It was exactly a year ago today that I stopped dying my roots and I have five inches of silvery growth to show for it.
It’s been a trip. Honestly, making the decision wasn’t the hardest part. It was a combination of reasons really: my hairdresser of 30 plus years was retiring, my brown roots only lasted a meagre two weeks before the silvers would push their way through and I hated the way the brown dye stained my scalp and hairline, my pleasantly confused mother kept asking me how school was every time I visited her, and it was one step on the larger journey to self-acceptance.
Me on the right at age 33, dye free. My mother was 60 when this picture was taken, my current age. She had stopped dying her hair but started again several years later until about eighteen months ago. I think I started dying my roots in my late 40s.
It felt scary, a bit like stepping off a cliff into the unknown , but I was determined and ready. The announcement that I was letting my grey grow out was met with a variety of reactions from: it will age you, to: I’m not ready or I wish I could do that (from my contemporaries), and : you go girl! My husband and friends have been very supportive as have women who have already let their natural colour shine through.
Once I made the decision, nothing anyone said would dissuade me. Call it conviction.
The worst part was the first four or five months when it may have appeared that I was neglecting my self-care. At 4’10”, my roots are very visible and the difference in hair colours across the demarcation line was extreme. Bandanas helped as did winter tuques and a really good curly hair cut that took off several inches of brown and cheered me up enormously. Now when I wear it in a ponytail, I don’t even see the demarcation line.
Possibly it would have been easier to cut off most of the brown at the very beginning and don a pixie cut but my hair texture does not do well with short hair so that option was out. I have some friends who dyed their hair blond to ease the transition but the bleach would have done a lot of damage to already damaged hair.
You know the idiom a watched pot never boils? There should be one for watching hair grow. I cannot believe how long it took to grow five inches of grey. I must have googled, how long does it take to grow out grey roots, a million times. I never got the answer I wanted which was an inch a month. Ask my husband how many times I asked him to measure my roots and he will roll his eyes to the heavens.
Making this very personal choice comes with no judgement for women who chose to continue dying their roots. I miss that five inches of brown along with the blond hi-lights I treated myself to once a year.
Dyed roots and blond hi-lights from a few years ago.
We live in a society that judges appearances and it’s hard to push back. My East Indian father dyed his hair (what little was left of it) black the moment he started going grey until well after he retired at age sixty-five. He was very conscious of racism and ageism at his workplace and did not want to give his employer a reason to let him go.
An East Indian friend told me her father, working in the US for many years, also dyed his hair. I asked her if she thought he would have dyed his hair if he had been white and she replied, probably not.
My dad’s hair in all its glory at age 31.
A few months ago, my sweet mother stopped asking about school and instead remarked that I sure had a lot of grey. These days she tells me she likes the two-toned colour. Mission accomplished!
In conclusion, I am very happy to have arrived at this one year anniversary. Thrilled even. It feels completely liberating to be sixty-one and look my age. I am looking forward to next year at this time when I will have added another five inches to my hair length and can go back to wearing it a little longer.
I had a dream last night that came back to me like a jolt halfway through my first cup of coffee this morning.
Like many people, I find it nearly impossible to remember my dreams and the ones I do recall are those that have been rudely interrupted by either my alarm clock or the dogs whining to be let out and fed.
Even then, if I don’t immediately recount my dream out loud, it soon disappears into the ether. I have never been good at retention which is why I was surprised that this one came back to me so vividly.
I was in my childhood home, the TV room to be specific, recovering from yet another eye surgery, when something compelled me, call it a heeby-jeeby, to check my eye in the mirror of the adjacent powder room. To my horror, my non-operated eye had drifted to the outer part of its socket and had rotated itself so that the cornea faced the bridge of my nose. I say drifted but it had obviously been violently yanked out of place because a pool of blood was forming in the space where it used to be. Don’t ask me how it was physiologically possible for me to see this because my operated eye was still covered by a dressing. Perhaps it was my third eye looking inwards as it is wont to do.
To make matters worse, my rogue eyeball then untethered itself and rolled like a gum ball down some magical tunnel to become lodged in the space between my spinal column and my throat which isn’t really a space at all from what I remember from my gross anatomy course and from the drawing below.
At that point, my ophthalmologist brother magically appeared (we did grow up together in the house) and shone a light down my throat. « These things happen, » he shrugged. « Try a warm compress on the eye and it should resolve itself eventually. »
« He can’t use his mouth to speak– or do anything else. So there are hilarious shots of him eating and drinking by putting the spoon or glass around to the back of his neck. »
If a mouth can be moved to the back of the neck, why not an eye?
On another note, I have my eclipse glasses and camera ready for tomorrow but I am considering closing my eyes until it is all over. My father permanently damaged his retinas by looking directly into a total eclipse of the sun. That and I suffered a retina detachment 18 months ago. I certainly don’t need anymore eye drama. Cue eye roll. 🙄
Please be careful if you are planning to watch it.
A total of 110. I am due for my second cataract surgery on January 18th, my reading eye this time.
As much as I love reading, I am aiming for 52 books this year rather than the pressure of 104. Let’s see what happens when my intention is to slack off. Perhaps a new reading lens will make all the difference and will spur me on.
In any case, there are other creative pursuits I would like to focus on such as my photography. And I want to improve my fitness as well.
Please share any notable books you read in 2023 as well as what is on your to-read list for the upcoming, year. Wishing all my readers a happy and healthy 2024 filled with wonderful reading experiences.
January
1. The Book of Goose — Yinyun Yi ❤️❤️❤️❤️ A dark and haunting story of friendship: both its complexity and simplicity, art in the form of writing and class. Set in post-war rural France, England and briefly, in the United States, the narrator, Agnes, is set free by the death of a childhood friend, Fabienne, which prompts her to write this story. I found the writing compelling enough that I pushed through the book, finishing it in a day. It is my first time reading anything by this author and I would read her again.
