Heidi Greco's Blog, page 8

Poetry, poetry, poetry

Today is World Poetry Day, a time when it seems appropriate to remember Brian Brett, a poet and friend who died earlier this year. 

When I met him, he was 21, and I wasn't much older, so we've had a few years to get in each other's hair. 

He spent a third of his life in White Rock, and was a feisty member of the community I've been part of for more than half of my life. If you clicked on the link in the line above this, you might still be blinking from all the flashy lights. Trust me, the place used to be much different--White Rock was quite a sleepy little seaside town where most of us had at least a passing recognition of one another. The sea is still here, though to get near it by car, you need to be prepared to pay hefty parking fees. 

But this isn't about the town (even though Brian served a couple of terms as a City Councillor, a position that was then back known as 'alderman'); it's about poetry and one of the finest writers to ever pass through here. 

The photo above, though it's not easy to see, is one of the touching mementos his family set out at his recent memorial service. It's the chair where he often sat (and nearly always pontificated from), along with a favourite hat and vest, as well as his famous peacock-themed suspenders. 

Without much poking around on YouTube, it's easy enough to find videorecordings of Brett reading his work, but to get you started, here's a link to one of the shorter (and funnier) ones--a good way to celebrate both Brian and World Poetry Day. 

Springing ahead to spring

Last weekend saw us springing ahead with the clock, shifting to Daylight Saving Time. This weekend, with the weather warming up so nicely, has seen me springing ahead with some of the clean-up chores out in the yard. 

My big project for the year is always my blackberry patch. Knowing what I do about how many trees and vines won't be bearing fruit this summer has made it seem all the more important to look after my little berry patch. 

Although some of the berries I leave on it may serve as a food source for birds in the winter, mostly what lingers can only be deemed a mess. 

Every spring those tangled branches leaning on the fence get a severe haircut--at least that's how I like to think of it--getting prettied up for the season. 

And even as I chop at the dead and stringy branches, I can't help but think of the other aspects of spring cleaning this project always brings to mind. Tossing any item in the fridge (usually a condiment) that hasn't been used, and moving along clothes or books I no longer need (an ongoing, year-round quest). 

Pruning also always reminds me of the editing process: cutting out the dead wood (or words that don't need to be there), and then trying to shape the plant (or the essay or poem) into a shape where it will be most productive and effective. 

The bin full of branches still needs to go into the container the recycling truck will pick up this week, a service I am always grateful for--at least as grateful as I will be for the bounty of daily berries in summer. 

It's a sign!

Yep. That's exactly what it is, and I'm not the person who made it. 

I discovered it the other day when I was going up our laneway--probably the single day in a long while that I didn't have my camera on hand. 

But the sign was just toooo good, especially with International Women's Day on the horizon, so home I went and got the shot. A lucky thing, as only a few hours later, it was gone. 

With all the horrors that have been going on in the world, I can only hope that it's a sign of good things to come. 

Leapin' lizards!

Although I couldn't find a photo of a lizard in my files, I did find one of this beautiful metal iguana, a piece of sculpture that lives in a friend's rock garden--just the kind of spot a lizard would be sure to enjoy. And as it turns out, an iguana is at least a variety of lizard. Whew! 

The Leapin' Lizards quote is attributed to Annie, the little orphan girl of cartoon fame. And it turns out she's not such a bad choice to think about today, as she was 'born' on February 29th, 1924. 

Yep, Leap Day, that 'extra' day in February that gets added every four years (or nearly so, there are a few rare exceptions).

When I sought out a list of famous people born on this date, I found that for most of them, that date of birth was practically their only claim to fame. The only ones who made much sense to me were the athletes born on this day, who maybe are better at leaping than most. Hmmm. 

Although there's not really much in the way of formal celebrations for Leap Day/Leap Year, some people do manage to find ways to do so. As for me, about the only 'leaping' I did today was when the darn phone rang before seven this morning. Sure enough, a robo-call, not at all worth the leap. 

Ideas and thoughts beyond our own

Last week I had the good fortune of being a 'book' of sorts in a 'human library' at a secondary school here in the Lower Mainland. I'll admit that I wondered why I should be selected for such a project, but it turned out that students had plenty of questions for me. 

Because I used to work in a library, the place felt familiar in many ways. Lots of books, yes. A bank of computer stations, yes. Tables and chairs arranged around the room. Best of all, young faces asking (often shyly) me about my own books, about writing in general, and of course, what had attracted me to write a book about Amelia Earhart. The one that made me stumble, I think, was from a Grade 11 boy who asked for my definitive idea of what had really become of her. As if I might be able to provide a reasonable answer!

I'll admit that during breaks, I wandered the stacks, looking at the collection. While I was especially impressed by the many books there by Indigenous authors, I was surprised to spot a couple of books that have been pulled by many libraries. Why? Because those authors aren't exactly what they've claimed to be, their heritage isn't really Indigenous. 

