Lily Iona MacKenzie's Blog, page 60

Oh Canada!

When I recently read about the shooting in Ottawa’s parliament, it reminded me of a trip my husband and I took to that city a few years ago. When most people think of Eastern Canada’s major cities, cosmopolitan Montreal and culturally diverse Toronto come to mind. Rarely do they think of Ottawa, Canada’s capital. But Ottawa has many charms, as interesting a place to visit as the country’s more popular destinations.

For me, a Canadian by birth, the city’s attraction was seeing the government buildings where Canada’s business is conducted. I wanted to know more about this historically important center. Dignified and beautiful, it’s a handsome, stately place that has a dual personality, residing across the river from Hull, Quebec, its sister, highlighting Canada’s bilingual nature.

My husband and I are both museum lovers, and the National Gallery was splendid, a world class structure with lots of glass and water and steel. It also has tremendous vistas of Parliament Hill. The parliament buildings, temples to power, look like cathedrals inside and out. The government structures, as well as Ottawa itself, reflect the old world, combining elements of Scotland (in particular Edinburgh), England, and parts of Europe, giving the institutions roots.

At night, the parliament, with all the spires lit up and the eternal flame blazing in the fountain that unites all the provinces, the site is very moving. When we were there, three Pakistani children sat in front of the fountain, their eyes closed, making a wish before throwing their coins into the water. Another young man from Toronto (he was wearing a t-shirt that had Toronto printed on it) sat staring into the flame, entranced. Other young people were there, a mix of nationalities and fresh faces. And then there was the French Canadian mountie wearing his reds. A group of French Canadians clustered around him.

These memories reassure me that while a moment of craziness can cause bedlam in an otherwise sane place, such actions can’t eliminate the cohesion and stability that binds the country together.

 

 

Filed under: Links Tagged: canada, canada's national gallery, canada's parliament, canadian parliament, French Canadians, Mountie, oh canada, ottawa, RCMP

Dreams and the Narrative of Our Lives

Since my late 20s, I’ve recorded my dreams every morning, curious about the wonderful dramas that unfold each night in the subterranean depths. During a recent trip to Osoyoos, B.C., I got a better understanding of dreams and the role they play in our lives when my husband and I stayed at the Observatory B&B.

The rental was located on one of the highest promontories in the town, and the observatory had a world-class telescope. Jack, the “amateur” astronomer, has published six books with Cambridge university press on his explorations. Each night and morning he takes his guests on a tour of the sky, exposing viewers to sights they otherwise would never experience. I was transported from Earth to constellations that I’d only read about, if that. It was a mind-blowing, life-altering experience.

Jack became interested in astronomy when he was ten on the Canadian prairies. He received a telescope for a gift, and that set him off. What was so intriguing about his presentations is how much is out there in the universe that we know so little about and aren’t aware of, a teeming life beyond our ordinary vision. And vision is something he’s very informed about. We see things in black and white that a camera picks up in color. That shocks me. How we’re trained to see. How much our eye picks up that our brains won’t allow in. He pointed out to my husband that there could be a ghost sitting next to him, but he wouldn’t see it for a variety of reasons, reinforcing the idea about parallel universes. Jack definitely believes there is life out there.

When I reflected on this experience later, I realized that viewing through the telescope was very similar to my involvement with dreams. Like the telescope, they also take me into territory I otherwise wouldn’t know about, offering views on myself and my interaction with family and friends. But, most important, they help me to understand there is a level in all of us that we’re normally unaware of. Dreams offer us ways to explore our psyche, a universe that most of us ignore. They create subtexts, not unlike what some fiction does as well, suggesting that there are unexplored levels that are informing the on-going narrative of our lives.

 

Filed under: Links Tagged: dreams, observatory B&B, osoyoos, psyche, subtext, telescope

Weekends Away Are Indispensable

My husband and I just returned from a couple of nights in Calistoga, a charming town in the Napa Valley. Yes, it has its share of upwardly mobile types who go there to visit the many wineries. But there also are others who need to be replenished by the pastoral setting and many opportunities to take walks in the surrounding hills. Walking yesterday along the Richey Canyon Trail in Napa State Park, absorbing the redwood forest smells and listening to the creek burble over rocks, was truly rejuvenating. I felt myself smiling the whole time, uplifted by the untouched beauty of ferns and other vegetation. It had rained the previous day, so everything seemed freshly washed and glistening.

