Cecile Beaulieu's Blog, page 2
March 28, 2023
Brother BrokenForeword Clarion Review Alf Reads about pe...
Brother Broken
Foreword Clarion Review
Alf Reads about pesky kids...
Denis needed quiet time to recover from the accident, so Mom and Dad gave him a bedroom all to himself. If he needed to escape the din of the rest of us, he could find solace there.
He fixed his room to suit his personality. He organized his stuff with precision and kept his space neat and orderly. There was a Meccano set with all its parts, a stamp and pad collection with no missing stamps, and an assortment of Elgo building bricks. A chess set occupied a prime location next to his bed. He kept his books on a shelf, arranged in precise order. His organizational system intrigued me and drew the attention of all his younger siblings. We were attracted to his room like magnets to metal. Knowing his space was off limits only made us keener to trespass.
“Denis, kin I watch you?” I stretched to see above the tabletop.
“OK, but don’t touch anything.” He resumed his task, and then added, “Who was in my stuff yesterday? You guys need to stay out of my room.”
To keep us out, Dad installed a hook-and-eye lock on the door of Denis’s bedroom. We couldn’t reach the lock unless we used something to stand on, so Dad gave us a stern warning for added effect.
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March 23, 2023
The movie CAKE debuted in 2014. It stars Jennifer Anisto...
The movie CAKE debuted in 2014. It stars Jennifer Aniston in the lead role of Claire, a woman who suffers from chronic pain. The physical pain Claire endures does not totally explain her fixation on suicide, but there is more to the story than what is initially revealed.
I was never a Jennifer Aniston follower until she portrayed this dramatic role. I assumed she could only be tight cast in romantic comedy roles. This was a pleasant surprise and she won me over as a fan.
Patrick Tobin adapted his short story to a screenplay, so there is no book to follow-up on. Too bad, because it would have been a great read.
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March 21, 2023
Fredrik Backman is a Swedish author whose books have bee...
Fredrik Backman is a Swedish author whose books have been translated into many languages, including English. His voice is unique, one you’ll recognize in all of his books. His debut novel, ‘A Man Called Ove’ quickly became a best seller and was made into a Swedish movie.
Of all of Backman’s books I've read, 'A Man Called Ove' remains my favorite. The writing is quirky and I can’t help but be drawn into the story of a cranky old man named Ove, who tries to live a hermit’s life on a busy residential street, where the many other home owners frequently request his assistance.
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March 20, 2023
Brother BrokenForeword Clarion Review Alf Reads about ab...
Brother Broken
Foreword Clarion Review
Alf Reads about about skull cramps...
The next afternoon, John was slouched in a chair in the kitchen when Alex came in from outside. He watched as John sat up, using his elbows to steady himself at the table.
“Uncle, what’s wrong with you?”
John’s reply to the question came out slurred and slow, with a garbled chuckle: “Too many barley sandwiches last night.”
“What’s a barley sandwich?”
Alex waited, watching as John tried to light a smoke. But the shakes made it difficult. The little spectator wasn’t going anywhere. John cocked an arm to rest his forehead in his palm. He tilted his head slightly and stared, glossy-eyed, at Alex. They ogled each other for a silent moment. Then John raised his eyebrows as if to convey the burning question, What?
“Can you give us rides on the trail bike?”
“Do it later, ’kay? I got skull cramps.” He reached for the ashtray, turning his attention away from his nephew.
Alex went outside to the backyard, where his buddies sat waiting.
“He can’t. He got skull cramps.”
“He got what?”
“Is that like when you get the shits?”
Dad was making himself a fresh cup of coffee, trying but failing to ignore John, who was hunched at the kitchen table nursing a hangover. The sight upended Dad, and he couldn’t help but pose the question.
“Can’t you stay off the booze for a while?”
“Oh, for shit’s sake.” John didn’t want to hear another lecture. He spewed whiny sarcasm: “Well, I’m not drinking now, am I?”
There was no point getting into it again, so they quickly dropped the exchange.
Tension always mounted the morning after. Dad couldn’t ignore the boy’s drinking. Mom was better at sidestepping arguments. She understood there wasn’t a thing she could say or do to mend his ways. It had to be John’s doing and John’s alone, and a change didn’t seem to be coming anytime soon.
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March 17, 2023
Brother BrokenForeword Clarion Review Alf Reads about a ...
Brother Broken
Foreword Clarion Review
Alf Reads about a windshield...
When Mitch was six years old, he got us all into trouble with Dad. It happened at my grandparents’ farm. A few of us were sitting on the trunk of the car, waiting to leave for home. Mitch ran a toy tractor down the surface of the rear windshield.
One moment, the windshield was in perfect condition and the next, it had morphed into a mosaic pattern of splintered glass. I watched, dumbstruck, as a star burst emerged from the centre of the windshield outward. It looked like a spider had webbed a silica net. Dad was pissed, but the windshield held.
As we ventured home that day, all of us in the back seat exhibited forward-focused, model behaviour for a change. We sat quietly so as to not bring attention to ourselves. We tried communicating with hand signals, but the messages were too cryptic to decipher.
Dad drove the car down the six-mile stretch of road going home. We rode in silence except for the sound of the motor and the crunch of tire against gravel. Fields and ditches rushed past our view. The ride was relatively smooth, until we hit a bump.
A sound like a gunshot went off behind us. The windshield imploded. Projectiles struck the backs of our heads. Glass shards rained down on us, dropping like ice chips into our shirt collars and onto our laps. I let out a shriek because I didn’t know what was happening.
Dad stopped the car on the side of the road. It took a minute for me to realize we hadn’t hit the rhubarb. No one was hurt, but my nerves were frayed by the close call.