2. Please Make Me Pretty, I Don’t Want to Die (poems) — Tawanda Mulalu ❤️❤️❤️❤️ Reading poetry is an exercise in concentration for me, a type of meditation where I attempt to immerse myself in the intent , meaning and shape of the words. I don’t know how else to explain it, nor can I justify my rating system. I read each poem twice and the second reading was like reading it for the first time but with more clarity and emotion. The poet hails from Botswana and his poems are about being black in America, displacement and missing family, interracial relationships and more. Many of the poems are odes to poets he admires such as Sylvia Plath.
3. Translating Myself and Others (essays) — Jhumpa Lahiri ❤️❤️❤️ I’m not sure why I bought this book. Lahiri is a favourite author of mine and I guess a good review of the book clinched the deal, not to mention a sale on hardcovers at my local bookshop. I like to challenge myself when reading, different genres, subjects, etc. At least one or two selections per month out of my comfort zone. I have a number of friends who are translators and I have benefitted from reading translations of books. A favourite read in 2021 was Elena Knows by Claudia Piñeiro, translated from Spanish. The essays were well-researched, footnoted and interesting. By the end of this book, I had a strong desire to learn Italian.
4. The Unseen — Roy Jacobsen ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ This book was translated from the Norwegian by Don Bartlett and Don Shaw. I think it is one of the most beautifully written books I have ever read. The language is sparse yet powerful, gorgeous in its simplicity, profoundly moving. It is set on a small island off the coast of Norway, home to the Barrøy family. It is a story about family, the hardship of living off the land and sea and resilience.
5. They Call Me Naughty Lola (Personal Ads from the London Review of Books) — edited by David Rose ❤️❤️😂 Hilarious and brilliantly crafted personal ads. I read them as dessert after a heavy meal of fine literature.
6. Case Study — Graeme Macrae Burnet ❤️❤️ Long listed for the 2022 Booker prize and short listed for a couple of other prizes, the story is gripping at times, the biography of a fictional and notorious psychoanalyst named Arthur Collins Braithwaite. The biography part of the book is interspersed with first person accounts, the source of which are five notebooks penned by one of Braithwaite’s clients, Rebecca Smyth, not her real name but rather an alter ego, intent on investigating the suicide of her sister that occurred immediately following a session with said Braithwaite. It was a good read but the characters were wholly unlikeable and the premise of the story unlikely.
7. Daughters of the New Year — E.M. Tran ❤️❤️❤️ I had a slow start to this book, which travels backwards in time from 2016 to the Vietnam war to French colonial rule (rubber tree exploitation) and so on, but the more I read, the more engrossed I became. It is the multigenerational story of a Vietnamese family that explores assimilation in the shadow of trauma and the fierceness of the women who share a common ancestry to survive and to prevail.
8. Matrix — Lauren Goff ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I loved this book, set between roughly 1158 and 1213, about the poet and mystic Marie de France who is sent to England when she is 17 to be the prioress of an impoverished abbey. Her keen intelligence, strength and work ethic soon turns things around. It is a book that celebrates the power of feminism and female ambition with the result being a type of medieval utopia.
9. The Honjin Murders — Seishi Yokomizo ❤️❤️❤️ Classic closed-door murder mystery. Translated from Japanese by Louise Heal Kawai. I enjoyed it!
10. Prayer for the Crown-Shy — Becky Chambers ❤️❤️❤️ A Monk and Robot book, the second of the series. Reading it slowly is like sipping tea with a good friend. Book two again asks the question, what do we humans need, and focuses on finding these answers through engaging with communities.
11. The Tin Flute — Gabrielle Roy ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I read this as a companion piece for our bookclub selection: My October by Claire Holden Rothman. Like most people who grew up in Quebec, I initially read it in high school in French. I enjoyed it so much more this time around.
12. The Humans — Matt Haig ❤️❤️❤️❤️ A charming story about an extraterrestrial being who visits earth on a mission to save the universe from mankind and mathematics (the beauty and enigma of prime numbers) and what it means to be human from an alien perspective. One of those stories that makes you laugh out loud and choke up from one chapter to another. It is my first time reading this author and I would definitely read him again.
13. Deadly Education — Naomi Novik ❤️❤️❤️ A young adult fantasy, a la Hogwarts but a lot darker. The main protagonist, Galadriel was mixed race, Welsh-East Indian, same as me but that’s about the only thing we have in common. I enjoyed the book for the most part but found it a real challenge keeping track of the magical vocabulary and cast of characters, not to mention trying to picture the setting in my head. Luckily, the author included some sketches of the layout of the school but I didn’t see these until I was nearly finished the book. It’s a scary world if you are a young person living in this fantasy world. There is a good chance you won’t graduate and the reason won’t be for lack of studying but rather you get killed reaching for a bun in the school cafeteria or studying in the library, or simply taking a shower.
14. A History of Present Illness — Anna DeForest ❤️❤️❤️❤️ A beautiful, haunting story that weaves trauma and tragic, impending loss with empathetic frankness in each of its short chapters. Those chapters are headed by medical phrases, familiar to anyone working in the medical field. The reader is unsure if they are reading a memoir or fiction. Considering the author is a medical doctor, perhaps it is both. Unsettling and brutally honest at times.
*** I read My October by Claire Holden Rothman for a second time (see November 2022 review) to prepare for facilitating bookclub. I am not one to re-read books; there are simply too many books out there to get through. That being said, I find the experience of reading books a second time around, not to mention taking notes as I do, to be an enriching experience. Maybe I need to slow down and take notes all the time.
