Darwin weighs in

    My gaze flicked the horizon for tell-tale signs of the animals that we had been surrounded by whilst in the Okavengo Delta. Occasionally the fleeting form of an antelope of some sort or another would bound out of view. My face was beginning to hurt from all the smiles that had dwelt there over the past few days. I was in awe at the beauty of Botswana’s back country. From the inherent safety of our mokoros, I reflected back on our time in the Delta. One day we had been taken to a dry plain within the vastness of the swamp, where we had explored our surroundings on foot. The day started early, as decent game viewing was only accomplished at dawn. While feeling the twinges of apprehension at exposing ourselves to the dangers of the wilds, and protected by the merest of cautions offered by our guides, we set forth with cameras in hand to capture our surroundings. Elephants and giraffes grazed ahead of us, not quite far enough to be called distant. Wildebeest moved along with herds of zebras. I refused to believe that anything as dangerous as a lion or hyena would cross our path as we walked along on foot. By the time the heat of the day sent the animals into hiding for siesta, we too were ready to seek out our shelters and rest. Later in the afternoon, we bathed in groups in the warm waters of the Okavengo River. Even close to camp, we heeded the caution that was put forth. More stories of crocodiles coming to snatch us from our feet, kept us close to shore. We had gone back to a primordial time, where survival of the fittest was a fact of life. This reality was not lost on us, as even Darwin joined us around the campfire at night. From the security of memory, I drifted.

No Great Mischief

"No Great Mischief" written by Alistair MacLeod (© 1999, McClelland and Stewart Ltd.)

It is that time of the month in my world. Yup, book club. Well, it has actually been postponed a week, but I finished the book last night. I thought that I would write a review of this month's title, as it was a good read. I find it interesting to review myself, before we discuss the merits of the book in question with our little group. Sometimes opinions change, so here is my two cents worth today.

Last night as I turned the light out on the last page of "No Great Mischief", a tear slid from my eye. I am a sentimentalist at heart and never fail to be moved by a well written story. Turning the last page and snuffling back my goodbyes, it is safe to say that this book touched me. 

While wandering through the reflections of a life lived, the reader is offered a glimpse of some of the hardships to be had in living a life linked to the sea in Cape Breton. This is where the story begins for the man known by everyone as gille bhig ruaidh, (little red-haired boy), this for his looks and links to the clann Chalum Ruaidh. The Gaelic language plays heavily throughout the story, giving the characters roots that travel back several generations to the Scotland of their fore-fathers. At times the story wanders back to the generations past and the protagonist and his kin think on these past players with an almost melancholy loss. The history is reflected like it happened just yesterday and the tragedies that played out then, are still felt and mourned today by the present clann. While this personalizing of a past that is ancient in memory is interesting and gives some insight into how MacLeod's characters play out their scenes, the story gains depth as ancient history is translated into present day.

"No Great Mischief" is narrated by Alexander MacDonald  as he wanders back through a life struck by tragedies, but not shattered by them. He reflects on the losses starting with that of his parents and brother, when he and his twin sister are only three years of age. With the loss of his parents his eldest three brothers (14, 15 and 16 years) strike out on their own to find their own roots and beliefs. While the burdens of an adult life thrust upon them so young is a challenge and struggle, kin always plays a pivotal role. 

Much of the novel focuses on the eldest brother Calum and his strengths and struggles along the way. He is labelled a trouble-maker, but 'ille bhig ruaidh gives us a picture that paints understanding and strength of character for the solitary figure of Calum. The ancient losses from generations gone are compounded with the more recent losses of parents to be worn with the solidarity of kinship pride. The feeling of melancholy that weaves throughout the story is poignant. That kinship follows from the Cape Breton coast, to mining towns around the world, from the distant shores of Scotland to the busy streets of Toronto. Having lost my own father at an age where imagined memory is all I can muster, I understand the searching that 'ille bhig ruaidh is struggling with. The clann Chalum Ruaidh might suffer its losses, but they do not forget and no one is left behind. So while some actions are not always acceptable to polite society or different pockets of the world (like the French Canadians they meet in the mining camps),  the clann Chalum Ruaidh never wavers but to carry on. 

While I did not have the string of the tale fully grasped at the beginning of the novel, by the end Macleod had all my sympathies and heart. In the book, Grandma is often fond of quoting "Blood is thicker than water". This is the string that wends its way through the pages. It is also what won Alistair MacLeod an International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award. My opinion; Thumbs up from me.

Bowling and Birthdays Begin

Little feet

treading into new territory

with an independent air

and jaunty swing

born from friendship

that dreams the way to tomorrow.

Glass for Eyes

I hold the ocean into my belly
with a heartbeat on shoulder,
  high.
Rain trickles in
from across the room
and the singing,
Singing note fills the spaces
  left all between.
Ting...
The trance it holds me.
Ting...
I am no more.

Come, a beaded note.
One silent rush
to gently hold me
as the wavering bird
flies through my skies.
   Hrumm
Wing slice of sound.
   Hrumm
Empty me out of sound.
Shush,
  of fingers trembling.
Ting...
I am no more.

Happy Anniversary to Me

   Hello my bloggy friends!

   I am coming up on a milestone that I wanted to share. I started this blog a year ago this month. When I started out, I knew little about the blogosphere and what it contained. I noted in my first entry that an acquaintance had seen me scribbling in my journal at a coffee shop and suggested that perhaps starting a blog might help me towards the publishing world. Well, a year later and I am probably not any closer to being published. (sigh). Really, that is okay though. I started this blog as an experiment and it has taken over my life. I now write in it every day. Not every day is wonderfully deep or contains fabulous prose, but I try to make a point of showing up. And you know what I have learned? That the more I write, the better a writer I become. So while publishers are not knocking down my door with offers of book deals to keep me fabulously wealthy for years to come, a little bit of me believes that with a little more perseverance, those published words of mine are closer than I think.

   You see, I have always had a fondness for the written word. As a young child I could be found with my nose in a book exploring the far reaches of the universe. My sister would encourage me to go out and play with her and her friends. Sometimes I would join her. Many times I would decline, as I was in a particularly delicious part of a story. I have made many friends through the books that have littered my bedside table. I believe that all of those books and all of those words have filled me up. They filled me up and filled me up and now they are slowly seeping out of me. Every day that I tap words and sentences into the computer, they slowly stand up a little taller and straighter. I wander through other people's worlds exploring their thoughts, taking what ideas I see work and making them my own. The talent pool that is out there is magnificent and for me, inspiring.  I even took a writing course this winter to hone some of my talents and expand my knowledge of how to put "me" out there on a bigger scale. I am pulling this information in, processing it and thinking. The figuring can be a slow process sometimes, but I sit with it.

   So today I can look back and say, "This may just be a blog", but I know different. You that sit there reading my words, you encourage me to come back tomorrow and tomorrow. You that sit there and read my words make me the author that I have always aspired to be. For regardless of whether my thoughts and words ever show up between the pages of a bound book, my words are already out there. I have read them. Many others have as well. Your comments let me know that. Your praise has touched my soul. A thank you is tossed into the winds with arms wrapped with hugs. For while I would truly LOVE to see my name on the front cover of a book, I am okay if it takes a while yet.

Thank you...

Thank you...