The Canterbury Sisters (Novel)

The Canterbury Tales. Mothers and Daughters. Death. Forgiveness. Healing. Stories. A Pilgrimage. Friendships. Death. Relationships. Lovers. What Women Want.

Okay, I thought. Here’s what I don’t have. I don’t have a mother, or a lover, or a phone, or any fucking clue of why I’m here, where I’m going next, or what any of this means.

Kim Wright, The Canterbury Sisters

When Che receives her mother’s ashes, there is a note attached, a last request: take the ashes to Canterbury, “It is never too late for healing.” Che would have ignored the note, except that her boyfriend had also sent a note. He was breaking up with her and would call her to work out the details. So, to fulfill her mother’s last wishes and to avoid the inevitable conversation with her now ex-boyfriend, Che books a flight to London. When her private tour guide becomes ill, Che finds herself on a pilgrimage (run by Broads Abroad) going from London to Canterbury with eight other women. In the tradition of The Canterbury Tales, each woman is to tell a “love story,” whether true or fictional. Through the pilgrimage and the stories, Che finds the healing that her mother wanted for her.

The Canterbury Sisters by Kim Wright gave me the same pleasure that I associate with the sight of a well-planned, well-maintained garden. There was the pleasure of the description of the walk to Canterbury, based upon Wright’s own experiences. There was the pleasure of the skillful writing.The description of Che’s mother’s ashes in the zip lock bag and then in the fish and chips bag is wonderful, both amusing and touching. The women’s stories and the narration of their experiences on the trip gave me insight into the lives of women and their complexities. Che is a bit snooty and at the same time vulnerable, making her an appealing character. My only major criticism is that part of the ending seemed contrived.

I rarely read non-genre –science fiction, mystery, fantasy– fiction. I’m not sure it is in my true nature. But, this novel does make me want to read more novels by Kim Wright.

The Amazing Absorbing Boy (Novel)

“You know something Sammy? You is the first person in the family who so ambitious. I can’t figger out where you get it from…”

“…I remembered that less than two years earlier Miss Charles, our teacher at Mayaro Composite, had hinted that most orphans were doomed to become pickpockets and petty thieves…But, I thought of other orphans, Batman and Spider-Man, and most of the X-Men and the Legion who had refused to give in: each evening locating their special power and patiently understanding how to properly use it.”

Serendipity brought The Amazing Absorbing Boy by Rabindranath Maharaj into my world; it was mistakenly on our library’s list of new science fiction and fantasy. The novel is a light and touching tale of a comic book loving young man from Trinidad who finds himself living in Canada. The novel won the 2010 Trillium Book Award and the 2011 Toronto Book Award.

Briefly, Samuel has lived in Mayaro Trinidad all his life. As the story opens, he is seventeen and his mother is dying of cancer. His father abandoned them when Sam was six years old. About nine months after his mother’s death, his father, who has been living in Canada, sends for him. This is far from a happy reunion. His father is a jerk, barely talking to Sam and wondering why he is there. Sam sleeps on a piece of foam on the floor and has to find food for himself. But, most of the story is a fascinating tale of the people that Sam meets and the places he discovers. Told from the first person perspective, Sam often uses comic books as his point of reference. Towards the end of the story, the reader understands why the book is called The Amazing Absorbing Boy.

While in some ways this is a novel about Canada told from an immigrant’s perspective, it is so much more. It is about a boy mourning the death of his mother and trying to figure out his father. It is about a boy trying to make the best of a bad situation, drawing strength from his childhood, and finally triumphing. It is about the perspective—sometimes wise, sometimes naive—from which he looks at the people around him. I liked the book because it was a bit quirky, definitely well-written, and had a nice dash of humor. It definitely is enjoyable, even for those of us who are not Canadian.

Michael Jackson

Although I am not a big music fan, I still feel touched by the passing of Michael Jackson. He wasn’t just a celebrity. His music composes the soundtrack of so many people’s lives. In the movie of my life, you would hear his music during the long commutes I once did, during the early mornings when I listened to the radio waiting for the caffeine to kick in, and during some of my aerobic workout sessions. His music is intimately woven into the fabric of the lives of a number of generations. For those who are music fans, I would imagine his death is enormous, a time for grief, remembering, and even self-reflection. We have lost an icon.

Saying Good-bye Again to an Analog Father

Last week, when TV stations officially stopped broadcasting in analog, I sobbed, despite the fact that my old TV had been digitally compatible for over half a year. I couldn’t figure out why I was so emotional. I felt like I had lost something precious.

When my mother passed away a few years ago, I felt like we had been riding in a car together and she had gotten out. I kept on looking at her in the rearview mirror, each day her image getting smaller and smaller. I kept on wanting to somehow turn the car and go back for her. She was no longer there chatting with me in the car. We were no longer making memories. More and more of the world that we had known together had changed. I know some religions refer to the term Summerland as the afterlife. Part of my brain took this literally, as though Summerland were a summer camp where I could send letters to my mother. I thought about writing her with the latest news. “Dear Mom, a new Walgreens and custard stand just went up on the corner.” “Dear Mom, we just elected our first non-white president, and I know you’d just adore his wife’s clothes.” “Dear Mom, Gary just passed away. Ellen is taking it hard.” The point is that I can still think of telling her things that would have seemed relevant to her.

