Everybody needs a hobby, and while I might be over quota in that category I appear to have added another one. But this one is somehow different. This one isn't a pursuit I set aside carefully scheduled time for. It's not... calculated. This one lands on me spontaneously with the weight of a ton of bricks. I'll just be minding my own business when out of the blue it hits me in a most annoying, distracting way: I need to write.
Through a series of circumstances that are quite unusual (oh... hmmm... I should write about that) I find myself penning a column for Inside Toronto. It's a regular feature entitled Celebrity Musing and my first column, attached herewith, speaks to Rihanna and Chris Brown.
If you make it all the way through, I thank you for allowing me to beg your indulgence. Honest. In that I'm new to the realm of writing formally ~ for somebody other than myself ~ I welcome your feedback. But be gentle... I'm a shrinking violet after all...
March 31, 2012
March 20, 2012
Tuesday Night Musing Club
Everyone should have one of these friendships. It's one of those friendships that lasts and lasts but requires no maintenance, bears no expectations, and demands no more than any one party can give to it. But it there are unspoken rules to the union, primary among them being that a friend in need is a friend indeed. It is (sigh... young people please brace for this) comfortable.
Kim is my best friend and co-conspirator from my university days, and nearly three decades later we find ourselves living only a few blocks apart but somehow struggling to find the time to get together. I think we both knew it was time to make time. For about a month now we've been setting aside one evening a week to work on our blogs.
Our first blog night was a resounding success. We drank a few tumblers of wine and spent most of the evening trying to remember what the password was for wireless access. As the Mensa Society satellite group applied astute thinking to crack the code, it simultaneously entertained itself by retelling tales of typewriter corrector ribbon horrors and promised that it would never cuss out security surrounding Internet privacy. Luddites of the world, UNITE! Not a bad way to pass an evening, really...
Fast forward a month and here we are. The evening started with a bit of story telling, which suits me just fine. The art of story telling is lost on many, but not me. I love hearing a good yarn as much as I love telling one, but tonight the floor was Kim's. Her son came home from daycare with a new haircut, which he administered to himself. Naturally the laughter had to be supported with pictures (good work, kiddo - that's one heck of a follicular mess) and a bit more laughing. We then settled into our weekly purpose, but things are a bit more polished now that we're old hands at this. Auto connection to the wireless source is certainly very helpful. The tumbler of wine has reappeared (this time paired wonderfully with pallet cleansing Mini Oreos), and in the background, Jimmy Fallon is interviewing January Jones on the subtleties of choosing pink highlights for blond hair. Otherwise, all one can hear is fingers tapping on keyboards.
This gem of a picture is me and Kim in our dorm kitchen at Neill-Wycik in February of 1986 - first year university. We made banana bread and this my friends, was some kind of noteworthy accomplishment if you read the picture correctly. I'm impressed we had all the ingredients (and a bread pan) to be honest with you. Anyway, for those doing quick math, that was before either of us could afford to have our hair coloured, so thank goodness the blue eyeshadow is so distracting. The 80's were unkind in a lot of ways, but they sure did spawn a few pretty great friendships.
Kim is my best friend and co-conspirator from my university days, and nearly three decades later we find ourselves living only a few blocks apart but somehow struggling to find the time to get together. I think we both knew it was time to make time. For about a month now we've been setting aside one evening a week to work on our blogs.
Our first blog night was a resounding success. We drank a few tumblers of wine and spent most of the evening trying to remember what the password was for wireless access. As the Mensa Society satellite group applied astute thinking to crack the code, it simultaneously entertained itself by retelling tales of typewriter corrector ribbon horrors and promised that it would never cuss out security surrounding Internet privacy. Luddites of the world, UNITE! Not a bad way to pass an evening, really...
Fast forward a month and here we are. The evening started with a bit of story telling, which suits me just fine. The art of story telling is lost on many, but not me. I love hearing a good yarn as much as I love telling one, but tonight the floor was Kim's. Her son came home from daycare with a new haircut, which he administered to himself. Naturally the laughter had to be supported with pictures (good work, kiddo - that's one heck of a follicular mess) and a bit more laughing. We then settled into our weekly purpose, but things are a bit more polished now that we're old hands at this. Auto connection to the wireless source is certainly very helpful. The tumbler of wine has reappeared (this time paired wonderfully with pallet cleansing Mini Oreos), and in the background, Jimmy Fallon is interviewing January Jones on the subtleties of choosing pink highlights for blond hair. Otherwise, all one can hear is fingers tapping on keyboards.
