was very much committed to having a natural birth, but this baby is very naturally sideways, and I'm just pleased it has a means to still get here safely. I could spend the next two weeks resorting to further measures, but I don't think they'd work, and I'm also really tired. I am finished work now, and my sanity will be much more assured if I can spend this time relaxing, planting flowers in my garden, reading novels, writing while I still can, preparing food for the freezer, stocking the pantry, and taking plenty of naps. (This will also give me time to sew reusable baby wipes, which I have somehow been possessed to accomplish, even though I don't know how to sew. It is unfortunate my "nesting" instinct has taken on such inconvenient forms.)

And who knows, Baby might turn on its own anyway? But short of that, and providing Baby doesn't decide to come earlier, we are excited to know we will meet the wee one on the morning of May 26th. I'm not looking forward to a cesarean, which certainly wasn't what I'd envisaged, and in fact I am very scared and upset by the idea of a long recovery when I'll need my strength more than ever. But so many others have done it fine, we have a lot of support, and I am very fortunate that a) I've now met the surgeon and I love him and b) my midwives will be there to take care of the baby and me, and provide after-care (I love them too).

From our prenatal class manual: "Cesarean mothers... are courageous women who are willing to be cut apart for the lives of their infants. Perhaps it is time to congratulate yourself for your strength and courage."

Easter Sunday

Even though we celebrate religious holidays in a secular fashion at our house, there was plenty going on this Easter Sunday. Springtime, first of all, with blue skies and sunshine. Tulips on the table, and a special Springtime cake. The ever-present squirms of our baby, who we're just weeks away from meeting. A brilliant dinner of delicious lamb and vegetables, and seeing family. The wonderful news of another new baby, to be joining our extended family in October. This whole weekend full of good friends, delightful celebrations, and the week-old baby we got to play with on Friday. (Indeed, our lives are babyful of late. Which is good practice.) And another day off tomorrow. Now reading (the gorgeous) The Elegance of the Hedgehog, and certainly this is life.

The pause before the scones

Before heading downstairs to bake the final scones of 2008, I pause to post some New Years wishes. For 2009, I make no resolutions, because things will be changing whether I will them to or not, and certainly, I am no longer (as) in control of it all. During 2008, we drove down some amazing highways, saw new places (California!), found a new home, I read 155 (some) extraordinary books, I've written and published an amount that satisfies me, had fun in all kinds of weather, and enjoyed myself much in the company of family and good friends. For 2009, I wish health and happiness to those around me, a fat kicky baby in my arms, to read some more extraordinary books, and at least two handfuls of truly good days.

Merry Christmas

Christmas Eve was always such a funny day, so wondrous and yet so ordinary. You'd have to keep reminding yourself, "It's Christmas Eve!", all the while incongruously eating your cheerios, brushing your teeth, going through the motions. This all to push yourself forward, because the magic is never apparent until after the sun goes down, so you have to conjure it in the meantime. And enjoy this lazy lovely day, should you be so fortunate to be spending it as a holiday. It is to be hoped that those who aren't so blessed are granted an early dismissal.

Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays from Pickle Me This. If you don't have any books on your tree, I'll cross my fingers you find some good ones under it.

Postal Motherlode

Today we arrived home to a bundle on the doorstep-- ten (10!) Christmas cards, all for us. It was as good as Christmas morning, really, and we opened them one-by-one, delighting. And then had to add a second string to our fireplace display, which is quite remarkable for one day's pickings. Oh, for the love of December and perpetual post.

We are also happy this year to have a fireplace at all, though of course hanging our stockings on the bookcase was never a bad thing, but there is a certain authenticity here at the new house, even if the fireplace is a wee bit bricked up and a storage space for magazines. We trust Santa will find his way...

Birthday Love

I've spent the past three month in a pregnant napping stupor, standing up friends, missing out on events and generally ensuring I was in bed by nine every night. Also staying in bed as long as possible in the mornings and napping through my lunch. As I move into my second trimester, however, there begins to be some light. You'll not have seen any evidence of it here though, as I've spent the last two weeks writing for deadlines and working very hard, in addition to my day job (where I work less hard, but it still takes up time). Going forward, I expect to have a little more time free and you can expect to see some content up here more than once in a while!

This past weekend's excuse was a good one though, as I spent it celebrating my beloved Stuart's birthday. Now I'm up for celebrating Stuart at any time, but a special weekend set aside for him couldn't be more deserved. We had a house full of friends over last night who felt similarly, and it was a wonderful time-- I stayed up until 1:00, which is now the beginning of the second middle of the night in my new life. Never mind I could hardly stand or talk, I was there till the end. It was fabulous, if just a little crowded. We've spent today eating the leftover dips and crackers and cheese (and cake!), as well as taking in some brunch and spending a couple of hours at the ROM this afternoon (we recommend the Unbuilt Toronto exhibition).

