Pinched nerve…
One day Babba Zarrah noticed there was a hole in Nikolai’s shoe…
When the children left, she decided to knit Nikolai some nice warm socks…
But so much snow had fallen that winter that no one could get through to the village to deliver wool yarn…
How could she knit warm socks without wool???
“Every question has an answer,” said Babba Zarrah.
“I just have to think of it.”
She poured herself a glass of sweet tea to help her think…
Before she had taken three sips, Babba Zarrah knew what to do…
— in The Story Blanket by Ferida Wolff and Harriet May Savitz
I woke up to the sound of City of Vancouver garbage trucks this morning…
Then I got up to start the day,
with some pruning of the contorted filbert in my small front garden…
I had to twist myself in and out of the trunk to get at the suckers that were growing strong towards the south,
reaching for sunshine,
like a one woman Cirque du Soliel act in overalls…
I notice that when I’m in my front garden all sorts of people crawl out of the woodwork,
with running commentary…
The man I bought my house from cursed by in a cloud of anger and outrage…
When I asked,
How are you???
he attempted to drag me into his thick Work Safe drama of civic duty,
fraud,
betrayal,
and corruption…
I had his number and refused to go there with him as I would have in the past,
drowning in a pool of another person’s side walk anxiety…
I suggested praying for a solution…
He looked at me as if I could use a good throttling and said,
I’m an atheist…
I said,
This isn’t about God…
it’s about talking to yourself…
He stormed off in a huff,
like I was a nut cracker or something…
I said silently,
Suit yourself…
I continued clipping away to my heart’s content,
singing Burton Cummings at low volume,
until a job well done…
Then I went to my little back garden to hack away at the mighty October blooming clematis,
which routinely engulfs the neighbour’s plum tree…
After some effort the right side of my lower back gave out…
I asked myself,
What do you need???
And then I listened,
laying right down on the warm bricks with my face in the sun,
laughing at my pain threshold…
Then I asked myself,
What do you want???
I looked up into the bright blue sky,
and saw the eagle circling high above…
An eagle taking a break from nest keeping,
down at the big park…
You and your heart shouldn't feel so far apart...
When I’m in pain of any kind I don’t self medicate the sensation away with over the counter drugs…
I consider myself lucky to be alive enough to feel it,
and remember that I’ve given birth two times at home,
on my own,
without any local anesthesia…
Secure in that knowledge and experience,
I take it like a man,
by applying some Arnica Montana to the affected area,
backing it up with a double dose remedy of 200c,
and calling it a night…
Honey trap…
I see him, said the woman…
She dropped the umbrella…
She put her hand on the locket that hung around her neck…
And Edward saw then that it was not a locket at all…
It was a watch…
A pocket watch…
It was his watch…
Edward??? said Abilene…
Yes, said Edward…
Edward, she said again,
certain this time…
Yes, said Edward,
Yes, Yes, Yes…
It’s me…
— in The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by Kate Di Camillo
A professor once wrote a question,
on one of my assignments…
I didn’t offer up an answer for the question,
because I found it far too personal,
and quite frankly,
it was none of his beeswax…
I worked with a little girl who nearly lost her family,
in a car accident,
when she was four years old,
while she was at preschool…
In some ways I guess she did lose her family,
because although her mother, father, and baby brother survived,
things were never the same…
I’m a big believer in things never being the same again,
in fact I’d make it a political,
platform…
In Kindergarten,
this girl took some things home from the classroom…
Pretty little glass stones,
that we used for counting,
into sets of ten,
and beyond…
They were transparent so I could use them,
on the overhead projector,
when we were solving math stories,
all together…
I didn’t know she had taken things home,
until she brought me a note that said,
I’m so sorry…
She wrote,
I will never take anything from you again…
And I will be good for you…
I told her that if there ever was anything,
that she wanted,
she just had to tell me,
and I would give it to her,
in an instant…
We had a few rough moments that year,
as she tested,
my unconditional love,
for her…
She told me with her eyes,
I’ve seen what you’ve done with the others,
and now it’s my turn…
I got the message,
and after that,
we flew all over the room together,
for the rest of Kindergarten,
and into Grade One…
Her mom told me that she would see books at the library,
and at garage sales,
and she would say,
My teacher would like those stories…
Sometimes she would bring those stories to our classroom,
and she would tell me with her eyes,
You need to read these to us…
These were stories about children who can see things,
that adults can’t…
Adults telling children,
That’s nice dear but can you be quiet now because I’m busy…
I watched her,
as I read,
sitting at the back of the group on the carpet,
her eyes as big as peppermint patties…
I asked her,
when we had some time to ourselves,
Can you see those things???
Can you see little people???
