About Me

With a B.A. in English, an M.A. in Education, and advanced training in psychotherapy, I have more and more been following my passion and the field where I want to put my energy: writing, and teaching writing. And also enjoying life and the people around me, while trying to explore and protect the world around us.

Monday, October 4, 2010

October Gardening -- digging, harvesting, giving thanks

Here it is October 4 and the morning glories are still blooming in my front garden -- more and more profusely all September and now into October, twining around the butterfly bush and Russian sage. They are a combination of blue and pink -- reminding me, suddenly, of the colour "sky-blue-pink" from the books about Uncle Wiggly that I read in childhood. And this reminds me of J.D. Salinger's story, "Uncle Wiggly in Connecticut," which I will re-read soon, and also "The Catcher in the Rye" -- and all of this goes into a poem called "Autumn Equinox."

There has been something wonderful about flowers this summer -- the on-going morning-glories, the pink climbing roses still budding, the zinnias springing up now from seeds I thought had disappeared in the soil and summer heat, the Rose of Sharon bushes in both the front and back yard -- slow to blossom in spring but lasting into fall. And I've cherry tomatoes and basil since July, still going strong. All this has given me a lot of peace this summer, and I like spending time just looking at the flowers. Perhaps this is because I have had a chance to slow down this summer, dig my roots deeper, just take time to live rather than dealing with crisis.

Although, of course, life hasn't been stress-free. I had a virus in early September, just before Rosh Hashanah, that mimicked some heart symptoms, enough to send me to the hospital for a stress test -- stressful in itself. One friend thought the test would measure how much anxiety and stress I was feeling -- but no, it's walking fast on a treadmill and having a CAT scan roam over your body, taking before and after pictures. As it turned out, my heart is fine, which is an affirmation and a relief. I think all the walking in the woods I did during my holiday helped me on the treadmill, and has made me decide to continue walking in the woods -- at least while the weather is good.

This reminds me of my university English teacher, Naomi J. Diamond, at Wellesley College in Massachusetts. In first-year English class, she had us read Robert Frost's poem "Nothing Gold Can Stay," and walk around the college lake -- about 2 hours -- really looking at nature, the leaves, early buds, debris from seasons past. I was one of the few who actually did this -- and enjoyed this: as a girl who grew up in the city, this was one of my first solitary walks in nature -- and I have never forgotten it, and how I learned to see how the poem sprung from really seeing and being in those woods. Naomi was from Thunder Bay (then Fort William) and Winnipeg -- though I didn't know it at in college. She returned to Toronto in the early 1970's, and was often a guest on Morningside with Peter Gzowski.

I came to Ontario in 1979, and had the joy of meeting her again at Ryerson in 1988. She was a professor I really wanted to see again, and I was touched and pleased that she remembered me. In our English 100 class, she had been hard on my writing with her red-pencil -- but always, I felt, to make it better, to make me think harder, see more clearly, feel more deeply. I began attending her reading groups in Toronto, and -- now with more experience -- appreciated her sharp intelligence and deep compassion even more keenly. We became, in a sense, friends. Her special loves in literture were Chaucer and George Eliot -- two writers who could see the whole range of human behaviour and life, and who, without judging, helped us become more human. Naomi died this past August, at age 84. We will miss her. Nothing gold can stay (but it is certainly worth loving while it is with us).

Another golden character, Kerry Schooley of Hamilton, also died suddenly this September, at age 61. Kerry was a big man, with a generous spirit, a big heart, a deep love of writing, of his family, and of Hamilton. He had a sense of humour -- and of "noir" fiction. He helped create the now-thriving Hamilton literary community, and encouraged us as a group and individually. He will also be deeply missed; his spirit will live on.

Finally, I had the pleasure -- and challenge -- of hearing David Suzuki speak in Hamilton on October 2. So as we approach Thanksgiving, let us give thanks for what we enjoy on earth -- from flowers to beloved people -- and do what we can to atone for what we hurt, and help each other -- and our green-gold earth -- to thrive.