February
15. The Spare Man — Mary Robinette Kowal ❤️👍 I had higher expectations for this book after reading good reviews. It’s a sci-fi murder mystery set on a space cruise featuring a glamorous, jet-setting newlyweds Tesla Crane and her « spouse » who happens to be a retired detective (It’s not a good sign that I can’t remember his name. I do remember, however, that he was ruggedly handsome and enjoyed embroidery and crocheting). It was entertaining but I found myself underwhelmed, not to mention distracted by the focus on cocktails, and honeymoon antics.
16. The House in the Pines — Ana Reyes ❤️👍 A thriller that was pretty good but not so good that I couldn’t put it down for long stretches at a time. I kind of guessed what was going on midway through so there wasn’t really any big reveal by the end.
17. Blood on Blood (poems) — Devin Kelly ❤️❤️❤️ ❤️ Inspired by Bruce Springsteen’s album Nebraska, the poems are lyrical, beautiful expressions of the ups and downs of the human condition.
18. Wolf Watching (poetry) — Ted Hughes ❤️❤️❤️ Many of the poems in this collection reflect the devastating effect of the First World War and the plight of coal miners and textile workers in Yorkshire where Ted Hughes grew up. One of my favourites is Black Rhino, written by Hughes decades ago for the campaign to save the black rhino. A google search revealed that there are only three subspecies of black rhinos left and they are all critically endangered.
19. The Ungrateful Refugee — Dina Nayeri ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ I had this book in a to-read pile for a while and decided to pick it out of the pile when it was referenced by another book I am currently reading: We, the Others by local author Toula Drimonis. It isn’t easy to read books about the suffering of others, something that may teach us a bit more about social consciousness, make us more aware of the plight of others. This book describes in beautiful, descriptive prose, what it is like to be a refugee. It speaks about the fragility of memories, particularly in dealing with great trauma, loss and uncertainty, in the telling of stories. It made me think of my father’s story of being a refugee, as unique and different as the author’s, with all its complexities and layers. My mother heard his story for the first time after she had known him for 44 years. I was 38. Its telling was like removing the plug of a dam that had been bursting, ready to explode. Peeling back that layer was a relief as much as it was a painful reliving of the trauma. Fantastic book. Read it with an open heart and lots of tea breaks.
20. We, the Others (Allophones, Immigrants, and Belonging in Canada) — Toula Drimonis ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ I read this book twice, once out loud with my husband, and a second time while taking notes for an upcoming book club meeting featuring the author. I cannot say enough about this timely book. A must-read for all Canadians, particularly those with ties to Quebec’s unique perspective. The author, a second generation child of immigrants, intersperses stories of her own rich, cultural background with the realities and challenges facing allophones and immigrants in contemporary Canadian society. She also provides details of Canada’s history of discrimination, xenophobia and ethno-nationalism. As a mixed race person, an immigrant myself, I understand all too well the importance of the feeling of belonging in a place that does not always make the other feel welcome.
21. Clara at the Door With a Revolver — Carolyn Whitzman ❤️❤️❤️ This book was a gift from a friend who happens to know the author. While reading the book and comparing notes, we both got bogged down about a third of the way through by all the details but it is well-worth it to push through. In fact, I couldn’t put it down after that. This was a fascinating true account of Clara Ford, a black woman and single mother living and working in Toronto in the late 1800s, who was arrested for the murder a well-off, young white man, Frank Westwood, after she confessed to police. The story was a fascinating glimpse into Canada’s history of racism, class and colonialism, not to mention botched police work. It is also a commentary on social justice. Clara Ford is portrayed as a courageous, hardworking and intelligent woman, whose own testimony on the witness stand likely saved her from execution. Well-worth the read if you can wade through the details.
22. The Cabinetmaker’s Window — Steve Scafidi ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I read this book based on the recommendation of poet Devin Kelly (see #17 above) who got a tattoo based on a line from one of Steve’s poems. You can read that poem here: For the Last American Buffalo | Fishouse. Steve Scafidi is a cabinetmaker who brings elements of his work into the poems he crafts yet they are so much more than that. You feel as if you are in his workshop with the sounds, the smells and the shapes and it becomes a spiritual experience. This poem was my favourite in the collection. I read it several times, coming back to it each time. Project MUSE – Triumph of the Jabberwock. I hope to read more poetry by him.
March
23. A Horse at Night: On Writing — Amina Cain ❤️👍👍 A book of essays on writing, a sort of « meditation on writers and their works » as described on the book jacket. I’m afraid I had a hard time concentrating on this one. The essays were not well delineated, without a clear beginning and ending, apart from an asterisk here and there. I am not a fan of this format. Also, I was unfamiliar with many of the literary and film references and got tired of looking them up. Though I am grateful for having discovered the brilliant French filmmaker, Chantal Akerman.
24. Bad Cree — Jessica Johns ❤️❤️❤️ I really enjoyed this book. The characters were well-developed, relatable and likeable. The story had just the right amount of supernatural-horror and indigenous folklore/spiritually to keep me glued to the page.
25. Drama Free — Nedra Glover Tawwab ❤️❤️❤️ A well-written handbook on how to handle dysfunction in family relationships and become an agent of change. There is probably something for everyone here (yep, that means your family too 😉) from generational trauma, to addiction issues to blended families.
26. Black Observatory (poems) —Christopher Bream Murray ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I bought this book because it was recommended by another poet I love, Devin Kelly. Wonderful poetry. Beautiful words and imagery.