We climbed out of the car, shaking off bits of glass. It took a while to clean the debris out of the back seat, and our trip home resumed with the added feature of rear hatch ventilation.
We remained sheepish for a time, until the memory of the incident faded. Dad had a new windshield installed, and life went back to normal.
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March 15, 2023
Brother BrokenWelcome to What's in my Video Library Blog...
Brother Broken
Welcome to What's in my Video Library Blog
The only thing I like more than books is Movies, but I am very select on genre. If a movie doesn’t both, make me laugh and make me cry, then it doesn’t rate as well. When a film moves me, I look to see if a book exists. I usually find that the book is even better than the movie.
This is a very cool movie: “The Young and Prodigious T. S. Spivet”
You’ll find it on Netflix. It has all the elements of a great movie, which are: it made me laugh, it made me cry. What makes it even better is that it is a Canadian film. I’d take this one over any canned Hollywood or Disney production with its predictable plot… eg: superhero wins the day, again.
And… there’s a book. Written by Author Reif Larsen, which I will read soon. Here’s its link in Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1...
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March 13, 2023
Brother BrokenWelcome to What's On the Book Shelf BlogA ...
Brother Broken
Welcome to What's On the Book Shelf BlogA weekly blurb about my favorite Books
It doesn’t take long for me to hear the voice in the words I read, in what I consider to be a great book. I appreciate the delivery of a uniquely good story. One book that stands out for me is The Liars’ Club by Mary Karr.
Mary writes in the introduction to her book:
I’d forewarned Mother and my sister Lecia about the events I planned to parade down the page, and from the git-go Mother said, “Hell, get it off your chest…. If I gave a damn what anybody thought, I’d have been baking cookies and going to PTA.”
BAMN! I was immediately glued to the page. She broke the mould in an industry that had been dominated by traditional English literature.
Mary Karr’s style rubbed off on me and helped me find my own voice as a writer. Her memoir influenced me more than any other book I had ever read. It was the way she used Texas dialect to reveal a story gushing with honesty, without apology.
Which author’s work inspired you to find your voice? I’d love to hear your story.
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March 11, 2023
Brother BrokenAlf Reads to Ernie about a duck hunter...A...
Brother Broken
Alf Reads to Ernie about a duck hunter...
Autumn descends on Saskatchewan with stealth and intent, encroaching on the prairie, leaving traces of colour. Beneath a cerulean dome, golden landscapes are dappled with orange and burgundy. A cool crispness emerges, like an itch that worsens with each passing day. Dropping temperatures quicken as time launches toward the season of frostbite, spurring a fundamental drive to prepare for winter.
Massive flocks of migratory birds obey an instinct to fly south. They converge on the skyline as the sun emanates the first and last rays of daylight. Feathered creatures descend in near silence. The faint whisper of wings fluttering announces the arrival. The birds navigate clumsy landings on a pond as their tail feathers skim across water, cutting a tiny wake.
In sharp contrast, their departure is a spectacular display. The push and rush of an aerial stampede becomes a moment worthy of the wait. Throngs of game complete the annual journey across the continent, and hunters lay low in the reeds to catch them in their gunsights.
Duck hunting was for John an escape to a quieter place, where things made more sense. He could contemplate life and find solace while lurking among the cattails and bulrushes, waiting for a cue from above. He fit in this space, inside a realm of contentment. Gone were the cravings for libations, even if only temporarily. At the end of a hunting session, he embarked on his own migration, back to the world of people.
Link to Barnes and Noble or Amazon to purchase the book.March 9, 2023
Brother BrokenAlf Reads a Foreword Clarion Review...Brot...
Brother Broken
Alf Reads a Foreword Clarion Review...
Brother Broken is a powerful memoir about family love and the tragic impacts of mental illness and suicide.
Shared with humanity, dignity, and wit, Cecile Beaulieu’s memoir Brother Broken is about the devastation of mental illness and suicide, though it also recognizes the beauty of life and interpersonal relationships... to read more...
March 7, 2023
Brother BrokenAlf Reads about music lessons at the conve...
Brother Broken
Alf Reads about music lessons at the convent...
When I was seven, Dad signed me up for piano lessons. A nun taught me to play. I was excited to learn about music. Once a week, I arrived at the main door of the convent. I rang the buzzer and the butler nun ushered me in. The first thing I noticed inside was convent smell. Everything within was hospital-like, sterile, and squeaky-clean, but the place always skunked a smelly brew of Pinesol and wet wool.
I removed my boots and placed them on a mat. The piano was situated in a small room at the back, so the nun led me through a series of hallways and rooms. A crucifix and a font of holy water hung on every door jamb. The waxed tile floor was slippery beneath my socked feet, and I glided along, as though on skates. The nun opened the door to the music room, showed me in, and left. I was given a few minutes before each lesson to practise on my own. Then, the music teacher nun joined me and gave me instructions.
Lessons were held in the evening, during fall and winter, and I was responsible for arriving at the convent on time. I had to hoof it there rain or shine—but mostly snow. It was a ten-minute walk for adult legs, but mine were short, so it took me longer to get there. And the sky was almost always dark, both coming and going.
I wasn’t afraid of the dark. Contending with the cold was enough to keep me anxious. Night takes up seventy-five percent of the day during the winter in Northern Saskatchewan—I had no choice but to get used to it. There were no streetlights on the way to the convent, and there was seldom any traffic to help brighten the road. I had nothing practical like a flashlight to show me the path. I sensed I was walking through a tunnel and blackness was closing in on me. When clouds blocked the moon, making the street dark as dirt, I relied on other senses to navigate.
Link to Barnes and Noble or Amazon to purchase the book.