So happy birthday to Stuart, who is my every dream come true. My partner on all my best adventures and on the most exciting still to come. Every year I marvel as what you've accomplished for yourself and for us, and I always know how lucky I am.

On Tilly Witch

For Halloween's sake, I bring you Tilly Witch, the 1969 book by Don Freeman (who was also the author of Corduroy). I had forgotten about Tilly, until I encountered her by chance this summer, and remembered that I had been obsessed with this book as a child. I have a feeling now that being obsessed with a book back then meant being in love with the pictures, pictures you could gaze into for extended periods of time, and detect new entire stories.

The pictures are pretty wonderful, dark and spooky, but made magic by juxtaposition-- Tilly's yellow surfboard, the witch doctor's mask, the colour from the window in the picture shown here.

The story begins with Tilly Ipswitch, Queen of Halloween, suddenly finding herself in a rather jolly mood. She doesn't see why she shouldn't be-- after all, "if boys and girls get to have fun pretending to be witches, I don't see why I can't play at being happy and gay, just for a change!" But Tilly soon finds that playing at happy is sort of like pulling faces-- once in a while, you might stay that way. Tilly dancing around with flowers, and on the eve of Halloween-- even she knows something has to be done.

Naturally, and most politically incorrectly, Tilly hops on her surfboard and flies the the tiny island of Wahoo to see a Doctor Weegee. (Walla walla bing bang). He is horrified upon examining her, and writes an emergency prescription to Miss Fitch's Finishing School for Witches.

Upon re-enrolling at the school where she'd once been star pupil, Tilly's problems only get worse. The lessons fail to take, she keeps giggling, and finally she is sent to the corner to wear a dunce cap. Such degradation proves too much for the Queen of Halloween, and Tilly begins to get angry. Seething-- she is not a dunce! She leaps up from her stool and stomps on her hat. It is Halloween night, and she has duties to attend to.

Tilly flies back home, takes some great joy in frightening her cat, and then sets out on her broomstick to scare children the world over. The story ends with a moral: "For Tilly had indeed learned her lesson. As long as Halloween comes once a year you can count on her to be the meanest and wickedest witch in all Witchdom".

So the lesson is bad is good-- and as a little girl, I think I appreciated such a complex message. The greater lesson being that non-conformity (and rich pictures) can really make a children's book delicious.

Happy Halloween.

Canada Day

Though tomorrow is the big day, Canada's 141st birthday, today means a bit more to me because it was three years ago that I moved to Canada. Moved back to Canada, I realize, but the return didn't lessen the significance. That in addition to the luck of being born here, I had the great privilege of choosing it too-- not everybody gets to do that. So to be home, doubly so, and this is a fine one, certainly.

Rendering Magic

We celebrated our third anniversary so marvelously, rendering a Wednesday evening perfectly magical. I especially liked getting to say at work that I was leaving a few minutes early that evening because I had a boat to catch. A ferry to the Island, which-- both for its very self and as an easy retreat from the city-- is one of my favourite parts of Toronto.


We had dinner at The Rectory Cafe on Wards Island. The weather was terrible so we didn't sit outside, but from our table by the window we watched the water and the sailboats. Indulging in some splendid food which we partook in slowly, intending to linger until the ferry at 8:45. The meals were delicious, the wine perhaps the best we've ever had, and then dessert of course. I had a pot of tea called Benghal tiger. The restaurant was lovely and airy, the service fine, and being indoors didn't spoil the mood. Really nothing could have been more delightful. And then to sail off into the sunset towards home-- a happy anniversary indeed.

A Happy Anniversary

We got married three years ago, far across the sea and on a gorgeous sunny day. Upon which I thought I knew the very heights of love...

but what a thrill now to know that the climb was just beginning.

Happy days to a man of infinite wisdom, patience, support, love and fun. It is inexplicably lucky that I get to be your wife. Here's to a good year, and then some more.

Remembering Days

The book I'm reading at the moment, which I'm absolutely in love with, contains that quotation, "We do not remember days, we remember moments." Which I don't buy actually, and I never have, because like Albert from Behind the Scenes at the Museum, I "collect good days the way other people collected coins or sets of postcards." I can remember so many glorious ones, right down to very details, and though today wasn't exactly glorious, it was definitely very fine.