This gem of a picture is me and Kim in our dorm kitchen at Neill-Wycik in February of 1986 - first year university. We made banana bread and this my friends, was some kind of noteworthy accomplishment if you read the picture correctly. I'm impressed we had all the ingredients (and a bread pan) to be honest with you. Anyway, for those doing quick math, that was before either of us could afford to have our hair coloured, so thank goodness the blue eyeshadow is so distracting. The 80's were unkind in a lot of ways, but they sure did spawn a few pretty great friendships.
March 18, 2012
The Cold War
Am I a feminist? No clue why I'm grappling with this on a lazy Sunday afternoon, but it might have something to do with this sign, which has hung in my home for years.
Am I? With one voice I say yes, absolutely. Yet with another voice, I say no because I really don't know what defines a feminist or for that matter, feminism. The line is drawn right down the middle for me on this one. Both voices are strong, vibrant, determined, and holding firm to their beliefs - a cold war by the most rudimentary of definitions. So, what is feminism? It depends on who you are and how you look at it.
A common held theory is that feminism developed in three distinct waves. The first wave rolled through in the latter part of the 19th century, lasted until just after WWI, and involved the struggle to secure basic political rights for women. Wave two emerged in the 1960's and lasted for about 20 years. It focused on greater equality across the board in education, the workplace, and the home. The third and current wave arrived on the heels of the second and puts more focus on the lack of parity among women due to race, ethnicity, class, nationality, and religion, and also places emphasis on identity as a source of gender struggle. But some feminist scholars decry the "wave" theory, saying that it overshadows their belief that resisting male domination is definitively feminist, has been present throughout history, and transcends cultural barriers.
Since there is dissension in the ranks of women in defining what feminism is, I'm left with no choice but to fashion my own definition. I think the best way to do that is to examine my quality of life and ask myself if I had to fight for any of the rights and freedoms I have.
I received a formal education. I vote. I chose my post secondary institute and was required only to meet academic standards to be accepted into the faculty. I got a degree. I have been able to work and earn a living every day of my adult life. I have a job I love that I'm well trained for. I have access to health care. I have been able to openly welcome into my life the friends I choose and the friends who choose me. I have a home and a car. I can dress the way I wish, exercise whenever I like, and join activities and organizations. I can travel freely. I can compete for personal betterment in every facet of my life. The list goes on and on. The overwhelming sense I have as I write this is not what it means to be a feminist, but rather that I have unequivocal freedom... And really, other than life itself is there any greater gift?
I can't say exactly what feminism is, and I still don't know if I'm a feminist. But I will say this. I bow down to anyone who called themselves a feminist and worked with unyielding determination to push through barriers that needed to be pushed through in order for women to rise toward equal status. And what of the literal wars fought? My freedom comes to me not only by virtue of battles waged by feminists, but by those who laid down their lives to ensure that freedom was protected for generations to come. Me? I get to be strong simply by choosing to work hard as I travel down whatever path I'm on. I recognize that there are exceptions, but perhaps generally for my generation of Canadian women, courage is a relative term.
For me, there's no point in continuing to grapple with the question because there's not much to be gleaned from the answer. However, merely asking the question proved introspective, and from that introspection came an unexpected conclusion: Rather than spending time trying to identify if I'm a feminist, I think I'll devote that time to seeing if I can make even the slightest difference in the lives of people who don't yet have the same freedom and opportunities that I have.
Until feminism can be definitively carved in stone, I'm with Rebecca West on this one.
Am I? With one voice I say yes, absolutely. Yet with another voice, I say no because I really don't know what defines a feminist or for that matter, feminism. The line is drawn right down the middle for me on this one. Both voices are strong, vibrant, determined, and holding firm to their beliefs - a cold war by the most rudimentary of definitions. So, what is feminism? It depends on who you are and how you look at it.
A common held theory is that feminism developed in three distinct waves. The first wave rolled through in the latter part of the 19th century, lasted until just after WWI, and involved the struggle to secure basic political rights for women. Wave two emerged in the 1960's and lasted for about 20 years. It focused on greater equality across the board in education, the workplace, and the home. The third and current wave arrived on the heels of the second and puts more focus on the lack of parity among women due to race, ethnicity, class, nationality, and religion, and also places emphasis on identity as a source of gender struggle. But some feminist scholars decry the "wave" theory, saying that it overshadows their belief that resisting male domination is definitively feminist, has been present throughout history, and transcends cultural barriers.
Since there is dissension in the ranks of women in defining what feminism is, I'm left with no choice but to fashion my own definition. I think the best way to do that is to examine my quality of life and ask myself if I had to fight for any of the rights and freedoms I have.
