Going for Gold

Team Canada - 2010

The Canadian men’s Olympic hockey team was named yesterday. No real surprises, a couple of disappointments, and at least one derisive smirk – but while I could go the Leaf fan route and downplay the team’s chances in Sochi, I’ve decided to get fully behind them and cheer until they reach the Finnish line. Did I say Finnish? I meant finish. Silly me; still smarting from the world juniors. Anyway, who knows? Despite naysayers and injuries, past stats and increasingly skilled opposition in the Games, the Canadian guys could very well win gold! They have to believe it going in, else why bother? And we have to believe it, too. Expecting failure is a good way to ensure it … though I hope Carey Price is the starting goalie over “24 second Lou”. Pittsburgh played in Vancouver last night; before the game I wondered if Sidney Crosby would skate up to Luongo and say, “Am I gonna have to save your a** like I did in 2010?” Ter replied that such trash talk wouldn’t be terribly captain-like, and after a short debate about what constitutes unsportsmanlike conduct, she suggested that the classier comment would be something like, “I’ve got your back, buddy.”

Which is why she’s a cut above me in the realm of hockey fandom.

The discussion was moot in any case. Luongo is out with an ankle injury for 1 to 2 weeks, so Price’s chances are looking good. I hope he crashes and burns tonight, though – les Habs are in Philadelphia and the Flyers are on a roll. They beat New Jersey last night, 3 - 1 in regulation.

In other news, I’m on pace to finish the first draft of Shade’s story before I go back to work in five days. I have a few significant scenes and the ending left to do. I’m hoping the former will lead the latter into writing itself, as it’s not immediately clear to me how this story will be resolved. It’s taken me months to get this far, so obviously patience is the key. Patience, and me trusting the muse. I don’t even know what to call it – a romance, a mystery, a fantasy, or what. No title yet, either. Tiny details designed to distract me from the greater work, so before I get hung up on the trivial, I’d better focus on the main event.

Kind of like Team Canada will have to do for the Olympics.

Bee Here Now

One summer day, I watched a honey bee collect pollen from a flowering bush in the garden. I initially paused to inspect the bee itself – accustomed to fat fuzzy bumblebees, I saw something resembling a wasp wearing a furry jacket and wanted a closer look. How diligent the bee was, given the size of the bush and the territory he had to cover. I studied his technique for a minute, vastly impressed. Then I noticed something else. He wasn’t the only bee in the bush. There were lots of honey bees harvesting pollen from the flowers; I just hadn’t seen them at first. They certainly hadn’t arrived after me – I would definitely have noticed an approaching swarm (and likely not stuck around to welcome them). They simply came into consciousness as I stood still.

The Honeybee Observation occurred a few years ago, but the lesson has stayed with me. I’m always jumping around from thought to thought, bouncing back and forth between the past and the future. No wonder I remember less and less; I’m rarely present enough to retain anything from a given moment!

How much more will I see if I stop and look? How much more will I hear if I take more than a second to listen?

Slow down. Stand still. Pay attention. Be amazed.

Blog Art

part of my kit currently getting the most work

Tomorrow’s post is about honeybees—and I only offer that tidbit because it inspired today’s post.

Many of the photos put up here at CR I have taken myself, especially since the arrival of my beloved Canon. Others obviously originated elsewhere, and I’ll happily give credit where it’s due if I am ever caught. I’d give it up front except that I rarely know who took/drew/assembled whichever photo I choose to complement my musings du jour.

But back to the honeybees. A post about honeybees is well-served by a picture of a honeybee. Problem there is that, no matter how harmless to humans or vital to the ecosystem they are, honeybees are still insects, and insects of any ilk make my toes curl. I actually found a pic that would have suited, except that it’s a picture of a bug and after some (okay, not that much) thought, I decided to go with the cutesy option and find a cartoon.

Photos are easier to use than cartoons, mostly because many ’toons are visibly copyrighted and a watermark wrecks the effect, i.e., the best drawings that Google found were armed against unauthorized use. So I puzzled for a bit, then, just as frustration began to bubble, a little voice suggested that I draw my own picture.

Well, why the heck not? I can draw. I must be able to, else why would I have an arsenal of artistic weaponry in my writing room? Drafting pencils, coloured pencils, pens, felt-tipped markers, art erasers (I go through a lot of those), paintbrushes – if it can be found in a grade school student’s desk, I have the grown-up version in mine. A sampling is pictured above (photo copyright by Ru, 2014)

So I did it. I drew my own honeybee. Tune in tomorrow for the great unveiling. Though, truly, I’m sticking with the writing gig.

Sunrise

December 26, 2013

Living where the sky meets the sea, I’ve developed a real appreciation for the sunrise. I’m hardly obsessed enough to drag my butt out of bed at 5 a.m. in summer, and it’s often too rainy in winter, but if I happen to be awake and the morning happens to be clear, I will park on the sofa in the Ocean Room and await the spectacle.