27. The Story of Us — Catherine Hernandez ❤️❤️❤️ Overall, I enjoyed this book and recommend it. It is an important story about the sacrifices of overseas workers from developing countries make upon leaving their homelands and families only to face exploitation and sometimes abusive circumstances in their host countries. In this story, the focus is on a Filipino woman named Mary Grace Concepcion who becomes a caregiver first in Hong Kong, then in Canada. One of the negatives points of this story for me was trying to sort out the voice of the narrator who is Mary Grace’s unborn child. I also took exception to the author/narrator describing Mary Grace as « delirious » on three separate occasions during childbirth. «Ma was delirious. » I can think of so many other words to describe the extraordinary experience of giving birth to a bowling ball without pain control: terrified, frantic, agonized, etc. You get the gist. But delirious? That being said, read the book. It’s am important story, an homage to these caregivers and the communities they build through connection. Loved Scarborough by the same author.
28. Stolen Focus: Why You Can’t Focus—and How to Think Deeply Again — Johann Hari ❤️❤️❤️❤️ A fascinating and well-researched read for anyone who has a hard time sitting down to read, work, do anything really that requires concentration, without checking their social media sites, emails, etc. I think that pretty much includes all of us.
29. The Frederick Sisters Are Living the Dream — Jeannie Zusy ❤️❤️❤️ A touching and often laugh out loud funny story about the challenges of being caregiver for a family member, in this case a sibling with intellectual challenges and serious health concerns, once your parents are gone and your marriage has broken up.
30. Lillian Boxfish Takes a Walk — Kathleen Rooney ❤️❤️ I bought this book second hand at Iron Dog Bookstore while visiting Vancouver recently and read it in between long walks with my BFF. The story is inspired by the life of Margaret Fishback, « a poet and ad woman who was the highest paid female advertising copywriter in the world in the 1930s. » It is described as an homage to city life. The story weaves back and forth from present to past, as 84 year old Lillian walks the streets of New York City to a New Years Eve party.
31. The Glass House (novella) — Jocelyne Dubois ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ This was my third time reading this book for our upcoming bookclub meeting. Full disclosure: the author is a friend, someone I admire deeply and have learned much from through her writing about mental illness. The story begins with the protagonist, Chloé, moving back to Montreal from Toronto after a break-up. She begins a new job, finds a love interest, and imagines a full life. When that love goes unrequited, hope fades and her life quickly unravels. She has a breakdown and is hospitalized with a diagnosis of bipolar disorder. Her descriptions of the stark reality of psychiatric institutions are heart wrenching and profoundly moving. With the proper dosage of medication, she rebuilds her life, explores her emerging creativity through writing and art, and finds new love. I highly recommend this novella, available directly through the author. Get your copy before it goes out of print.
32. The Racism of People Who Love You: Essays on Mixed Race Belonging — Samira K Mehta ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ This book was a gift from a dear friend who lives in Vancouver. I read it cover to cover flying back to Montreal. The author’s father was East Indian and her mother is a white American. As a person of mixed race, I found the essays incredibly validating. They articulate experiences and feelings that are remarkably similar to my own, from the casual dismissal of micro aggressions, to parents ill-equipped, through no fault of their own, to help their children navigate systemic racism, to not belonging to either community, to the repeated mispronunciation of our names. My hope is that this book will be widely read.
April
33. Checkout 19 — Claire-Louise Bennett 👍👍👍 I read this book because of the consistently great reviews including the fact that it was one of the New York Times 10 best books of the year. There were parts that captivated me: I could certainly relate to the protagonist’s « growing heaps of books » and literary references. But it was written in my least favourite stream of conscience style with long, run-on sentences, endless paragraphs and segues and an obscure storyline. As one Goodreads rater put it: « Ultimately, this is a work I appreciated more than enjoyed. » I second that.
34. Hotline — Dimitri Nasrallah ❤️❤️❤️ This book was one of five books chosen for this year’s Canada Reads. It didn’t win but is worth a read. Set in Montreal in the late 1980s, it features Muna Heddad and her son Omar, immigrants escaping the civil war in Lebanon, running out funds and facing their first Canadian winter. Muna’s husband has been missing for two years and presumed dead. A French teacher in her native country, Muna cannot find work in her field in Montreal and resorts to working the hotline of a weight-loss company. It is a different kind of immigrant story, not without hardship, yet with a somewhat happy ending. I read it twice for the bookclub I facilitate and recommend reading it at least once. 😉
35. Old Babes in the Woods — Margaret Atwood ❤️❤️❤️ A series of short stories, some of them interconnected. Honestly, I would read anything by Atwood, including her very witty blog.
36. Piranesi — Susanna Clarke ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ I am so grateful to my friend Jeff for lending me this book. He actually lent me four books and this was the last of them. Best for last. Reading it was a gift. I will buy myself a paper copy because I must have it in my house. It is a labeled as a fantasy but it is so much more, a sort of homage to CS Lewis’s The Chronicles of Narnia. Reading it is to bear witness to the main character’s deep empathy and kindness. Here is a wonderful review : https://www.vox.com/culture/22677485/piranesi-susanna-clarke-vox-book-club
37. A Man Called Ove — Fredrik Backman ❤️❤️❤️ A sweet/poignant overall feel-good book with an important message: community can be a lifeline and a reason to live. My husband is reading it for his men’s bookclub and I have decided to read all their selected books in parallel even though I have not been invited to the meetings.
38. Travelers to Unimaginable Lands — Dasha Kiper (Stories of Dementia,the Caregiver and the Human Brain) ❤️❤️❤️. Being caregiver for a parent with dementia, the stories gave me some insight and validation though not necessarily a way forward. I have no problem dealing with dementia clients in my work. Losing a loved one to dementia means losing them in pieces. It is a long, painful journey.
