Ideas and What To Do With Them

Tomato Juice in a glas, decorated with tomato ...

Tomato Juice in a glass, decorated with tomato slice and sprig (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This is my weekly column–now you will know what I was busy doing on Saturday. There is some local lore here–Richard Scarsbrook is from Toronto now; the Workshop was held in my hometown of Kingsville;  Coopers Hawk is a Winery just a few miles away; the Mettawas is a local restaurant in our refurbished train station, and Merli’s is a quaint eatery just down the street from the library:

            A gathering of like-minded people met last Saturday to form a community for a day. A community we all recognized—creative people assembled to learn something new, to gain inspiration, and to add to our body of knowledge. We attended a Short Story Writing Workshop led by a local boy “made good” author Richard Scarsbrook, originally from Olinda. He opened the workshop with these words: “I want you to walk away with two things today: ideas, and what to do with them.”

            Before the workshop I wrote a few articles about it for the paper, and described Richard as dynamic—but only because I had gleaned the information second-hand. On Saturday I experienced the truth of the word dynamic: energetic, active, lively, vibrant, and full of life. All those words described our leader for the day, who took his cue from us in how he structured the workshop. He had a handout that he used for part of the day, but abandoned it somewhat in the afternoon after hearing what we wanted to concentrate on.

            The venue was provided by the Essex County Library Board. We used the activity room in the beautiful Kingsville Library as our “classroom”. Organized by volunteers for “Wine, Writers and Words”—it was in this volunteer’s eyes an unmitigated success. Personally I loved every minute of it—from the workshop itself to the lunch at the Mettawas Restaurant, a wine tasting put on by the affable and knowledgeable owner of Coopers Hawk Vineyard, Tom O’ Brien to an open mike session followed by the fellowship at Merli’s just down the street. It was a full day of my favourite things: writing, reading, eating, conversation, and a little wine.

            Admittedly, I have been writing this column for years so I must try and come  up with new ideas on a weekly basis—but a workshop of this sort really helps the creative juices run afresh. One of the exercises Richard provided us with was the prompts provided by  six words that he said were guaranteed to get us writing. And right he was. Apparently the words he chose are psychologically proven to get our minds in gear and our fingers working. I was surprised how each of the words brought up strong memories. The first word was childhood, which evoked in me a memory that has obviously been lurking in the background for a long time. The subject is kind of quirky, the memory not life changing, yet there it was. I will give you a taste of what the word evoked during the workshop:

            “The whole family was invited. Grandparents. Aunts and uncles. Cousins. And of course mom and dad and my brothers and sister. Even Tippy, our dog, was excited.

            We had set up the dining room table in the living room. It was joined by sundry and other tables to make it long enough to seat twenty-two people.

            I was in charge of setting the table, a job I enjoyed even as a kid. Lining up the silverware just so. Placing the glasses between the tip of the knife and corner of the plate. And since we were having company we used our tiny glasses placed in the middle of the plate to hold tomato juice. That was always the sign that we were having either a special meal or holiday dinner—we had tomato juice to start the meal.”

            That was as far as I got as the exercise was timed and we had to stop writing—but Richard said that the whole idea behind the prompt was to give us something to start and a place to go with it. So here is the rest of the story—be forewarned, it is a little….well, I will let you be the judge of it:

            “After setting the table, I found a glass of what I thought was tomato juice poured into a lovely container. To this day I do not know why I did what I did next—but I took a drink from it. It was not tomato juice at all! It was my mom’s homemade chili sauce. And she was none too pleased that I took a sip from it. Many times during my life I have asked myself “what was I thinking?” and I believe this was the first time I had this thought. How could I not have recognized that the lumpy chili sauce was not juice? I was mortified by my mistake and skulked away to my room. I think I remember this so well because I was deeply embarrassed about my stupid mistake—and it ruined the special meal for me.” I understand that this is no piece of writing genius but it is a vivid memory drawn from the word “childhood”.

            The workshop happened through the hard work of Nancy Belgue, Tara Hewitt, Brian Sweet, Joan Cope, Arleen Sinasac and to some extent me. A lot of thought and rethought, planning and replanning went into the day, and speaking for myself (and hopefully the other participants) “a good time was had by all.”

