Hey kids!
I want to hear from YOU this time. C’mon down to Polldaddy and take part in this survey on one of my favourite topics: READING!
Follow the link here, or go to my Facebook or Twitter pages.
Survey closes June 21, 2013 at 23:30.
Can’t wait to hear from you!
http://leemcbride2020.polldaddy.com/s/let-us-read-let-us-dance
Filed under Books
Esther Williams never got water up her nose, or had to spit when she swam, like Sally, who didn’t like to get her face wet in the first place. And Esther Williams never splashed, either. Not even when she dove off the high board.
You’d never know you had to kick to stay afloat from watching Esther Williams. And when she swam in the movies there was always beautiful music in the background and handsome men standing around, waiting.
It would be great fun to be Esther Williams!
The year was 1980. The book was Starring Sally J. Freedman As Herself.
If you were never a girl, you may be unfamiliar with this gem in Judy Blume’s bibliography.
Sally was ten years old, just like me, and SSJFAH taught me many things. Set in 1947, it taught me about the horror of the Holocaust, and the beauty of hibiscus flowers. It showed me the importance of family history and personal stories. It helped me know what it was like to be the new kid, and about how one always eventually finds their people. It was a very significant book for me.
It also drew my attention to someone with whom I would have otherwise never become familiar -Esther Williams – and for that I will always be grateful.
Because back in the day, when I saw how much Sally loved her, I did, too.
And so now my 10-year-old self will mourn her, too.
Goodbye, Esther. You’ll be missed.
August 8, 1921 – June 6, 2013
“I don’t know which is more discouraging, literature or chickens.”
~ E.B. White
This is not a Bucket List. I’ve grown to despise that term, damn Jack and Morgan, they ruined everything. So…what? If I don’t make a tick mark beside everything on my List, I’ve FAILED life? When my time comes to go toward the Light, I’ll not be allowed a feeling of contentment and a job well done? Some omniscient being will stamp a big ‘Incomplete’ on my celestial report card? Fak off!
No, this is just entry #1 of some stuff I’d like to do at some point whilst my soul is still attached to my body. There’s a difference.
My youngest (Thing 2) is currently in school Mondays, Wednesdays and alternate Fridays. It’s a stupid schedule, I know. Most Friday mornings last year were spent scrambling to find the calendar – is he going? He’s staying home? Dammit, I had a pedi booked! This year I galvanized myself into action and marked every single week off, so a simple glance tells me if I can make any grownup plans.
In any case, Mondays and Wednesdays remain my sure-thing days of the week, unless of course Thing 1 or Thing 2 have colds, which means I’m on call. Whatever.
At least one of these mornings usually includes a trip to Starbucks. Funnily enough, I am seriously anti-Starbucks (I defiantly use terms other than they have written on their artfully done menu), but after watching the two daytime girls at my local Second Cup eating behind the counter, licking their fingers and then going off to prep a drive-up order without once washing their hands, I decided to make the ultimate sacrifice and head over to the west side of the street. Here, I order my beverage:
Me: (scanning the boards distractedly) Uh, yeah, I’d like an espresso and steamed milk, please. For here. That size (points to mug on counter).
Snotty, 20-something barista: (with barely-disguised contempt) So, you want a grande latte?
Me: (looking perplexed) Uh, yeah, I guess.
Fuck ’em. I’m never gonna say it.
I grab a newspaper from the rack, usually The Hamilton Spectator, though sometimes The Toronto Star if I’m lucky. Find my window seat and set up shop for the next hour.
Late September, I’m happily browsing away and I come across this article in the Spec, “New York City’s spots for book lovers: a literary tour.” OMG! It’s like some New Yorkers got together to discuss a few of Erin’s Favourite Things, namely New York itself (which holds an almost mythical fascination for me, having never been there), books and booze.
One day, I muse to myself. After Thing 2 starts first grade. One day.
Who’s in?
Filed under Books, Wanderings
Canadiana: Canadian things in general, but especially Canadian literature.
When it comes to Canadiana, I am un fanatique complet (us Canucks always use French when we’re trying to achieve haughty emphasis). Finding a new treasure for my already double-stacked shelves provides a rush only rivaled by the discovery I had enough foresight to buy two bottles of wine last night. Or kayaking. Pick one.