39. From From — Monica Youn (Poetry) ❤️❤️❤️❤️ This book was brilliant. Monica Youn formats her poems unusually but in a way that is accessible and impactful. The title of the poem refers to being asked where she is from. The reply that she is American is not enough, « No … where are you from, from? », implying that she will never belong in her birth country. From Goodreads: « Monica Youn’s From From brilliantly evokes the conflicted consciousness of deracination. If you have no core of “authenticity,” no experience of your so-called homeland, how do you piece together an Asian American identity out of Westerners’ ideas about Asians? Your sense of yourself is part stereotype, part aspiration, part guilt. »
40. Camp Zero — Michelle Min Sterling ❤️❤️ A good, albeit frightening (in the sense that we seem destined to head in that direction) dystopian novel, set in North America in the year 2049. Global warming has wrecked havoc on the world and the summer heat has become intolerable resulting in people taking vacations in Northern climates to cool off, well-off people that is. Humans are implanted with a « Flick » at birth allowing them to remain continuously online. An even more frightening thought. The fossil fuel industry is dead yet people are still killing each other to get oil. Overall I enjoyed the writing but found the ruthlessness of many of the characters to be disturbing and rather two-dimensional. Perhaps soulless is an apt description. Is this what happens when we are constantly online?
May
41. The Sanctuary — Katrine Engberg ❤️❤️❤️❤️ This is one of my favourite detective/thriller series and book four does not disappoint. Set in Denmark (I have a thing for Scandinavian settings) and featuring homicide detectives Anette Werner and Jeppe Kørner as well as a handful of other recurring characters. I highly recommend the series if you enjoy this genre.
42. Shy — Max Porter ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I am a big fan of Max Porter, ever since I read Grief is the Thing with Feathers. This book is as brilliant as it is disturbing, the story of Shy, a troubled young man whose life is headed in a downwards spiral. Despite the dark theme, the book is replete with beautiful moments of hope, tenderness and community rallying.
43. Don’t Tell Anybody the Secrets I Told You — Lucinda Williams ❤️❤️❤️❤️ Straight-talking, gritty and real, Lucinda’s autobiography was seventy years in the making. Love her music with lyrics that are a recounting of her story. A fascinating account of a well-earned life.
44. When We Lost Our Heads — Heather O’Neill ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I read this book for our upcoming bookclub, which features local authors, meeting. Set in what one person described as an alternate Montreal of the 19th century, it features strong female characters with themes of gender, class, and sex. If I were to describe the book in a few words I would say: bawdy, delectable, outrageous. Lots of parallels to the French Revolution with characters Marie Antoine, her father Louis and Sadie Arnett (Marquis de Sade). A rollicking read that will leave you thoughtful even as you scratch your head asking, what just happened?
45. The Beauty of What Remains — Steve Leder ❤️❤️❤️ A book about grief and gratitude and living your best, authentic life.
46. Ghost Forest — Pik Shen Fung ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ A small book of gentle beauty with lots of pauses and a lot of spaces between the short chapters. It is a book about grief (I’m on as roll) and family. The author’s father was an « astronaut » father who stayed in Hong Kong to work while his family immigrated to Canada. Their relationship was fraught at times, in large part because he was absent for much of her upbringing. Her writing is a search for answers and resolution to misunderstandings. In the end there is only love, said out loud enough times for it to stick.
47. We Spread — Iain Reid ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ To say this book was gripping is an understatement. I finished it in less than 24 hours. It’s a brilliant story with a poignant theme that many of us who have loved ones in long term care facilities can relate to. It left me feeling totally upended, almost devastated. I highly recommend it.
48. Poison Lillies — Katie Tallo ❤️❤️❤️❤️ This is the second installment of a thriller series set in, of all places, Ottawa. Love the characters especially the main protagonist Augustus or “Gus”. I could not put it down and finished it in two days.
49. Ordinary Notes — Christina Sharpe ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ I can’t say enough good things about this brilliant book. Written as a series of notes describing the black experience, mostly in the first or third person. Reading the excerpts is profound, visceral, at times like a gut punch, leaving you feeling like you are standing in the author’s shoes even as you are quite safe in your position of privilege. You will want to know more about the references the author makes and enter the Google rabbit hole. No warm and fuzzies here but reading this book is a vital necessity for those of us who are not black but want to have an inkling of what it may be like.
50. Stray Dogs – Rawi Hage ❤️👍 Overall the stories were good. They probably would have been better if I had taken my time with them and savoured them a little more. There seemed to be an recurring photography them weaving through the stories which I enjoyed.
June
51. The Light of Eternal Spring — Angel di Zhang ❤️❤️❤️ The story of a young woman, Wu Aimee, from the Chinese villlage of Eternal Spring. She has her photograph taken as a young girl and at that time happens upon a photograph of New York that she finds herself « falling into », as she describes it. From that moment on, she knows that she is destined to live and work in New York City and makes plans to leave her village despite the close ties she has to her family. She meets an marries an American named David, against her mother’s wishes, which causes an estrangement. The story begins with the news that Amy’s mother has died. She and David make their way to China with the hope that Amy can participate in her mother’s funeral and reconcile with her family. The underlying themes of this book are the immigrant experience, cultural expectations and the complex layers that exist in family relationships persisting even with the death of a loved one. There is an episode of hysterical blindness that I found a bit contrived. The best parts celebrate the art of storytelling and actual physical art.
52. The Soulmate — Sally Hepworth ❤️❤️❤️❤️ Gripping thriller set in Australia for a change, with some neat twists. I read it in less than 24 hours. Perfect for a beach read (if you’re done with romance) or weekend getaway and if you need a break from serious reading. I would read this author again.
53. The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry — Gabrielle Zevin ❤️❤️👍This is a sweet story with a sad ending. Admittedly, I read it because I was intrigued by the movie trailer. A grumpy bookstore hero who is half East Indian finds love? How could I not want to read this? Cosy, light-weight, with a twinge of love-story sadness.