I received a formal education. I vote. I chose my post secondary institute and was required only to meet academic standards to be accepted into the faculty. I got a degree. I have been able to work and earn a living every day of my adult life. I have a job I love that I'm well trained for. I have access to health care. I have been able to openly welcome into my life the friends I choose and the friends who choose me. I have a home and a car. I can dress the way I wish, exercise whenever I like, and join activities and organizations. I can travel freely. I can compete for personal betterment in every facet of my life. The list goes on and on. The overwhelming sense I have as I write this is not what it means to be a feminist, but rather that I have unequivocal freedom... And really, other than life itself is there any greater gift?
I can't say exactly what feminism is, and I still don't know if I'm a feminist. But I will say this. I bow down to anyone who called themselves a feminist and worked with unyielding determination to push through barriers that needed to be pushed through in order for women to rise toward equal status. And what of the literal wars fought? My freedom comes to me not only by virtue of battles waged by feminists, but by those who laid down their lives to ensure that freedom was protected for generations to come. Me? I get to be strong simply by choosing to work hard as I travel down whatever path I'm on. I recognize that there are exceptions, but perhaps generally for my generation of Canadian women, courage is a relative term.
For me, there's no point in continuing to grapple with the question because there's not much to be gleaned from the answer. However, merely asking the question proved introspective, and from that introspection came an unexpected conclusion: Rather than spending time trying to identify if I'm a feminist, I think I'll devote that time to seeing if I can make even the slightest difference in the lives of people who don't yet have the same freedom and opportunities that I have.
Until feminism can be definitively carved in stone, I'm with Rebecca West on this one.
March 12, 2012
The Art of Simplicity
Sometimes the giant engine that is my thought process finds inertia in the simplest things. Yesterday, all it took to get the juices flowing was a reminder of how intrinsically simple life is... if you let it be simple.
In the form of a wonderful little road trip, I was reminded that life is indeed simple if we don't make extra work out of complicating it. An eight year old Thoroughbred stood in front of me yesterday morning and in her own way, lectured me rather fervently on how I am adding complications to what should be a fairly simple life. It was quite a dressing-down, let me tell you.
After an hour and a half of highway driving on a gorgeous, warm, clear day, my friend Linda and I landed in the town of Bright to check in on Linda's adopted Thoroughbred, Regal Diamond. At only 8 years old, this horse has known the best and worst of good intentions at the hands of humans. She has championship lineage and was the end result of a $20,000.00 stud fee. She was bred to race, raced, won more than $110,000 in purses, and was retired to her second start as a pleasure horse. But then something went terribly wrong. Fast forward a few years, and we find her on a farm in Bright simply trying to survive a period of time where prior to Linda the noble beast nearly starved. Literally. Linda adopted her seven months ago and moved her to a stable where she could rest, gain weight, and slowly recover her health.
Thoroughbreds are high strung, high performance animals. When you factor in an element of abuse in the form of neglect, well, I wasn't sure what to expect when I met RD for the first time yesterday. What I discovered warmed my heart. Calm. Aware. Smart. Playful. Mischievous. Spirited. And miraculously... trusting and loving. She is still recovering from her ordeal and has a way to go yet, but was so overtly open to giving and receiving love that I couldn't be anything but humbled.
She stood patiently (untethered) in an indoor ring as we curried her, scraped muck off her hooves, picked her frogs, soft brushed her, rubbed her down.... and played possum with her. On occasion she'd walk away from us, only to turn around and walk with purpose straight at us, brushing her girth up against one of us as if to say, "I could knock you on your can right now, you know." I swear I could see the smirk on her gorgeous face. She pushed her nose up to the sky and let her bottom lip go slack as Linda scratched her withers for what seemed like an eternity. Then she'd walk off again, this time go for a little canter around the ring, and then come back to us for more petting and brushing. When her brethren in the stable whinnied, she spoke back to them. When a flake of hay arrived in the ring, she nibbled peacefully while hands were run down her legs and around her underside, feeling out possible maladies. And when it was all said and done, she walked off to the middle of the ring, found a good spot, thumped the ground with her right front hoof, and went for three or four really good rolls in the sand. No doubt about it: this is a happy girl.
And there you have it. Regal Diamond has a life that could be complicated, should be complicated, has every right to be complicated, and yet somehow isn't. The beautiful spirit of a proud creature emerged ahead of the little voice in her head that cautioned her that sometimes people can hurt you, whether intended or not.
Life is simple if we don't set about trying to complicate it.
In the form of a wonderful little road trip, I was reminded that life is indeed simple if we don't make extra work out of complicating it. An eight year old Thoroughbred stood in front of me yesterday morning and in her own way, lectured me rather fervently on how I am adding complications to what should be a fairly simple life. It was quite a dressing-down, let me tell you.