Weekends away are indispensable for regaining some perspective on our lives and ourselves. When we’re deep into daily routines, it’s difficult to step outside of them long enough to question what we’re doing and why. Contemporary life keeps us far too busy with work and social-related events. There are few pockets for contemplation and wonder.

I can understand why my son chose a far different path from me. He eschewed the traditional middle-class route of a college education leading to a career or profession. Instead, as an adult, he returned to a place we had visited when he was a child, Christina Lake, a lovely vacation spot in Southern British Columbia that he fell in love with. He works hard caring for Christina Lake’s recreation facilities, but he’s still constantly surrounded by nature. During the warmer months, he’s able to fish, his one great love, and tramp the trails when he isn’t working. This connection to nature keeps him in touch with something basic in all of us: our own roots as animals. (The Christina Lake Stewardship Society recently posted a video of him rescuing a garter snake, illustrating the respect he has for all creatures: https://www.facebook.com/video.php?v=281000215441325)

Today I’ll return to the usual routine, but at least I have our restful time in Calistoga, a town that still exudes some of the charm of when it was created late in the 19th Century, to buoy me. Rows and rows of quiet tree-lined streets that give off a feeling of a real community offer a respite from the anonymity of urban life, a pool that I can dip into periodically for refreshment.

Filed under: Links Tagged: calistoga, christina lake, weekends away

Brave New World!

Okay, I know I’m not the only one who can’t keep her hands off her cell phone and computer. When it isn’t convenient to have my laptop in hand, then I turn to my phone to check email, the weather, the latest news, and more. Thankfully, I don’t text or that would be another reason to keep it close.

Otherwise, I’m married to my computer, which is no surprise to my husband. Much of my world resides there, including the union work I do for the USF part-time faculty association, my writing, my teaching files and apps, not to mention sorting through the many emails generated each day in my personal and professional lives.

Have a question that I don’t want to take time to look up myself? Google it. Go to Delphi. See what the Internet gods and goddesses have to say. Need to make a reservation? Go online. Want a recipe and don’t feel like checking all my cookbooks for one? You’ve got it. Google is my god of choice. Need new shoes? Shop online.

What did I do before computers and cell phones dominated? It’s hard to remember, but clearly I spent more time in libraries and shopping at real stores, not these digital ones. I used my landline more frequently. I talked to friends on the phone instead of by email. Now it’s inconceivable to spend a day without accessing one of these devises, even though I meditate regularly. Meditation may help me stay in the moment, but it doesn’t cause me to drop my dependence on the technological world. If anything, it just makes me more focused on whatever I’m using at the time.

I don’t have any answers for how to avoid this brave new world. It’s impossible to disentangle myself from the web I’m now part of, and I don’t know what that means for my future self. Will I eventually be transformed into a droid?

Filed under: Links Tagged: brave new world, cell phone, computer, computers, droid, google, internet, meditation, shopping online

It’s Not Fair!

In the SF Bay area, we’ve had some extremely warm days recently, something we aren’t accustomed to, especially in San Francisco and the other nearby coastal regions. Most of us have been delighted to sit out in our yards at night and enjoy this new balmy climate.

But then I read in the paper recently that the planet recorded its hottest September ever, reminding me that while I’m luxuriating in these above-average temperatures, the weather extremes are killing the planet. It’s a startling and disturbing statistic.

It also illustrates how what is positive for one person may be a negative for another. Food is an example: I love food and eating is one of my great pleasures. Fortunately, my metabolism (and exercise regime) keeps my weight under control. Yet others who don’t share my genetic makeup and who also love food struggle to fight their temptations. As my niece Jada said when she was two years old and I was beating her at a game, “It’s not fair!”

When I realized the downside of what was giving me pleasure, it also reminded me of the bubble many of us live in. We have so many pleasurable distractions, especially in America—if we follow sports, we cheer on our favorite teams; our food supplies are abundant; TV, the Internet, and so much more floods our days with images and information; cultural events abound in small and large cities. It’s easy, then, to distance ourselves from the many tragedies plaguing the earth.

Our relatively benign condition in North America reminds me of pictures I saw as a child of ostriches with their heads in the sand. Those images absolutely fascinated me. I returned to them again and again. The story was that they hid from danger in this way, but that explanation is apocryphal and ostriches really don’t engage in this behavior. They are smarter than that and so are we. But on some days, I do wish I were one of those ostriches my young self loved and could hide from all of the tragedies that bombard us. And on some days I do.