54. Women Talking — Miriam Toews ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I am a big fan of Miriam Toews and would read anything written by her. I was determined to read the book before watching the movie. Glad i did. The book was oddly riveting and based on a true story.
55. Still Pictures (On Photography and Memory) — Janet Malcolm ❤️❤️❤️❤️ A series of short essays that most begin with a black and white photograph. The author, who died in 2021 at the age of eighty-six, was a critic and journalist, photographer and collage artist. She was a staff writer for The New Yorker and author of many non-fiction books. The essays have delicious sentences and passages such as this one: “So little is necessarily minor in a child’s life. My father’s upbringing in a poor family was one of the pillars of our family mythology.”
56. A Grief Observed — C.S. Lewis ❤️❤️❤️ A brilliant and poignant short book written after the death of his wife Joy to cancer, four years after they married. The writing validates the grief experience while simultaneously apologizing for it. A bit too formal and Christian for me. Whereas I am all for validation, I prefer a pragmatic approach to grief.
57. Upgrade — Blake Crouch ❤️❤️❤️ 👍 A fast-paced sci-fi thriller about genetic engineering and its devastating consequences. The story kept me mostly riveted. I would have given it four hearts if it weren’t for all the passages listing DNA sequences and their mutations. 🤤
58. Almost Brown — Charlotte Gill ❤️❤️❤️ A family memoir about a mixed race marriage that mirror’s my own family background: the author has a British mother and East Indian father. Though my parents’ trajectory was quite different from the author’s, I can certainly relate to her experience of being neither white nor brown, a sort of mixed up state of being that is mostly okay but that is always underlying.
59. Zero Days — Ruth Ware ❤️❤️❤️❤️ Gripping thriller. Ruth Ware at her best and worth the wait. Best read in one nail biting shot if you can swing it.
60. The Turnout — Megan Abbott 👍👍👍 A well-written crime thriller that is atmospheric and creepy from the get-go even though it is set in an innocuous ballet studio. Honestly, as much as I like a good thriller, I found this story to be so disturbing it left me with the kind of disquiet that will haunt my dreams. As such, it gets three thumbs up instead of hearts.
July
61. Brown Boy — Omer Aziz ❤️❤️❤️❤️ A well-written and poignant memoir about the challenges of growing up brown with working-class immigrant parents who have traditional expectations and navigating the realities of systemic racism in the education system and work field in the Western world.
62. Yellowface — R.F. Kuang ❤️❤️❤️ The first line from the author’s acknowledgment note says it all: “Yellowface is, in large part, a horror story about loneliness in a fiercely competitive industry.” After the death of Athena Liu, a friend/fellow writer of the main protagonist, June, the latter steals the rough draft of her dead friend’s next novel and reworks it to pass it off as her own. The problem is that whereas Athena is Asian, June is white, and the novel is about the unsung contributions of Chinese labourers during World War One. Questions about racism, cultural appropriation and the toxic nature of social media abound. It was an engrossing read but also quite horrifying. For some reason, I felt like I had done something wrong too and I had to take frequent anxiety breaks. 😬
63. Charlotte Illes Is Not a Detective — Katie Siegel ❤️❤️👍 This was a fun, kinda cosy, queer-friendly mystery/detective story. Reminded me a bit of Janet Evanovitch’s Stephanie Plum series that I was hooked on in my 20s for its laugh out loud scenes and dialogues. With respect to the latter, to this day, hearing the word pocketbook makes me smile.
64. Less is Lost — Andrew Sean Greer ❤️👍👍 A sequel to Less which I enjoyed much less than the first book, to my disappointment. It was pleasant enough with plenty of amusing scenes that I did not find particularly funny, maybe because it was just more of the same with slight variations.
65. The Darkness Knows — Arnaldur Indridason ❤️❤️❤️ Love thrillers set in Iceland. This one was no exception though I found the translation awkward here and there. I appreciated the flawed protagonist who reminded me somewhat of the character « Thumps Dreafulwater » in Thomas King’s mystery series. Would definitely read this author again.
66. The One and Only — Riley Sager ❤️❤️👍 Lots of twists and turns in this murder suspense/« gothic chiller ». The perfect read if you keep getting interrupted by life.
67. Days at the Morisaki Bookshop — Satoshi Yagisawa ❤️❤️ If you are a reader, a romantic, a lover of secondhand bookstores, you will delight in this short, sweet story translated from Japanese by Eric Ozawa. The only thing missing was a resident cat.
68. Tides — Sara Freeman ❤️❤️❤️❤️ A beautifully written, haunting story, each page a small vignette. Reeling from a devastating loss, the main protagonist Mara leaves everything behind, including her husband, and takes a bus to a seaside town with little money in her pocket. When her money runs out, she gets a job in a local wine shop where she meets Simon who is as lonely as she is. The author is Canadian and this is her debut. I would definitely read her again.
69. Book of My Nights — Li-Young Lee ❤️❤️❤️❤️ Gorgeous poetry.
70. Just Another Missing Person — Gillian McAllister ❤️❤️❤️❤️ My second thriller by this British author with just as many twists and turns. Loved it. Kept me at the edge of my seat. Hope she has started writing another book!
72. The Dos and Donuts of Love — Adiba Jaigirdar ❤️❤️ This is a sweet story meant for teens but I have to say, I enjoyed it. It includes plenty of diversity as the protagonist, Shireen, is queer, Muslim and overweight. The story is set in Ireland. Shireen has just broken up with her girlfriend Chris when she finds out that she has been accepted as a contestant for the Junior Irish Baking Show. To her dismay, Chris is also a contestant. What I loved about this book was its diversity and body positivity. Its dedication says it all: “To all the brown kids, queer kids, fat kids, Muslim kids, anxious kids. Dream big and don’t let anything get in the way of achieving your dreams. Not even yourself.” The descriptions of the baked goods left me drooling too especially the donuts. Both Shireen’s parents and Chris’s parents run competing donuts shops and are very creative in their marketing.