Nothing Wrong With a Little Lunacy

English: Green Hill Beautifully rolling hills ...

rolling hills abound here. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“I still get an uncontrollable urge to roll down a grassy hill, especially on a summer day, with the grass mown smooth and the earth smelling warm. There is a simple wholeness to it, a clarity of cause and effect. The best part is the beginning, at the top, feeling the rolling first in the dreaming of it: rolling straight and fast, faster still, gathering force as I fall.”  ~ Elizabeth Long, “Life in the Clearing”, The Harrowsmith Country Reader

I remember rolling down gentle hills when I was a little girl. Dressed in plaid shorts and a jersey I would throw my whole self into the activity. There was nothing more important. No thought of grass stained clothes. Or getting twigs and bugs and leaves in my hair. Just the lovely freedom of falling, and knowing that at the bottom of the hill, I would get up, brush myself off and run to the top again to repeat the pursuit of freedom—the letting go and just rolling down the hill.

As we get older, we lose that freedom. We care about getting our clothes stained. We care about keeping our hair just so. We care that someone will see us and judge our lunacy. If I tried rolling down a hill today, I would probably break a hip, or turn my ankle running back up the hill, or get too dizzy to jump up again. (My dad was right, getting old is hell, though I will never admit to getting old, I understand his sentiment.)

There are ways to roll down the hill if not physically, actually and literally—at least metaphorically, symbolically and representationally (yes I am using my thesaurus again).  The hill is still there to conquer and I am still that little girl in plaid shorts with my tangled pony tail and huge smile. There is still a lot of life left and I am going to take Erma Bombeck’s advice to herself when she found out she had cancer:

            “…(if) given another shot at life, I would seize every minute; look at it and really see it; live it and never give it back….”   

Tell me what your little bit of lunacy would be…………..

Published in: on July 7, 2013 at 6:07 pm  Comments (42)  
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My Safe Harbour


Trees (Photo credit: @Doug88888)


No longer in the backyard of my childhood home

My tree lives on only in my memory.

In yesteryear

I would climb into my tree everyday

and sit in its generous crook,

my back leaning against the rough bark of the trunk.

The branches formed a canopy

shadowing the sun

A breeze would rustle the leaves ~

and I would settle in with a book

or just observe the world

whiling away an endless summer afternoon.

I was sad to see one day

when I went to visit the place where my beloved tree once reigned

that it was gone.


the vivid memories remain

of sunlit days sitting in my tree

safe and apart, yet one with the realm ~

English: Venerable tree, Breamore Down This be...

Venerable tree (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I ruled the world from its safe harbour.


Remembered bliss–is there anything better? Do you have a childhood memory of bliss that stands out?

Published in: on April 18, 2013 at 9:49 am  Comments (53)  
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Day 14 ~ 200 Words

Maybe this little vignette will cool you off this hot summer: I call it ~ “Close to Grace” ~

Pond Hockey Tournament, Rawden Creek, Stirling...

Pond Hockey Tournament, Rawden Creek, Stirling Ontario_4195 (Photo credit: Bobolink)

The whole pond was mine for the taking.  But it was not an easy taking. It was not close by and there were no sidewalks or trails to take me there. It took a rugged trip through furrowed fields, clambering over fences, jumping across a wide stream, and running down a small hill to get to the frozen pond. But it was a trip worth taking.

Every year, during the Christmas holidays, my sister and I would bundle up, and with our skates tied together in a loose knot and thrown over our shoulders, we would make our way to “our pond”.

Sometimes the pond  was smooth and clean and the skating easy. Sometimes the pond was snow-covered and bumpy—but we didn’t care. We had fun no matter the condition. And when we got bored with skating around the pond, we would venture into the tiny forest that bordered it.  Holding onto the slender trees, we would skate in and around them—sometimes imagining them as partners in our ice dance. It was as close to grace as I would ever get.

Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir at the 2010 World ...

Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir at the 2010 World Figure Skating Championships. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

By the time I was 16, the pond had lost its magic for me.  I still have the skates though, purchased when my mom thought my feet were still growing. If I donned them today, I am sure the dreams of decades ago would still resonate and grace would be mine again.

Published in: on July 19, 2012 at 2:21 am  Comments (29)  
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