When I spoke with the librarian about this, she explained that it was an issue they were still dealing with. Clearly, it presented a conflict that staff there were trying to draw some lines around. When should (if ever) should a book be removed from a library? When should readers be denied the opportunity to decide for themselves?

Such questions are exactly why we observe Freedom to Read Week. There was a terrific piece by the head of the Calgary Library System offering some strong thoughts in 'Why our fight for intellectual freedom matters for all Canadians.'

I especially loved her closing line: "I don't always agree with everything on library shelves, but I will always fight for your right to read it." Exactly. 

Not according to plan

Today's post was supposed to be a cheery one, celebrating the fact that this little blog has been going (and been reasonably active) since this date in 2006. 

Eighteen years. That's how old you need to be to vote, to buy alcohol or cannabis products, to get married without parental consent. The powers-that-be have determined that as the age which deems one an adult. 

Instead, this day is filled with shock and sadness as we have learned of the death of Alexei Navalny at a prison camp in the Arctic in Russia. 

No one in what we consider as the Free World is thinking of this as anything but the execution of the person who served as the greatest and most outspoken threat to the tyranny of Putin. 

Strangely, when I sought a bit of comfort in an online word game, the first words played on the board (the computer posted two, I'd only played one) seemed to agree that this death was no accident. 

Springin' along

Some, I'm sure, would swear that seeing a robin serves as the first sign of spring. I'm pretty sure my mother was in that camp. 

Others may contend that it's the job of the crocus to make this announcement.

As for me, it's seeing a thicket of snowdrops that tells me spring is on its way. 

With the hard cold (for here) that we've had, the possibility of a new season feels very welcome. And with yesterday's observance of the Lunar New Year, the timing seems just right. Let there be dragons (so long as they're gentle, kind ones). 

Now, if only it would warm up a little more so it would also feel more as if spring is truly
near at hand. 

Wasteful

At least that's how this scene looked to me. 

On the weekend, there was a house there. One, I learned, that had been built in 1967. And here it was, the end of the line for it. 

Why, I wonder, do other towns and cities value their older homes? Is it because they have a greater respect for history, or do they consider the materials and craftsmanship that went into their making?

When this one was coming down, it didn't crumple easily, but withstood repeated blows from the digger. I couldn't help thinking, as I saw it sway from those repeated thumps, that it would have withstood a substantial earthquake. But then, looking at the materials it had been built with, its sturdiness was no surprise. 

It had been built with two-by-fours from wood that's far more substantial than the lumber that's for sale today. Why weren't those salvaged? Why wasn't that house taken apart, bit by precious bit? Windows? Doors? Light fixtures? All of these are items that cost plenty. And really, why should all of those be going to the already overfull landfill?

A man was strutting around while all of this was going on, pretty much nodding his head in approval. I suppose he'll be the new neighbour moving in to the undoubtedly mega-house that will be built there. I'd gone down to another neighbour's place, returning a piece of mail that had been mis-delivered to our house and tried to catch his eye to say hello each time I passed him. But no, his eyes may have well have been made of glass, so glazed over were they, so unwilling to engage. 

Today, to give the workers credit, the lot is tidy. There's even a fair amount of lawn-like grass, as if the site is getting ready to be turned into a neighbourhood park. But no, I am sure that isn't the case. 

Brain food

Our mother used to tell my sisters and me that fish was food for the brain, and did her best to convince us that eating it would make us smarter. She must have believed it was an ingredient we needed as she was often telling us to 'smarten up.' In truth, I always suspected the fish theory may well have simply been her way of getting us to eat sardines.

But the reason I'm thinking about brain food is that today is officially Puzzle Day. And if the reports are at all true, I've not (as my mother liked to scold) been wasting hours of my life by engaging in puzzles. As it turns out, they provide exercise for our brains. 

We 'puzzlers' (the official term for those who enjoy doing puzzles) are a tribe all our own. This is a term I happened to learn from a very fun book I read last week with the puzzling title of Jigsaw. 

I'll admit to being kind of a puzzle geek, as I love Sudoku, crossword puzzles, Wordle, and as you can see from the photo above, jigsaw puzzles, the biggest time-passer of all. 

Both of those puzzles were gifts I received at Christmas, but I haven't started either one of them. The round one, with 500 pieces looks challenging, but possible. While the beautiful Avatar-like image on the other is tempting, its 1,000 pieces leave me hesitant to even open the box, as 750 is my usual maximum. Still, with a new month approaching, the time may be nigh for new horizons with bigger challenges. 

Wouldn't you know--in the process of poking around for this post, I learned that eating fish maybe really does make you smarter. Once in a while I guess those mothers of ours managed to get a few things right after all. 

Oh yeah??

 

I'm not in the habit of arguing with 'answers' on Jeopardy! but hey, today this is just plain WRONG. 

Coldest I can remember it ever being. This morning, our little weather station read minus 15. Hardly what I'd call mild.