My father died when I was a wee thing. He loved technology, but unfortunately didn’t live to see CD’s, PC’s, and definitely not the Internet. He would have embraced all those technologies and more. If he had lived long enough, I am sure he would have Twittered and had his own video blog. Dad loved science fiction so maybe he somehow experienced those things in his imagination. I can only hope so.

On the day of the digital conversation I felt like I crossed a huge chasm that now separates my father and me. My dad has now become a fossil, someone from a totally different era. It was as though my father had driven a horse and buggy, never even seen a car, and now I was in Detroit during the glory years. Or, I was going to the theater ever week and watching movies in color when my father had never even heard a talking picture. I only knew one of my grandparents and only briefly before he passed away. To me my grandparents are just old black and white pictures, ghosts in stories my mom used to tell me. My father now seems like a ghost in the frame. All these feelings just from someone flipping a few switches at some television stations.

Memorial Day Blessing

Donna, the minister of our teeny, tiny church, will be out of town for the next two weeks, and I will be conducting the services. I have a Memorial Day theme planned for tomorrow. Donna said that in the decade that she has been minister she has never focused on Memorial Day. Somehow it seems important to me this year. I’m not sure exactly why. Perhaps, it is because my Uncle Lefty, who served in both WWII and the Korean War, passed away in December. Perhaps it is because I have been watching so much NCIS on television this past year that I somehow feel more connected with the men and women who have fought for this country. Perhaps it is from feeling proud to be an American after the first African American president was sworn in this year.

I usually end the services with a blessing. I wrote this one for Sunday:

May you revel in the first weekend of summer,
Feeling the joy of being alive.
May you also experience a quiet moment of gratitude,
Honoring the men and women who gave their lives
For this country.
May you feel a gentle connection with loved ones
Who have passed before you,
Always remembering that Love never dies.

Mother's Day 2009

This blog is moving in a different direction than I had originally intended, but I will be open to change myself. This will be my Aunt Ellen's first Mother's Day since Gary passed away. Here is a poem I wrote for the 30 Day Poetry Challenge.

“Mother’s Day 2009”

Last year two.
This year one.
One phone call
One bouquet
One card
One “I love you”
Not two
Last year two
Two sons.

Oh, his back hurt in summer.
It had for years.
She should have never let him
Why hadn’t she stopped him?
Let him move her boxes
When she moved into assisted living.

In fall he had the surgery.
A mother always worries.
Rods, pins, braces
He looked so uncomfortable.

The beginning of winter
He said the word
The word that changed
Her worry to terror:
Cancer.

She prayed and prayed
Called everyone she knew
To pray.
They promised
To pray.

In late winter he went
Into the hospital
For the treatment that might
Change everything.
But not in the way
She had prayed for.

Now one.
Not two.
One bouquet

Words of Comfort

My cousin, Gary Ward, passed away on Wednesday after a seven month battle with Multiple Myeloma. I found this beautiful poem to help comfort those who are struggling with the loss of loved ones this week.

A long time I have lived with you
And now we must be going
Separately to be together.
Perhaps I shall be the star
To guide your uncertain wings
So that you have direction in the night.
Perhaps I shall be the fire
To separate your thoughts
So that you do not give up.
Perhaps I shall be the rain
To open up the earth
So that your seed may fall.
Perhaps I shall be the snow
To let your blossoms sleep
So that you may bloom in spring.
Perhaps I shall be the stream
To play a song on the rock
So that you are not alone.
Perhaps I shall be a new mountain
So that you always have a home.

Nancy Wood in Earth Prayers

Fading Flowers

My maternal grandmother loved to garden. Despite having nine children together, after chores were done on the farm, my grandfather could be seen helping my grandmother with the flowers. It was their special time together. My grandmother died sixteen years before I was born, yet I often feel her presence when I am in my own garden.

Lately, I have been overwrought with sadness. I mourn friends and relatives who have passed away. I see the bodies of living loved ones grow twisted. I see them in physical and emotional pain. I witness their memories failing. Some of them are shells of the people I once knew and loved.

After my mother passed away, my oldest cousin’s family gave me a Peace Plant. In the past few weeks, I have watched a white flower sprout, blossom, and fade. It is now a cylinder of drying seeds. This morning the plant gave me a great sense of peace. Like the flowers, we all have a life cycle. Some of us are just beginning to open. Some are fading. Yet others are almost nothing but drying seeds. My grandmother lovingly dried the seeds in her garden and then stuck them in envelopes to use for next year. While acknowledging my sadness, I am also given the option to harvest the seeds that my loved ones have created through their lives: a love of crystals, an appreciation of nature, the ability to make someone feel special, etc. Now I need to prepare the soil, as my grandparents did, so that I can plant the “seeds” for the next generation to enjoy.