Posts from — September 2014
September 28, 2014
Porridge, gruel. Whatever you want to call it. We often just call it oats. Do you love it? Do you hate it? I don’t think there’s too much of a middle ground with oatmeal. Take my dad, in the love-it camp: five mornings a week (held over from his working years) he can’t start his morning without a bowl of oatmeal. On family holidays, mornings aren’t complete without his question: who will have oatmeal? He’ll whip up a quadruple batch for the crowd and then try to negotiate the last, unwanted, semi-cold serving into whoever’s stomach he can. As I write this, the image of him walking around the house with the almost-empty oatmeal pot, questioning everyone hopefully…well, it makes me nostaglic. For oats. And for my dad.
But I digress. Sort of. Maybe everyone has at least one oatmeal story.
September 26, 2014
Another weekend, another reason to celebrate with photos, comments and haiku. See if you can guess the one-word, unifying theme between the two photos and win acclaim and brownie points, as outlined here. (Hmmmmm. Are you stroking your imaginary hipster beard?) We would love to receive more theme requests for coming weeks and always enjoy hearing from you, just because, too. Have a great weekend!
September 20, 2014
Apparently my last post rang some alarm bells because a dear friend of mine emailed, from her holiday, to ask if I was okay. (Apparently people read my posts…in their leisure time….’cause they want to…YES!)
Dear friend, I am okay. Put simply – I am coming out the other side of some things. Minor things like seasons and moods, less minor things like completed manuscripts, big emotional stuff, babies growing into toddlers growing into kids etcetera etcetera etcetera. I think we’re all coming out the side of things, aren’t we? This thing or the other thing? Out of one tunnel into another? Hardly through at all but the end can be seen or imagined?
I know you know what I mean, even if I’m being weird and taking the tunnel metaphor way too far…ahem…
September 19, 2014
Another Friday, another reason to celebrate with photos, comments, haiku, or just good old tea and cake (if you’ve got some, please share!). See if you can think of a unifying theme between the two photos and win acclaim and brownie points, as outlined here. We would love to receive your theme requests for coming weeks and always enjoy hearing from you, just because, too. Have a great weekend!
September 14, 2014
It’s been, what, a whole (northern hemi) summer since I was last here (not including that other post I snuck in)? I’ve missed this place. I’ve missed you. You’re looking good.
There’s something so nice about catching up with an old friend, don’t you think? In the past few years, I’ve got reconnected with several people I’d lost touch with, and there’s always that rush of hearing the narratives of their lives, the stories and details that bring you up to date and create a new understanding of who they are. Because we all change, don’t we?
So my news. Well, the reason I took a leave from Fork & Fiction was because of this.
Yes, the stork brought us a baby boy. He was born in June and has been getting more handsome ever since. Am I biased? Yes. Is it still true? Also yes.
Everyone tells you to brace for the shift from one kid to two, and that it feels more like four. I got myself all concerned about how bad it would be and how I’d be able to handle it, and the reality has been that it’s hard sometimes, really hard other times and really great quite often. Little e loves her brother, and he (alias: The Tiger) seems to enjoy her too.
But besides that, it’s been a great summer. I succeeded in procrastinating from writing by cooking/baking many times these past few months, despite the doubling of our brood. We went on mini holidays like a small herd of migrating caribou, dragging my parents around with us (bless them). I started research on a writing project, continued to chip away at another and dived into the archives of my old old writing just for fun (and amazement). More on than in a future post. I thought about poetry. Thought about genius and sadness. Sometimes felt alone and sometimes felt alive.
Our garden produced and also failed to produce (the former: eggplants, raspberries, cucumbers, squash, lettuce, peas, beans and two whole blueberries. The latter: tomatoes. Always, never decent tomatoes). The &$*#@% starlings discovered our fig tree and its abundant crop, making me want to buy a pellet gun. Little e spent hot afternoons in her paddling pool, teaching her rag-tag collection of garden ornaments how to swim. The Tiger learned how to smile. Life was good.
But here are a jumble of photos to say maybe a little more eloquently (and prettily) what we did this summer.
It was a hot and sticky summer. A fruitful summer. A summer of sleepless nights and early mornings. A summer of figs and sprinklers and dry golden grass. I guess in a way, I want this post to also be a catch-up for the future me. The me who forgets the details, as one does, and just labels it “the summer The Tiger was born”. It was that, but so much more than that too. Being a parent and a writer is hugely challenging and I fight every day for balance. Having a record of how things have gone, well, it might just give me perspective, the reminder I need one day. It was hard, but it was more wonderful than hard.
What are your summer highlights?
Thanks for being here. Here’s to a new season of great things.