She answered me,
in the affirmative,
without saying a word…
I always took my class to the beach at the end of the year…
That year we went out,
on the lowest tide,
in June,
where we could walk for miles,
in eel grass,
and dig in the sand,
all the way,
to China…
At the end of the day,
before we were going,
to get on the school bus,
she brought me something…
Her mom told me,
over her shoulder,
As soon as she picked it up she said I’m going to give this to my teacher…
Her gift to me was a warm black stone…
When people read the stories they have written,
out loud,
stories written right out of their bodies,
you can tell they are true,
if some part of you,
falls to your knees,
and places you never even knew,
you had inside of you,
open up,
and make you cry,
for more…
Last nights’ Canucks’ game against Colorado was a win-win situation,
for everyone,
with no compromise…
The Canucks got another point,
and the Avalanche clinched a spot in the playoffs,
with a rookie’s beautiful shoot-out goal…
These are the kinds of results that are worth fighting for,
in sudden death…
Playing chances manifesting out of nowhere,
with skill,
discipline,
and steady patience…
Revin' up my engine, like a 747...
Skin flint…
I had to go to school in two hours and write a fifteen-hundred-word story that included a triggering point,
a climax,
and a resolution…
On my way home I came up with my first sentence…
“The administration passed her around for beatings like a hookah pipe at a Turkish wedding…”
which got panned by Mr. Quiring…
“No, no,”
he said…
He tapped me hard on the forehead…
He didn’t even bother reading the rest of it…
So far in English I was not allowed to write about Khalil Gibran,
Marianne Faithful lyrics,
marigold seeds,
Holden Caulfield,
Neitzsche,
Django,
Nabokov,
preternatural gifts for self-analysis,
urges,
blowtorches,
and now Turkish weddings…
— in A Complicated Kindness by Miriam Toews
I told Starshine and Little Gem that I wanted to change my name…
They both said,
No Mama, don’t do it…
Your name is perfect for you…
Why would you want to change your name???
I told them that that’s what people do after they’ve had a mid-life crisis…
They said,
We thought you had anemia…
I said,
Maybe they’re the same thing and doctors haven’t figured that out yet…
They asked,
What do you want to change your name to???
I said,
I was toying around with the idea of Shakira,
but Beyonce feels more natural…
Starshine said,
Ohmigod Mama…
I would die if you did that…
I immediately added that idea to my preemptive list,
of how to embarrass teenage children…
When I discovered that I was pregnant with Starshine,
I went to my doctor and said,
I want to have this baby in water…
Where can I do that???
She gave me the name of two midwives,
and she added,
Your timing is perfect…
As of a few months ago midwifery care is covered by basic medical…
You can have your baby in a pool at home…
I few weeks later I became part of the Provincial Home Birth Project…
People thought I was nuts…
I thought I was doing exactly what I wanted to do,
and then I did it…
When I signed up at S.F.U. for graduate studies people said,
You can’t be eclectic…
You have to choose a theory and stick to it…
I wrote them a poem that said,
No way Jose…
The same people said,
You have to have a bibliography at the end of your paper…
I said,
I’m tired…
I don’t feel like it…
And I’ve said all I want to say…
I still got my degree,
because at Master’s level,
if you’ve paid your money,
nobody gets a fail…
When I went back for doctoral studies there were some old dogs in the room…
The same faded plastic kind that sit on the dash of your car,
and nod their heads at everything…
They told me,
more than once,
from behind their laptops,
If you want to play in the playground,
you have to use the language of the playground,
otherwise you can’t play,
because no one will understand you…
I always taught my students,
when they were five and six years old,
If you don’t like the language that is being used on the playground,
and the way people are playing doesn’t work for you,
DO something different…
The others may not understand you at first,
but they’ll come around…
Just don’t ever give up on changing…
The noon hour supervisors always told me,
We know which children are from your class…
They don’t talk like the others do…
They seem to have their own language,
and they play by their own set of rules…
And everyone else wants to join in their games…
My great-great grandfather brought his family from Norway,
in the late 1800’s,
and settled in Minnesota…
My great-grandfather brought his family from Minnesota to Saskatchewan,
and settled in Meota as a grain farmer…
I have my great-grandmother’s wedding skirt in my basement…
It is fancy in its practicality,
defying both tradition,
and convention…
But the best thing about it is,
the lingering scent,
of the old wood stove,
held in the fibre…
I didn’t see last nights Canucks game against the Minnesota Wild,
because it was a pay per view,
and we were watching a movie about history coming alive,
at night…
But I watched the post-game highlights,
and interviews…
Three pucks in the back of the goal in the last minute to tie things up,
is not what one would expect,
but it happens…
And when it does,
you need to stay focused to turn things around,
and hammer it home for honour…
All day long I'd biddy biddy bum...
Things shouldn’t hinge on so very little…
Sneeze and you’re highway carnage…
Remove one tiny stone and bang you’re an avalanche statistic…
But I guess if you can die without ever understanding how it happened then you can also live without a complete understanding of how…
And in a way that is kind of relaxing…
— in A Complicated Kindness by Miriam Toews…
Canuck'd 