Prompt # 42 – Handwriting

Prompt # 42 – Handwriting


The deterioration of my handwriting I shall blame on fifty years of keyboards. Although it never was beautiful. I've always admired a really artistic hand like many architects and artists have, especially those who design their own fonts. Like Charles Rennie Mackintosh.

One of my prize possessions is a poetry book which my mother received as an award for her handwriting in 1932. And I also have an autograph book in which she wrote to me: Away back here and out of sight, I write my name with all my might. I'd write it better if I could, but nature said I never would.

Above this page is the signature I also treasure, in an ancient geography textbook which belonged to my other grandmother Margery, autographed by her when she was around ten years old, before she emigrated to Canada from Somerset. When she married, she changed both her names to avoid confusion with her husband's sister who was also a Hilda.

The Bliss Carman poem is in my grandmother Winifred's, my mother's mother's handwriting. I also have copies of letters in Anne's, my mother's grandmother's handwriting.

And last Christmas, my cousin Carol gave me an old postcard mailed in December 23, 1917 from Richmond, Surrey, to our grandmother Winifred from her grandmother Jessie who died in 1920. Incredible. There is a photo of a dog on the front who I guess may be named Rip and the copy says: Rip joins us in love and best wishes for the new year. J*B

This topic made me look and it made me see. I found another surprise in that same old autograph book.

Forget you! no I never will As long as I can whistle. I may as well forget to jump When I sit on a thistle. Daddy.

Prompt # 41 - Blood Type

Prompt # 41 - Blood Type

Blood type O for Ordinary.

I used to give blood, but I stopped because I would faint afterwards.

Prompt # 40 - I Think

Prompt # 40 – I Think

I hardly ever think about thinking.

Where do I think? I used to think a lot when I was driving. Now I drive much less, maybe 3 or 4 times a week, usually just around town. And since my new car is a standard, it takes more concentration, with less time to think.

To me, there seems to be two kinds of thinking - creative thinking and problem solving. I do a lot of creative thinking, thinking up projects I want to write about and then thinking how best to word them - fiction or non-fiction. My problem-solving challenges vary. How am I going to get my three sections of chimney replaced? How am I going to motivate myself to move out of my house? Or should I give myself another ten years here? Or should I pay off the mortgage? Should I self-publish, POD? With this type of problem-solving thinking, especially if any numbers are involved, or mechanics, I will usually ask for input. Often from my brother. Or accountant. Or friends who have been through this already.

I have to write everything down, in order to remember, and make a TO DO list, to make a commitment. I have notes on scraps of paper everywhere. I get a lot of ideas while I am reading, so I make notes. I also find that writing helps me figure things out and think things through. Sometimes I don't know what I think until after I get into it, writing. Even with creative writing, the re-writing phase is the part I most enjoy. Making it better, once I've figured out what it is I am writing about. Maybe that's because the type of thinking shifts from creative to analytic and problem solving.

So, I guess I do most of my thinking sitting at my computer keyboard, or in my reading chair. Or while busy at other tasks around the house and yard. Trying not to think, not trying to think, seems to be one trick that works for me. That's when the ideas slip in.

Prompt # 39 - My Safe Place

Prompt # 39 - My Safe Place

Time out for me is making an effort to go out for coffee or walks to be with people. The rest of the time, I am alone, reflecting, thinking, making decisions, creating on my own. My house is my safe place. I spend most of my time in my upstairs office, at my PC computer. Then, in the TV room, playing Scrabble or solitaire on my laptop, or writing the Book of Me. Or else I'm in my reading chair by the big window. Or in the kitchen, between stove and fridge and water taps. If it weren't for feeding the birds on the deck, I can go for days without stepping outside.

If it weren't for garbage day, and preparing the stuff to set out, I can go for a week without really being in the yard. Which is a shame because I love the yard almost as much as the house. The four small garden areas—along the south wall, in front of the deck, the curve of hostas beside the big rock, and the little yew triangle between the parking space and the house. The laburnum is in full bloom right now and the golden chains are hanging over the railing. The third rhodo has just come out as well - vibrant burgundy. The rest of the yard is my wildwood. The dogwoods and saskatoons are over. The honeysuckle are starting to flower. The wild rose will be a bit later. The rest is box shrub and fir. The yard smells so beautiful, especially right now in the rain, and you can really hear the creek because the freshet is here.