73. So Long (poetry) — Jenn Levitt ❤️❤️❤️❤️ Gorgeous poems about anticipatory grief and grief after the death of her father. If you are in the process of losing or have lost a father, the lines are just perfect. They will put into words feelings so intense you cannot possibly describe them yourself.
74. Recipe for a Good Life — Lesley Crewe ❤️👍 Cosy and kinda meh. Set in Montreal and Cape Breton. Would make a great Harlequin Christmas movie. Best line: « The trouble with dissolving a marriage is people have to live in the real world in the meantime. Kitty wrote out a shopping list: apples, eggs, milk, bread, lawyer. »
75. Indians on Vacation — Thomas King ❤️❤️❤️❤️ This was my second time reading this book in preparation for bookclub and I loved it just as much the second time around. Can totally relate to Bird’s discomfort traveling and his longing to stay home. Can you say curmudgeon? Written with King’s unique dry wit and biting humour. Themes include travel, family history, aging, depression, marriage, and residential schools. I would add « old love » to the themes.
76. Tom Lake — Ann Patchett ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I love Ann Patchett. Wonderful story about family, love and destiny versus choice. Took me a while to get into it because it starts in the world of theatre which loses me everytime, but once I did, i was hooked.
77. Hiraeth (poetry) — Carol Rose Daniels ❤️❤️ hiraeth – pron. (HERE – eyeth) (n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past. The author was part of the 60s scoop-up of children, taken from her culture as a child, trying to find her home.
78. When We Cease to Understand the World — Benjamin Labatut ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I couldn’t put down this brilliant yet bizarre book down which gives a fictional overview based on facts of some of the history’s geniuses in the field of physics and mathematics. You don’t necessarily have to understand the science to benefit from reading it. I was particularly struck by the representation of these pioneers of quantum physics as tormented madmen, isolated by their limitless imaginations yet replete with idiosyncrasies, fragile egos and flawed characters. I highly recommend this book whether you have a science background or not. It asks the question, are advancements in these fields robbing us of our humanity?
79. The Complete Persepolis — Marjane Satrapi ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ A brilliant graphic memoir/coming of age story about growing up in Tehran with the backdrop of the Islamic Revolution.
80. We Should All Be Feminists — Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie ❤️❤️❤️ Only 48 pages long, I hesitate to include this in my reading list but here it is: an essay based on her TEDx talk. Though it is a rallying cry for inclusion and awareness, I can’t help but think that we need to adjust our thinking of gender as being only men and women to one that is more fluid
September
81. The Country of the Blind (A Memoir at the End of Sight) — Andrew Leland ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ I loved this book. It was well-written, honest and interesting. The author has retinitis pigmentosa and has been losing his sight slowly since he was in his teen years. As the blurb describes « he’s suspended in the liminal stage of the-soon-to-be-blind ». « It is part memoir, part historical and cultural investigation, The Country of the Blind represents Leland’s determination not to merely survive this transition but to grow from it—to seek out and revel in that which makes blindness enlightening. » I read the book with great interest, the cataract in my reading eye blurring the words on the page and the shadow of my retinal detachment less than a year ago looming. It is a book that can be stark when it comes to framing the extent of disability that blindness can cause but it does provide some hope.
82. Speak of the Devil — Rose Wilding ❤️❤️👍 Pretty good murder mystery/thriller about a group of seven women tied together by their respective relationships to the same abusive man. When he turns up dead, or at least his severed head turns up, they wonder which one of them is the culprit as they all have motive to kill him.
83. Studies of Obedience — Sarah Bernstein ❤️❤️❤️👍 A strange atmospheric book, beautifully written. I honestly don’t know what to make of it. One line stands out for me: « I was determined I would be left alone at last in this splendid place where my fatal hunger for approval would not get the better of me. » I think it is set in modern times though it feels gothic, not quite Shirley Jackson but shades of her.
84. Do You Remember Being Born — Sean Michaels ❤️❤️❤️❤️ A marvellous and timely story about a well-known poet, Marian Ffarmer, who is invited to collaborate on a poem with an AI entity, a poetry-bot dubbed Charlotte, for a monetary compensation she cannot refuse. As the story unfolds and the collaboration develops, Marian reflects on the solitary pursuit of her art (which was at the expense of abandoning her only child) and emerges enlightened on the existential nature of consciousness.
85. Things That Shine (poems) — Ariane Signer ❤️👍👍 A collection of poems by a local writer, we featured this book for our recent bookclub meeting. Confessional style, reflective, evolutionary. Reads almost like a diary with epiphanies between the lines.
86. Daughter — Claudia Dey ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I absolutely loved the original writing style of this novel about a dysfunctional, blended family. The dialogues were so convincing I felt like shaking some sense into the characters on more than one occasion. Why do we continue to love family members who hurt us? I don’t mean only dutiful love, but rather seeking a love that defines and validates our very existence.
87. Shadowland — Ariane Signer ❤️👍👍 The evolution of book # 85 (see above). Lots of foreshadowing.
88. Helvetica, Love Letter from Switzerland — Ariane Signer ❤️❤️ Completion of the trilogy.
89. This Is Our Story — Ashley Elston ❤️❤️❤️ An excellent young adult suspense/mystery with a twist of forbidden love. I had a hard time putting it down. The only negative for me was the backdrop of hunting for sport.