 

Filed under: Links Tagged: bubble, climate change, ostrich, ostriches, tragedy

The Death of Dictionaries

I’m grieving the loss of dictionaries, thick, massive volumes that I used to get lost in. I would open a page and find hundreds of words, all of them demanding my attention, each a miniature world to explore. But now I’ve become a victim of on-line lexicons because they are handier than putting aside my laptop computer and marching into the other room to unload the Oxford from a bookshelf where it resides.

And that’s the problem: Convenience. Efficiency. There are so many things that I’ve given up because they don’t fit into this new fast-paced world. Anything that requires thought and time and attention. So instead of venturing into the unknown swamp of words as I once did, now I search for words one at a time. No longer do I roam in the wilderness of new possibilities that take me in unimagined directions.

I know. You can argue that if I really wanted the full dictionary experience I could keep the Oxford by my side while I’m writing. I’ve thought of that solution. But I’ve also been conditioned to how quickly I can search for a word on-line versus fumbling through the print version. Every second counts, and by just striking a few keys, I can quickly find what I want.

So while I’m mourning the standard dictionary’s demise, I’m also aware of my own culpability. Mea culpa!

 

Filed under: Links Tagged: dictionaries, online, technology

The Writer as Detective

I’ve been thinking recently how writers are like detectives. They need to be constantly observant, picking up clues from what people are wearing, how they gesture, the words they speak, the way they interact with others. They study others’ facial expressions and what they suggest, storing away the data in their memory banks or taking notes in a writer’s journal that they’ll refer to later.

Detectives need to ask questions, the right questions, without arousing the suspect’s suspicions. Writers are also usually operating undercover in this way, querying their family members, friends, and acquaintances on unfamiliar subjects, building up their store of knowledge.

A good detective, like an amateur psychologist, also is skilled at looking beyond surfaces, trying to discover the hidden meanings in words, expressions, gestures, aware that most things have multiple meanings. Beneath each innocent remark a slumbering reality can lurk, a subtext to the surface narrative.

Conflict is something that draws both detectives and writers. They know it leads to drama and clues that can help resolve questions about the people involved and the dynamics between them. They’re skilled, then, in piecing together a narrative from a series of events, paying attention to details most people miss: the silver skull & bones cufflink on the surgeon’s dress shirt; slight variations in a person’s story that offers clues to his/her motives.

Detectives and writers love ferreting out the truth and revealing lies. They’re constantly discovering new things in their surroundings, training all their senses to be alert to nuances. But in their quest,     they also need to be subtle and try to blend in. It’s their subjects that they shed the spotlight on, not themselves.

 

Filed under: Links Tagged: clues, conflict, detective, drama, lies, quest, truth, writer

A Celebration of the New

A Celebration of the New.

Filed under: Links

A Celebration of the New

My husband remarked today how important it is to have new things in our lives. I asked him what he meant, and he said, “New things keep us alert. Give us something to look forward to.” His comment started me thinking about what new can symbolize.

My association to new is the color green. And the color green catapults me to spring. That link then suggests that the cycle of spring, summer, fall, and winter isn’t so linear. These phases of the year are happening all the time, sometimes simultaneously.

There are periods when we need or want more autumn in our lives, the sensation of something ripening to fruition. And there are other days when we need the tug of winter that can pull us deeper inside ourselves, giving us a chance to reflect and step out of the usual day-to-day activities. Illness can manifest as winter in order to get our attention and take us into the depths. But spring is always popping up, just as new buds and new growth appear unexpectedly in March, April, and May, surrounding us with the promise of fresh ideas and perspectives.

I’m grateful that the meaning embedded in these seasons is available year round so we never need to feel stuck in one or the other cycle. And I agree with my husband that our days can seem dull if they aren’t studded with something less familiar, a perspective that lifts us, at least temporarily, out of our usual stance.

Filed under: Links Tagged: cycles, fall, green, new, spring, summer, winter

Woman on the Waterfront

Foghorns blast through the 7 AM San Francisco overcast. The only woman in the place, I saunter into the longshoreman’s union hall, trying to appear as if I did this every day. A few cigarette-scarred wooden tables offer a place for the men to gather and talk while waiting to be called to work. Billowing clouds of cigarette smoke hang ominously over everyone.

It’s the mid-70s, and I try to ignore the silence that cuts through the room after I enter. A few loud guffaws and an even louder patter of voices, all speculating on the broad who is challenging their stronghold and competing for work, follow it.