The new, Indigo/Chapters/Kobo flyer arrived the other day. Have you seen it? Oh my God, it’s gorgeous. Total bibliophile erotica, twenty-four over-sized pages dripping with earth-toned, name-dropping, lifestyle-pushing titillation. Apparently Ondaatje won the coin toss and got his name on the cover. That’s all right, though; Atwood’s been too busy these days baffling twin buffoons in Toronto to take any notice.
Thing is, buying Ondaatje’s latest alone (The Cat’s Table, $32.00) goes far beyond my monthly book-buying budget, nevermind picking up an embroidered felt loop pillow or two to lean on ($39.50 each) or a hand drawn teardrop glass lamp ($60) to romantically illuminate the pages. Fortunately for me, there is a bounty of used book sellers in this town to choose from. Value Village on Fennell at Upper Wentworth has a surprisingly well-stocked and organized selection, as does Talize on Upper James. Why, just the other day I picked up Stuart McLean’s “Extreme Vinyl Cafe” and Jann Arden’s “i’ll tell you one damn thing, and that’s all i know!” for about three bucks apiece. Take that, Indigo! Better yet – if you aren’t as paper possession-hungry as I, go to the dang library, where they apparently let you leave the premises, borrowed books in hand… for free!
My obsession with Canadian writing officially began in 1999, but there were evidences of it much earlier. However, I was fortunate enough to have a prof named Joe Zezulka who not only taught CanLit, but spoke about it so passionately you’d have to be a zombie not to be changed forever during his lectures. Plus, he refers to Atwood as ‘Peggy.’ Serious cool factor. In his class I learned the names Brand, Vanderhaege, Don McKay, Anderson-Dargatz, Marlatt, Steffler, Wiebe, and a host of others, including lesser-known works by giants of the profession. I found myself, quite literally, home.
I realize that for the most part, I’m preaching to the converted here. I mean, if you like DC Comics first and foremost, or WWII biographies, or burn the midnight oil hunched over tech manuals, then Anakin, you may just be too far gone to consider what I’m proposing here. But if you’ve always held in your heart a tangible but indescribable attachment to your home and native land, then may I suggest you give these voices a chance to bring your country to you in a way no one else can.
My humble recommendations (in no particular order) are listed below. It is nowhere close to being a complete list; think of it as Erin’s Picks, 101. Also, if I hated it or I haven’t actually read it, it ain’t here. If you prefer non-fiction or poetry, drop me a line and I’ll send you some suggestions. For you fellow fanatics, you just know I’ll have left out your favourite (I’m sure I left out some of my own). Don’t cancel our coffee date in a huff – just join the party and leave a reply with your addition(s).
Happy perusing!
The Wars – Timothy Findley (or, on a more lighthearted – sort of – note, Not Wanted On The Voyage)
The Cure for Death by Lightning – Gail Anderson-Dargatz
The Diviners – Margaret Laurence
Solomon Gursky Was Here – Mordecai Richler (I actually loved The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz more, however I realize many of you were forced to read it in school, and therefore picked another)
The Handmaid’s Tale – Margaret Atwood (or if you can handle a harsher dystopia, try Oryx and Crake)
The Deptford trilogy (Fifth Business, The Manticore, World of Wonder) – Robertson Davies
The Book of Eve – Constance Beresford-Howe (a trilogy, further reading: A Population of One, The Marriage Bed)
Mercy Among The Children – David Adams Richards
The Afterlife of George Cartwright – John Steffler
Burning Water – George Bowering
Shoeless Joe – W.P. Kinsella (or, if you dig short stories, Red Wolf, Red Wolf)
Anne of Green Gables – Lucy Maud Montgomery (it ain’t just for little girls)
Farley Mowat – anything – a specific one of this guy’s novels is near-impossible to suggest. Read the back covers and choose one you like.
The Stone Diaries – Carol Shields (yeah, she was born in the US. But she’s been one of us since the 60s, so I’m claiming her).
In The Skin of a Lion – Michael Ondaatje (or for lovers of the literarily obscure, try The Collected Works of Billy the Kid)
Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town – Stephen Leacock (there’s good reason our national literary humor award has his name on it)
Fall On Your Knees – Ann-Marie MacDonald
The Englishman’s Boy – Guy Vanderhaeghe
Obasan – Joy Kogawa
The Sentimentalists – Johanna Skibsrud
Who Has Seen The Wind – W.O. Mitchell
The Outlander – Gil Adamson
Through Black Spruce – Joseph Boyden
The Book of Negroes – Lawrence Hill
Filed under Can-Lit
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