The finest thing about today being happiness arriving in the post the very week I decide to stop looking for it there. And isn't there something about a surprise package when you're expecting nothing? The surprise turned out to be from Sayaka (who has a blog, by the way). She's our friend from Japan, she stayed with us for a few marvelous days last summer, and now she's seen fit to surprise me with a gift that blends two of my favourite things: tea and Miffy. Indeed, I do miss living in a land where Miffy kitchenware was so easy to to come by, but it's nice of Sayaka to ease my yearning. How positively splendid.

In other fortune, another friend gave us our wedding present a few weeks ago, nearly three years late but perfectly on time actually, as it was an HBC giftcard, and I have to buy wares for our new apartment. So I spent the early part of this evening buying new towels and bathroom accessories, and it was fun to spend spend spend (though not so fun to carry the bags home). And then I spent two hours with Rebecca, which is some of the best company I know.

The list goes on: that work has been good of late, but that today I left early, we move in a week and a half and a farmer's market is starting up in our new neighbourhood, our Easter treats from our English Mum and Dad, going home for the weekend to the Canadian ones, that tomorrow we're doing nothing at all, the stack of good books to be read, the one that I'm reading, that March sunshine, and that all I want at the moment is a cheese sandwich, and in a matter of moments I will have one.

2007 I liked you

And not just because you were the year in which we drove across a European country with the top down.

Happy New Year and all the best for 2008.

Year-End Reading Recap

I do my best not to be a passive reader. To select what I read carefully, to engage with what I'm reading through my blog, to read carefully and critically, but also joyfully, and to keep track of what I'm reading. I've been reading most actively during the last two years, since I started my list "Books Read Since 2006". The list from which I was able to discern last year that I read hardly any books by men and/or writers not from three certain countries whose names start with A, B and C. And that though a book or two had been written pre-1900, you'd be hard-pressed to notice from my list.
At the beginning of 2007 I resolved to read more slowly, and to read a "classic" monthly. I was sort of untriumphant on both counts, though the first one I couldn't really help. I tried. The second, I ended up reading about six classics, falling in love with Middlemarch and Huckleberry Finn in particular. I never did get to Anna Karenina and maybe I never will, but once again I intend to (and will that eventually cease to mean something?). Though I got around to Guns Germs and Steel so anything is possible.

I am also sorry to have not yet read Rachel Cusk's Arlington Park, which I read described as "If Virginia Woolf were alive in 2007...what she would be writing". Did you know that I nearly bought it in the Southport Waterstones, but bought a hat down the road instead? And they didn't have it at the airport bookstore, and back in Canada it could hardly be found at all, and I wanted the paperback, but I think I might spring for the hardback now. If I've wanted something for six months, it must be worthwhile.

Regrets aside, it's been an awfully good year though. Before we go out to dinner this evening, I'll have finished reading Kate Sutherland's utterly enjoyable story collection All In Together Girls, which will be #339 on my grand list. (Though I will not enter it until the book is done-- the one thing in the world about which I'm superstitious). Which means I've read 166 books this year, not bad since I spent 7 months of this year working full time. Not bad in particular since so many of the books I read were brilliant.

This year my reading resolution is quite simple-- to read with a pencil. For notes, to underline new words, to deface my books and make them mine. An active reader would do that. Oh there are so many fine books just ahead. And I will start the new year just like I started the old one, with Francine Prose's wonderful Reading Like a Writer.

Oh and also-- not only is my novel entitled What Comes Down, but it is finished.

Indulged

This Christmas my bookishness certainly benefited from my proximity to my husband. Or in particular, from my husband's office's close proximity to Ben McNally Books, which meant that by listening to me carefully, he was able to satisfy my heart's desire with remarkable ease. Which was how I came to receive Kate Sutherland's All In Together Girls and Eleanor Wachtel's Random Illuminations this year. Stuart is also the reason I am finally going to get my mitts on a copy of The Gathering, as he needed to tack another book on his own online order-via-gift-cards to go postage-free-- hurrah! Though I have my dear Bronwyn to thank for delivering me The Uncommon Reader, which is truly a book most extraordinary. From my parents I received George Street Stories, The Annex: Story of a Toronto Neighbourhood, and a gorgeous book of Czech Fairy Tales.

Though of course my heart's desire can extend beyond books, and some know this very well. Which is how I received a Miffy calendar and Marks and Spencer's things from my English family. And how I got an elephant tin of tea from the Banff Tea Co. (via my sister). Lots of other lovely things from my friends, family and husband. Oh--and the print by Michael Sowa of flying penguins that I've been long long longing for. Am I ever indulged?

Amidst the manic gift receiving, I did manage to give some too, and moreover to have a lovely couple of days with friends and family. I do hope that you experienced something very much the same.

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas!