Do the Work

Posted on 2/24/2010 by cheesefairy

I have the tabs open, still, to the lists titled: “Ten Rules For Writing Fiction,” written by a slurry of successful writers for The Guardian’s book section. ( Part One and part two ) The link was going around last week on twitter and like I do with stuff like this where it seems the magic key to my particular lock might be buried on the fifth or fourteenth line, I hurried to read them all. Some of the tips are funny, some meant to be funny, some not funny at all. The one that stayed with me is this single item from Philip Pullman, who says, “My main rule is to say no to things like this, which tempt me away from my proper work.” Amidst the lists of 10, 5, 3 things that most of the other writers replied with, it is this guy’s refusal that held my attention.

I have never heard of Philip Pullman. But I like his attitude.

(I hate that this is the Internet and I can write the above sentence, I have never heard of Philip Pullman, and then feel compelled to google his name because in this dayunage there is no reason I should not know who he is. I have heard of him, now, and I should get on with the looking into it. I don’t want to look into it, I just want to keep on going with my life, without getting distracted by the likes of Philip Pullman.)

(Also, I am making granola right now. When the timer goes off the granola will need stirring and I will be done this blog entry so it might not ever re-hitch itself to whatever point I was aiming for.)

It seems like there are two ways to approach writing: one, you write until you’re done. Two: you read / do everything you can to get ready for writing and then you die, having not written anything.

Within “everything” and “nothing” and “done” I, of course, include “revisions” and “editing” and “published.” And the death is not immediate, as though not-writing causes it, but happens on schedule, without you having done a blessed thing toward your goal.

All those successful people sent their contributions, their “horoscopes,” to the Guardian so that other people, people who are thinking about / trying not to think about writing could read them and scan for the magic bullet, the talisman, the something they could take away for security, to help them think they were doing something, anything about their hopes and dreams and goals.

Yesterday we were at my parents house and Trombone didn’t want to leave. He doesn’t nap when we’re there so he gets overexcited and dramatic and the ratio is better there for adult attention on his little boy-self so when it was time to go, he wanted to take something with him. First he went for a box of crackers. When we said no, he moved on to a roll of tape. Twice denied, he settled for an orange from the fruit basket on the back porch.

Trombone doesn’t eat oranges.

He just wanted something in his hand, a tangible reminder of everything that comes with a visit to my parents; love, attention, painting on an easel, getting to stay downstairs while everyone else naps, ‘coffee time’ at 4 pm when my parents drink espresso and everyone gets a special cookie. All of those things are contained in the orange that he carried all the way home in the car, all the way up the stairs, all the way into our house.

Then he gave it to Fresco to eat because Fresco likes oranges.

The danger, for me, is that I take a sentence or an idea or a well-crafted phrase or a pin-sharp point from someone’s list of Important Things To Know About X and I put it in a nice safe place where I can look at it and admire its well-crafted, pin-sharpness and then I don’t do the work. Does this make me lazy, scared, typical, not cut out for the job or some combination of all of those things? Have I passed my love for symbols on to my kids or have I not matured past a 3.5 year old level?

If each of those writers queried had replied, “Just do the work,” full stop, it would not have been such an interesting read. But where I am right now, that is the only thing I need to stick up on my wall. The flowery poems and motivational photos and shrines to creativity are superfluous. I know that my writer’s soul opens like a delicate rose after a rainfall and cannot be crushed by any bulldozers of progress. I know the honeybee is my friend though his drone distracts me. I am well aware of my unique message of –

Do the work.

Is this the work?

No? Then stop doing it.

Posted in | Tagged , | 7 Comments

Ma’am, I’m Sorry. It’s A Bad Case of Harley Crotch.

Posted on 2/22/2010 by cheesefairy

Yesterday it finally happened: I became a real parent.

I have seen it mentioned many times that one is not truly a parent until one has been vomited upon and been to the emergency room. I have disregarded this cliche for the past almost-four years but obviously did not dodge it completely because it was still there in a dark corner of my head as I pulled the vomity shirt over my head and prepared to call the nurseline for advice.

But this is not the post I want to write. It is a boring story with not much humour in it; yesterday Fresco spent the day with a sudden, bad cough and trouble breathing, he ended the evening with a hysterical crying/coughing fit and then blew chunks all over me. I put him to bed and he went to sleep and then I called the nurseline. The nurseline nurse said, with that slow, cautious tone, “I am a little worried about him actually” which, in my experience, is unlike a nurseline nurse, so I took him out of bed and we went to the local ER and were there for 3 hours and he doesn’t have an infection or asthma, but I’m glad I went because I wouldn’t have slept if we’d stayed home either, The End.

Oh, also; chest x-rays on children (& possibly adults?) are fairly terrifying, in a “Brazil” (the movie) kind of way.

The post I wanted to write? I was thinking about one about Fresco turning 22 months old, which means he is 2 months short of his second birthday and older now than Trombone was when he became an older brother. I had also been thinking about older brother / younger brother dynamics. I am toying with the idea of giving up dairy again – excellent blog-fodder and also, relevant to the blog’s title – but I’ve already blown that for today because all there was to eat in the fridge was leftover lasagna and what was I going to do, ignore it? Then there was the post about writing and how hard it is to work the fiction muscles after so long working the non-fiction muscles. (think: those guys who have the big upper bodies but tiny little thighs and look like cartoon characters when they walk.)

(Or, for that matter, the guy I saw at the Safeway parking lot the other day who walked like he’d been riding a motorcycle for about 15 years straight, which waddling “I just peed my pants” look I have dubbed “Harley Crotch” unless someone else has already come up with that one. “Harley Crotch” isn’t contagious but it is conducive to slow-growing fungi, etc. It is possible that only someone who has lived in downtown Vancouver and/or hates motorcycles will find this amusing.)

Because of the events of yesterday and last night, though, I have only had 6 hours of sleep, which, it turns out, is not enough anymore; I enjoy my nightly 8ish hours thankyouverymuch and I have a similar cough to Fresco’s but I don’t intend to vomit – and at least now we have an inhaler in the house in case my own airways become constricted. I can hear Trombone in his room engaging in some raucous pretend play to rid himself of sick-younger-brother frustration; something about a wagon going over a cliff and a young boy landing ass over teakettle (not his words) in the prickly bushes, which means he is not napping, though he could surely use it, and which also means that I only have until 2:30 to do whatever I need to do without the company of at least one child.

So this will have to do.

In sum: I am tired. And grateful for our health care system and for coffee and for another sunshiney day that meant I could sit without my jacket on and drink coffee while the children dug in the woodchip playground, the faint cacophony of “Mine! MINE! MINE!” enveloped by the mist of my reverie.

Also, I would like to share this picture of Morgan Freeman, which is what I keep coming back to for another dose of strength until later today when I can eat an inhuman portion of oven fries and go to bed.

Posted in | Tagged , , , , , | 11 Comments

Kindergarten has Two Ns

Posted on 2/19/2010 by cheesefairy

This morning Trombone and I attended an hour-long session at our local elementary school, a kind of “introduce your 3 year old to kindergarten, ever so gently and 18 months early” Provincial Government initiative called “Ready Set Learn.” The initiative appears to be geared at increasing pre-school literacy, which I think is funny because I found out about the event from a chance encounter with a flyer tacked to the bulletin board at the library. (Of course, those flyers could have been scattered all over town, it just so happened I saw one at the library.) The funnier part is that they gave us an alphabet puzzle, a foam one with letters that pop out, and it has two “N”s. But hey, free puzzle and free snack and another free book. And we got to meet the kindergarten teachers and see the classroom.

Apparently the school has 500 students. My high school didn’t have that many students. I don’t know why I think a high school should have more students than an elementary school; after all, the former is 5 grades and the latter is 8, including kindergarten, but that was my automatic first thought. Wow! That’s a lot of kids! Yes, sherlock, it is. I guess in my head, the smaller the children are, the fewer there should be? People are bigger, physically, in high school so there should be more of them? It is totally counterintuitive, 8 times over, but there you go. Voila, my brain.

There were three or five or possibly ten moms there who I can already tell are going to confuse me for Trombone’s entire elementary school career. They were all blonde and wearing similar clothing and their daughters were all blonde and wearing similar clothing. I think I’ve met one / all of them at the park before but who can say. I will have to make friends with at least one of them post-haste or I’ll never be able to tell them apart.

Speaking of moms that make your jaw drop, there is one at preschool; two weeks ago she was delightfully, full-termily pregnant, then dad came for a couple weeks and yesterday she showed up with newborn in tow, looking like one of those photoshopped magazine covers where the mom is all gaunt – yet smiley – and they say SHE LOST THE BABY WEIGHT IN TWO DAYS BY EATING CABBAGES. Seriously. I don’t know who to believe anymore because Whatsherfamous Kardashian said “No, I have a paunch, I do not look like that magazine cover,” yet here is this mortal woman looking better than any magazine cover and right in front of my face. I have never once seen a newborn, eensy weensy sleeping baby be eclipsed by its birthmom who looks like she never even saw a pair of those post-birth mesh knickers let alone considered wearing them.

There was a banner over the door out of the elementary school library. It said, “Have you used your brain today?” I had a quick daydream where the door refuses to let you out of the library if you say no. But then, I guess if you’re walking and not just lying on the ground twitching (or not twitching) you’ve used your brain, right? What a relief. Having used my brain, I intend to rest it for the remainder of the weekend. We all winn!

Posted in | Tagged , , | 5 Comments

Outside, February

Posted on 2/16/2010 by cheesefairy

The past couple days have been splendid here in our corner of the world; mild temperatures and no rain and we don’t need to go far to enjoy the outdoors because we live near many parks. Unfortunately, even with mild temperatures and no rain, the playground equipment in these parks is often damp and chilly and my children are delicate flowers who will not touch damp, chilly equipment so I have been taking them to the park just across one deserted cul-de-sac from our house. It includes a large field for running across and a baseball diamond complete with covered dugouts. We go there any time of year because it is basically a fenced pit of sand and fenced pits of sand + small children = Better Than Cats. Plus, the accompanying adults can sit in the covered dugouts and stay dry, if it’s raining. The people-watching is better than you might expect; there are the middle-school students to-ing and fro-ing in their sparkly flip flops and tank tops, various exercising elderly folks who walk the path around the park, people with large dogs that need to be run like horses and the occasional friendly binner.

Yesterday morning and this afternoon, on our way to the grocery store, we stopped at the baseball diamond and I leaned on the fence, squinting into the warm sun, feeling it stroke my cheek fondly even while the wind numbed my nose. Trombone and Fresco invented a game together, one where they run away from me, right to the opposite edge of the diamond, where it meets the grass. They stop there and look at me, then look out at the vast field of green, then back at me. They each scoop a handful of sand and then run pell-mell towards me, hollering “we’re going home, now we’re going home!” I hold out my arms and each of them buries his face in my sweater and I hold out my hands for their handfuls of sand. They both say, “More soap! More soap!” I drop the sand on the ground. They laugh and run away.

For 20 minutes, we played this game; me basking like a cat, them puffing like little engines, running like crazy. There was a moment where Fresco got distracted by something in the dirt and Trombone ran just a bit farther away, just past the line where sand meets grass. He was looking off into the distance, away from me, perfectly still. I looked up into the sky and saw a jet, so big and far away it seemed to be hanging from a cloud. The passers-by all disappeared and the traffic lulled and there was no sound, just this great, empty quiet. As though someone had sucked the noise from the world, slowed our motion, stopped time.

And then it started up again; air brakes and sirens and school bells and dog whistles and Fresco falling and scraping his knee. But for those few seconds I heard: warm air, open spaces, run as far as you want, as fast as you can, drop your jacket as you go, run faster by the house where the scary lady lives, riding bikes on empty streets, climbing trees and dropping cherries on passers-by, keeping spy notebooks, mudpies, spider legs, come inside for supper when the sun starts setting,

summer,
childhood.

Posted in | Tagged , , , | 9 Comments

All I Wanted Was a Beer

Posted on 2/15/2010 by cheesefairy

Where should I start? Should I start in 2006 when we bought a townhouse with white wall to wall carpet, even though we have a black cat, a coffee habit and were planning kid (s)? Can I skip to the part where we bought the Dyson vacuum and it changed our lives but still rarely makes it all the way to the third floor where the cat likes to roll his black, furry ass around? Let’s go right to the part a few weeks ago where Saint Aardvark accidentally kicked over a pint of coffee, which he drinks black, and it cascaded like Niagara Falls down the highest of our three flights of stairs.

At least it wasn’t actually him falling down the stairs. That was my first thought. I was with the kids in Trombone’s bedroom and it sounded like maybe the earthquake-rapture was happening. Nope, just a pint glass full of coffee. That’s quite a stain, Jane.

We had been thinking about cleaning the carpets for a while, I guess for about 4 years, since we bought the place. “Yep, signing eighteen copies of the mortgage and thinking about the eventual carpet cleaning.” We went so far two years ago as to hire a carpet cleaner to come over but then he couldn’t stretch his hose from the van with the cleaning solution all the way to our townhouse which is as far from the road as you can get. He went away, rather apologetically, and we vacuumed some more. After the recent coffee spill we decided we would go rent a Rug Doctor from the Safeway and it would be better than nothing. But how would we do it with the kids around? Easy! My parents would offer to take the children as a birthday present to us and we would spend the time cleaning our carpets!

House of CheeseVark: Romance a specialty.

Saturday morning, only slightly tired from our exciting night watching Olympic Opening Ceremonies / Brewing Stout, I vacuumed the carpets and SA followed with the Rug Doctor Machine. It went very smoothly. We only blew one fuse once. Done by noon, we got changed and decided we would spend the rest of our day together having lunch and getting SA’s prescription filled. He had been to the dentist earlier that day, you see, and has an infected tooth that will be root canaled later this week

(collective gasp)

but he claims it’s no biggie, he’s had tonnes of root canals and they’re fine. They’re like butter.