When I was a kid living at home, being the only girl,I had the luxury of my own room, although I usually did my homework on the kitchen table where the light was better. My favourite place on the farm was the pasture. There were flowers, three-headed avens, crocus, tiger lilies, aster, patches of box and other low shrub with cattle and rabbit trails through it, surrounded by mostly poplar groves. My mother said I had my first spanking in the pasture when I was a few months old. I had escaped the house and the yard and had trundled along the path to the pasture where she found me happily wandering among the cows and calves, with my bum in the air and my nose in a flower. I don't remember this, but I like the story. I guess this pasture has remained my happy place.

Prompt # 38 - When I Grow Up I Want To Be . . .

Prompt # 38 - When I Grow Up I Want To Be . . . 

The only thing I was ever good at was school. My career dreams seemed to be just to be able to keep going to school and then to university. Because I loved art and buildings, houses, I enrolled in Interior Design at the University of Manitoba Fort Garry campus in Winnipeg. Because I had no training in art, and because I learned very quickly that they accepted 120 students in first year and only graduated 40 in fourth year, expecting 80 of us to fail, I switched after three weeks to the Faculty of Arts. For four years I studied only subjects I loved including English, French, history, and geology (with intro courses in political science, psychology, and linguistics).

After teaching for ten years, I went back and did my Masters in English. My thesis The Indian, the 'Other,' In the Canadian Quest For Identity: Four Prairie Novels Of the 1970s is available online. Ever since completing my MA I've considered myself a writer. I've worked on contracts or in careers which have been great sources for characters and stories.

I still love art and houses. I collect mission oak furniture and art from artist friends. Visitors say my house reminds them of a museum. I would rather they said it is like an art gallery. Whatever. I am surrounded by objects I've collected and love.

Still Life. Art, "Plate Tectonics," by my friend Carol Hurst. Sweetgrass braids, gifts from friends at home. Medalta lamp. Green and purple rocks including obsidian and Malachite. Atop Mission Oak dresser.

Of course, one of the things I did learn in ID is the difference between decoration and design.

Prompt # 35 - Aunts and Uncles

Prompt # 35 - Aunts and Uncles

I seem to have missed a week. Aunts and uncles. Well, maybe it's just that I have too many to mention. My father had seven brothers and six sisters, and that meant seven sisters-in-law and six brothers-in-law. My mother had two sisters, three brothers, two brothers-in-law, and three sisters-in-law. Plus we had three great-aunts (Hilda, Ethel, & Beatrice) and one great-uncle (Bill), and we also called my grandmother's cousin Uncle E., so that makes approximately 40 (plus a couple of second marriages), of which about 14 are still with us. If I am lucky, I get to talk to or visit some of them once a year. When I lived with my parents, we lived closest to my father's family in Manitoba. Dad helped one brother buy the farm next to ours. My mother's relatives lived thousands of kilometres away. Those who were in British Columbia we visited about every other year.

Prompt # 37 - Feeding the Ducks

Prompt # 37 - Feeding the Ducks

I had the good luck to grow up on a farm. Ducks were wild creatures which, in season, my father shot with a shotgun and my mother cooked for supper. They fed us. On our farm, Dad fed the cows and calves, pigs, and chickens. Cattle provided milk, cream, butter, beef, and cash. The chickens provided eggs and meat. The pigs were for pork. Mum fed us, and the dog, Spot. I fed the house cat, Grey Kitty. We did not have horses because all animals had to have a purpose, earn their keep, and, as horses were no longer needed for farm work or transportation, they no longer qualified. Because this was the culture we were raised in, we didn't see wild creatures as pets. I don't feed ducks. However, against the advice of the local Bear Committee, I do put out a daily allowance of bird seed. This week it feeds robins, sparrows, chickadees, towhees, and Steller's jays.

Steller's Jay, Hope, British Columbia, Canada, April, 2014.

Above: Heifer and Calf, taken by my mother, around 1970. Oak River, Manitoba, Canada.