After an hour and a half of highway driving on a gorgeous, warm, clear day, my friend Linda and I landed in the town of Bright to check in on Linda's adopted Thoroughbred, Regal Diamond. At only 8 years old, this horse has known the best and worst of good intentions at the hands of humans. She has championship lineage and was the end result of a $20,000.00 stud fee. She was bred to race, raced, won more than $110,000 in purses, and was retired to her second start as a pleasure horse. But then something went terribly wrong. Fast forward a few years, and we find her on a farm in Bright simply trying to survive a period of time where prior to Linda the noble beast nearly starved. Literally. Linda adopted her seven months ago and moved her to a stable where she could rest, gain weight, and slowly recover her health.
Thoroughbreds are high strung, high performance animals. When you factor in an element of abuse in the form of neglect, well, I wasn't sure what to expect when I met RD for the first time yesterday. What I discovered warmed my heart. Calm. Aware. Smart. Playful. Mischievous. Spirited. And miraculously... trusting and loving. She is still recovering from her ordeal and has a way to go yet, but was so overtly open to giving and receiving love that I couldn't be anything but humbled.
She stood patiently (untethered) in an indoor ring as we curried her, scraped muck off her hooves, picked her frogs, soft brushed her, rubbed her down.... and played possum with her. On occasion she'd walk away from us, only to turn around and walk with purpose straight at us, brushing her girth up against one of us as if to say, "I could knock you on your can right now, you know." I swear I could see the smirk on her gorgeous face. She pushed her nose up to the sky and let her bottom lip go slack as Linda scratched her withers for what seemed like an eternity. Then she'd walk off again, this time go for a little canter around the ring, and then come back to us for more petting and brushing. When her brethren in the stable whinnied, she spoke back to them. When a flake of hay arrived in the ring, she nibbled peacefully while hands were run down her legs and around her underside, feeling out possible maladies. And when it was all said and done, she walked off to the middle of the ring, found a good spot, thumped the ground with her right front hoof, and went for three or four really good rolls in the sand. No doubt about it: this is a happy girl.
And there you have it. Regal Diamond has a life that could be complicated, should be complicated, has every right to be complicated, and yet somehow isn't. The beautiful spirit of a proud creature emerged ahead of the little voice in her head that cautioned her that sometimes people can hurt you, whether intended or not.
Life is simple if we don't set about trying to complicate it.
March 10, 2012
On Living Legacies
I've been giving a lot of thought to legacies lately... what constitutes one, how you establish, maintain, and nurture one, and what it says about you if somebody measures you solely upon it.
My head then popped right off my neck. That is a c r a p l o a d of expectation to heap upon oneself, especially if oneself is still a bit soft around the edges from the previous evening of life-loving (editor's note: no need to panic, subsequent posts will address the art of life-loving). I'm pretty sure my blog ~ I'm not crazy about the word blog, by the way ~ won't be my solatary legacy. I'm not sure what if anything will be. I'm not the kind of person to pursue a legacy; I'm the kind of person whose legacy will be whatever people decide it will be. In the interim I shall move forward living my life the very best way I know how: with a commitment to loving generously, praising loudly, and living fully.
But since you've invested the time to read this far and were likely hoping for something of greater substance, I have this to offer courtesy of a wall hanging given to me by Potala Gift Shop in the Beach (www.potalagiftshop.com):
"We are visitors on this planet. We are here for ninety or one hundred years at the very most. During that period, we must try to do something good, something useful, with our lives. If you contribute to other peoples' happiness, you will find the true goal, the true meaning of life." H.H. The 14th Dalai Lama
So basically if you've made somebody smile today, you've found the meaning of life. How cool is that?
My head then popped right off my neck. That is a c r a p l o a d of expectation to heap upon oneself, especially if oneself is still a bit soft around the edges from the previous evening of life-loving (editor's note: no need to panic, subsequent posts will address the art of life-loving). I'm pretty sure my blog ~ I'm not crazy about the word blog, by the way ~ won't be my solatary legacy. I'm not sure what if anything will be. I'm not the kind of person to pursue a legacy; I'm the kind of person whose legacy will be whatever people decide it will be. In the interim I shall move forward living my life the very best way I know how: with a commitment to loving generously, praising loudly, and living fully.
But since you've invested the time to read this far and were likely hoping for something of greater substance, I have this to offer courtesy of a wall hanging given to me by Potala Gift Shop in the Beach (www.potalagiftshop.com):
"We are visitors on this planet. We are here for ninety or one hundred years at the very most. During that period, we must try to do something good, something useful, with our lives. If you contribute to other peoples' happiness, you will find the true goal, the true meaning of life." H.H. The 14th Dalai Lama
So basically if you've made somebody smile today, you've found the meaning of life. How cool is that?
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