After some discussion we decided to take a short trip hop over the bridge to Surrey WAIT STAY WITH ME and go to the Central City Brewing GastroBistroPubsalot at the Surrey SFU campus / Central City Skytrain / Surrey Place Mall MegaComplex. This is not as complicated as I make it sound – you turn right from our house, follow King George Highway across the bridge and take a right on 102 ave. Takes 15 minutes by car. And then BEER. And then walking around the mall to sober up and get the prescription filled before driving back to Burnaby to get the kids. Except:

– it was Saturday afternoon, which I had forgotten because SA was off work Thursday and Friday so every day felt like WhateverDay
– it was pissing rain, so mall-rats ahoy
– it was the first day of the Olympics – lots of people park&riding (illegally!) at the skytrain and / or going to the mall to buy red mittens
– there is an Olympic Celebration Site very near to the above-referenced complex – lots of people driving around wondering what the hell is going on and why they can’t see the signs properly and is this the mall or the celebration site or the skytrain station and wow is it ever pissing rain!
– and yes, I was one of those people because previously when I’ve gone to this Complex (to buy beer from the Central City Liquor Store – it is a pretty splendid liquor store, actually) there are two places I park and on Saturday, neither of those two places was available and it was like Christmas Eve, people, it was insane!
– also, I was hungry. Which didn’t help.

After several turns around the parking lot and the other parking lot and the other other parking lot I made the executive decision to FUCK IT and we left the MegaComplex in search of other food, beer or non-beer related, I don’t care, I will eat that guy’s sandwich out of his hand while he waits for the light to change. A couple of Surrey-sized blocks later (think farmland) I managed to get turned around so we were going back towards Vancouver and relative safety or at least familiarity and it was then that I had the feeling I have not had so much lately: Thank God I am leaving Surrey.

SA and I, before we had kids, used to drive around aimlessly on weekends and we would often find ourselves crossing a bridge to Surrey. It happens more often than you might think. We’ve explored Whalley, White Rock, Fleetwood, Newton. Generally we are open-mouthedly fascinated for the first few minutes but eventually it comes back to: OK that was fun now get me out of here. I’m not sure why. It might be the roads, which are several lanes wide and called HIGHWAY even though they are passing through urban centres. It might be the endless strip malls that make every intersection look the same so you have no idea if you are actually going anywhere or if you’re in the Hundred Acre Wood looking for Woozles with Pooh. Or possibly the housing developments by the side of the highway that all look the same and have names like “Heritance” or “Sunset Grove.” It might be that the streets and avenues are all numbered and it’s a grid system and I know, intellectually, that this is superior to “Dewdney Trunk Road parts a-z” (ask me about it sometime) or having all the streets have different names, or something like Broadway in Vancouver, which is also 9th ave but no one calls it that, but if one is unfamiliar with this superior grid system all it does is make all the streets sound like the same street and then suddenly you’re following an exit to the US BORDER are you kidding me? Nope, we’re going to Bellingham!

Not on Saturday, though. On Saturday, I knew enough to go back the way I came and after a few near misses with the jackasses who seem to think that getting to the next red light is an Olympic Sport so I should just assume they’ll pass me on the right even if the right isn’t even a car lane, just a bike lane, and passing the EconoLodge whose vent was blowing enough steam that it looked like the place was on fire (but it wasn’t) we were back on the Pattullo Bridge, nicknamed Killer Pattullo because people die on it all the time and why? Because they are either driving like bats out of hell to get out of Surrey or because they are jackasses trying to get to the next red light first! first! like a dooce commenter.

Also the relatively-new median (there used to be no median at all) is made of plastic. And when you’re driving you can’t stop looking at it, thinking, THAT? That row of kids-toy-grade yellow plastic is all that’s between me and oncoming traffic? And then you drive into the median because you’re looking at it.

Not that I did that. I managed to tear my eyes away from the yellow plastic median because I knew that’s what it wanted. It wanted me to drive into it.

We did not die.

We opted for familiarity once again and parked very near to my parents’ house where the children were and we filled SA’s prescription at my old childhood Shopper’s DrugMart and then had a splendid, if late, lunch at a small restaurant called El Mariachi. It is on Hastings Street near MacDonald and yes, I was starving by then and also desperate to get out of the car, but I do think it was very tasty food, besides.

When we got home, our carpets were dry. And cleaner than they had been. So, even though I had no beer at all, I declare February 13, 2010 a success.

Posted in | Tagged , , , , | 12 Comments