Some cloud is best; you get a dynamic pre-show ahead of the main feature. It will start with rich, rosy red clouds melting into a coral sky. Stark bare branches are sketched black against it. The water will be pearl blue. The colours will shift, lightening here, darkening there … and then a bright orange glitter will spark on the horizon. I’ll watch as the spark gradually swells to a blazing gold toffee penny. The clouds will be bathed in gilded light. The water will catch fire. It will hurt to look, but I’ll keep looking and marveling. I once believed that sunset was the grandest time of day, that twilight beat the dawn for beauty and magic. That was before I experienced what a clear morning brings.

I know what makes the sunrise so spectacular. I understand about the tilt of the earth as we orbit the sun and how shooting light through vapour can rouse every colour of the spectrum. It’s about physics and astronomy yaddayaddayadda.

I call it magic.

Salad Days

Monday – spicy chicken Caesar (no croutons)

Tuesday – tuna salad on iceberg w/celery and green onion

Wednesday – spring greens with deli ham, boiled egg, baby tomatoes and cucumber

Thursday – spring greens with bacon, pineapple and red pepper

Friday – baby greens with chicken, dried cranberries, almonds, cucumber and red grapes

Saturday – Greek with lentil chips and tzatziki

Sunday – spring greens with pear, pecan, and feta cheese

Gee. How can you tell that I’m done with festive feasting?

Bibliography (Part 1)

 

“The Night Circus” – Erin Morgenstern



I wrote nothing, yesterday. I had just finished revisiting The Night Circus, and trying to produce anything in the aftermath seemed futile. It’s one of those stories so brilliantly told that I am at once inspired and intimidated. All I really wanted to do after closing the cover was burst into tears and gush about how wonderful it is. Magical. Alluring. Poignant. Misty. Melancholy. Beautiful. Dreamy. Colourful. Dazzling. Romantic. Tragic. Sweet. Stark. Fragile. Masterful. Gorgeous. The adjectives are innumerable. I rarely happen on a novel that I want to read more than once. This one, I suspect, will become an annual event. It deserves to be read over and over and over again.

My first run last winter left me breathless and in awe. This time, though I knew what was to come, I was able to comprehend it better and that made for a richer experience. It’s like a glass box full of jewels, glistening and intensely-hued, so mesmerizing that you can’t look away. You want to lift the lid and inspect every facet, to see how the light plays off the surface and reflects on your skin while you hold it. She writes with an elegant simplicity that sets you right in the scene. Her description of a dining room where the candlelight is “deep and warm and bubbling” just sends me. There’s a poetry, an artistry, in being able to write like that, to paint so richly with language and yet not overwhelm the reader with pretentious stodge.

And the story itself? Where did she come up with this thing??? A challenge between magician instructors where their students are ignorant and the circus is the venue. Only one can win, but what happens when the opponents fall in love? And what happens to the circus when they do? So there’s a morality tale as well as magic and romance; mysteries abound until pretty well the last scene – a conversation between one of the challenge instructors and a boy who can read the past. They speak of magic in terms I completely understand, so … does it exist or doesn’t it?

If The Night Circus is any indication, it most certainly does.

New Year’s Day

It seems counter-intuitive to begin a new year with a hangover, but that’s inevitably what I do. And when I say “hangover”, I mean of the gluttonous variety. I’m a cheap drunk, so despite the seasonal increase in consumption, I limit myself to one boozy libation per day. Treats, however, know no bounds and can do as much mischief as alcohol once the line is crossed.

Thatʼs why I try to view January 1 as just another day; a day to recover from the holiday overload and regain some perspective. A hangover of any ilk will skew the latter, thus adding to the fervour of making those pesky New Yearʼs resolutions. Is that when the tradition started, I wonder? Folk feeling like crap and resolving to be better about feeling better? A man will agree to do anything if heʼs miserable enough and wants the misery to end.

I may be aware of the perils in NY resolutions, but I am not immune. I was reflecting in the bathroom mirror this morning on what I might resolve to do better in 2014. One thing came immediately to mind:

Write daily.

Just as promptly, the panicked mental chatter ensued.

What, write something every day for a whole year and beyond? I canʼt commit to that. I have a job, a social life. What if I fail (which I am likely to do, given the scope of the resolution)?

Inner sigh.

“Write dailyˮ means write today. It does not mean write tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

The same principle applies to anything and everything else. Do it TODAY. And if youʼre unsure you can uphold that resolve for a full 24 hours (as I am about rebuffing those treats), hold true to the moment.

Just for today. For New Yearʼs Day and Valentineʼs Day, for Tuesday, for your birthday, for Arbour Day and Nirvana Day and All Saintsʼ Day—what day doesnʼt matter as long as itʼs this one.

This day. This hour. This moment. Itʼs the one youʼve got. Make it count.