I amble over to a table set off in a corner and glance through some back issues of Psychology Today and McCall’s, surprised to see more female-oriented publications in this male-dominated place. I also am grateful for the diversion, a way to avoid the curious and mostly hostile eyes.

At first, it had seemed like a good idea when my friend’s husband—a 20-year waterfront veteran whose father had also worked there all his life—had urged me to find work there. “Look,” he said. “It’s time for women to bust into the docks. You can make at least $80 a day.”

The money convinced me, a sizeable sum at that time. I was a single parent trying to support my teenage son and myself while I went to college. The escapade also held the promise of adventure: all those romantic waterfront characters cascaded through my mind, not least of whom was Marlon Brando. I also knew that the area attracted artists and intellectuals, as well as those who were just barely making it—some from skid row.

Curious about this male bastion, I wondered if it was possible for a woman to be accepted there. Females were rare in that world, even in clerical positions. But I also wanted to know more about the culture, the interface between land and sea, a switching yard from all over the world where goods were transferred, labeled, transported, and disposed of. Why should men have a stranglehold on that sphere?

Temporarily on semester break from my graduate program at San Francisco State, and working part-time in an office, I had nothing to lose and much to gain. My friend’s husband paved the way by calling the dispatcher and letting him know I’d be there. He used whatever influence he had to increase the possibility that I would be called after the regulars had been taken care of.

And I did get sent out to a nearby wharf that first day. Hired as a clerk, my job was to oversee the movement of the containers on my list and keep track of where they were placed for unloading. That first day was relatively uneventful, and it seemed like an easy way to earn $80. Being the only female in a sea of men was not new to me. I had signed up for a drafting class in high school where I was the only girl and loved it.

At 7 AM the next morning, I appear again in the union hall. This time my presence doesn’t create as much of a stir. I post myself once more at the out-of-the-way table, glancing through magazines until my name finally is called along with two younger black guys, also university students. The dispatcher hands the three of us instructions of where to go, a wharf some distance away, and we take a bus to get there. They are lovely guys, clean cut and dressed in preppy clothes. We chat about school and waterfront work, this also being their first time there.

At the wharf, the boss tells us to board a massive cargo ship to see the hundreds of cars that we’ll be guiding into parking spaces on land. The ship has numerous levels, and we race from one to the other, amazed at how many vehicles are stored there. Finally we return to shore and are instructed to show the longshoremen where to park the cars.

I stand in front of a space, indicating with my arms that the driver should come forward to where I’m standing. A bearded longshoreman saunters over to me and says, “Hey, lady, do you want to get your legs broken?”

I don’t plan to leave the wharf with broken legs, and I tell him that, trying to make a joke. But his icy look silences me. He isn’t interested in banter. He says, “These guys are pissed to see a woman bossing them around. If you continue to stand where you are, you won’t have any legs to walk on. Stand to the side like this.” And he showed me where to position myself.

I followed his instructions and somehow got through the day intact. But I had heard enough. Though I consider myself a feminist, I didn’t burn with a desire to integrate the waterfront. Nor did I need to make a statement by having my legs broken. I just wanted to make enough money to support my son and myself as I worked my way through college. These men, however, didn’t know my intentions. They just saw me as a threat, someone who would alter their domain and change the balance of power there.

When I left that day, I realized my friend’s husband had used me for his own purposes, though I wasn’t totally clear about what they were. Was he genuinely interested in integrating the waterfront? Or was he just trying to test his own power. If the latter were true, he had abused our friendship and put me in great peril. After working at the docks for so long, he must have known what the men’s reaction to me would be. If the former were true, had I made any dent in the male prejudice against women in that line of work? I doubt it.

So my two days on the waterfront were just that: a time when I experienced directly and vividly the reaction some men have towards women in a world that they still dominate. I can see why, even today as enlightened as some of us might be, women continue to suffer from prejudice. I too had grown up assuming that men were the fairer and better sex. Certainly they seemed to hold all the cards. But I also went through the tremendous consciousness-raising period of the 60s and came out of that time with a much different view of womanhood and myself.

While my experience of working on the waterfront was brief and may not have changed the dockworkers’ lives, it did change mine. For the first time, I felt directly the physical threat that so many females face day in and day out. I had taken my gender and myself for granted, floating through life on a cloud of good will. And while I knew that women continued to be the second sex in spite of advances in numerous areas, I had never expected to face such bald hostility just because I happened to be female.

Filed under: Links Tagged: feminist, longshoremen, threat to females, waterfront, woman on waterfront