90. Bright Young Women — Jessica Knoll ❤️❤️❤️❤️ This story is a fictionalized account of the real-life massacre at a Florida sorority in 1978 as well as the disappearance of a young woman four years earlier in Seattle’s Lake Sammamish State Park in broad daylight. At first I wasn’t sure if this was based on a known serial-killer so I did a googler search. The first one I came across was Paul Bernardo. Reading about him and his crimes right before bed was a tactical error, the result being nightmares. All for nought as it was the wrong serial killer. Turns out this is based on Ted Bundy’s crimes. Refreshed my knowledge on him the next evening, resulting in another sleepless night. That being said, I recommend the book for its gripping story line all the while challenging societal norms. It succeeds in putting the spotlight on the brilliant lives of the women Ted Bundy murdered versus glorifying their killer.
91. What Is This Thing Called Love (poems) — Kim Addonizio ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I discover much of the poetry I read through a blog I follow on Substack called Ordinary Plots by Devin Kelley, himself a poet and high school teacher. This collection of poems is edgy, visceral and make you feel like you were there when she wrote them, maybe even when she felt them.
October
92. The Ocean at the End of the Lane — Neil Gaiman ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ One of my favourite books ever. My husband read it out loud to me several years ago and I re-read it because it is our feature bookclub selection. It is magical and beautifully written and so relatable from the point of view of an adult looking back at childhood trauma and grief.
93. The Librarianist — Patrick deWitt ❤️❤️❤️ For the most part, I enjoyed this story about Bob Comet, an introverted, retired librarian living the quiet life, who by happenstance winds up volunteering at a senior’s center. We learn about his brief marriage, a tale of heartbreak and betrayal, through flashbacks. I found the book dragged a bit when it took what I found to be a unnecessarily long detour (about a hundred pages worth) back to the time eleven-year-old Bob ran away from home and hooked up with a couple of « dramatic stage performers. » By the time the story got back on track, it was a race to the finish and I felt a bit ripped off.
94. Walk the Blue Fields — Claire Keegan ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ Gorgeous writing in this collection of short stories by one of my favourite Irish writers. The writing is spare yet rich in characterization and imagery. The stories linger long after I’ve read them. I am looking forward to her next book coming this November.
95. The Graveyard Book — Neil Gaiman ❤️❤️❤️ Another spooky tale but I didn’t enjoy it as much as The Ocean at the End of the Lane. It’s the tale of an infant (though I pictured more of a toddler) whose family is murdered by a mysterious fellow named Jack. The toddler climbs out of his crib and somehow makes his escape as Jack is coming for him and ends up in a Graveyard occupied by the ghosts of the people buried there. Realizing the young boy is in danger, the ghosts decide to adopt him and protect him. They Christen him Nobody « Bod » Owens and watch over him until he outgrows the confines of the graveyard and yearns to experience the world on the other side of the gates.
96. Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe — Benjamin Alire Sáenz ❤️❤️❤️❤️ A beautiful book for teens that won a lot of awards. Reading it, I was moved to tears many times. It’s about friendship, love and resilience.
97. Aristotle and Date Dive into the Waters of the World — Benjamin Alire Sáenz ❤️❤️❤️❤️ A sequel to the above, it kind of wraps things up. It is filled with love, loss and hope. Needed a fair amount of kleenex to get through certain parts.
98. Huge — Brent Butt ❤️👍👍 Pretty good thriller, darkly comedic as per the blurb. Took me a few chapters to get into it, then I couldn’t put it down. Strange ending but it works.
November
99. Breakaway — Jennifer Weiner ❤️❤️❤️ I read this book because it was on so many recommended reading lists. I enjoyed it though reading about the relationship struggles of a thirty something woman isn’t a topic I relate to in my 60s. If you love cycling and are trying to find yourself, this is the book for you. I also appreciated the body positivity messages including the one that says you can order dessert and still get the guy.
100. A Shining — Jon Fosse ❤️❤️❤️ Translated from Norwegian, this slim novel of only 74 pages has no chapters and no paragraphs. The writing is sparse, existential and spiritual. I’m not usually a fan of this style of writing but it works in this story.
101. A Haunting in the Arctic —C.J. Cooke ❤️❤️❤️❤️ An original and eerie thriller. Couldn’t put it down.
102. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time — Mark Haddon ❤️❤️❤️❤️ Read this second time around for my bookclub and enjoyed it just as much. So many brilliant, laugh-out-loud moments.
103. Have You Seen Her — Catherine McKenzie ❤️❤️❤️ I enjoyed this thriller written by a local author. There is a neat twist at the end.
104. On Street Photography and the Poetic Image — Alex Webb and Rebecca Norris Webb ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I read this for inspiration. Recommended for anyone interested in street photography.
105. Day — Michael Cunningham ❤️❤️❤️ The story of a family falling apart at the seams, is spread over two years, each section of the book falling on April 5th, in subsequent years: 2019, 2020, and 2021. Good writing and character development.
December
106. Landbridge [life in fragments] — Y-Dang Truong ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ A memoir that is both gorgeous and tragic, written in fragments by a Cambodian refugee, born in one of the camps during the Pol Pot regime, and later famous for having been photographed with Pierre Élliott Trudeau on more than one occasion once she landed in Canada. It is a deeply moving book that will leave you changed.
107. Prophet Song — Paul Lynch ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️ Winner of this year’s Booker Prize, this dystopian novel about the collapse of Northern Ireland society was utterly gripping. Beautifully written, the tension builds as the words unfold and protagonist Eilish does what she can to keep her family safe. The descriptions of bombings in civilian neighbourhood were visceral and terrifying and made me think of the current wars in the Ukraine and the Middle East. I highly recommend.
108. Royal Blood — Aimee Carter ❤️👍 A fun book for teens, it features an alternative British monarch to the current one with an American twist, or I should say tryst.
109. Molly Molloy and the Angel of Death — Maria Vale ❤️❤️❤️❤️ A unique and utterly charming love story between a young woman named Molly and Azrael, aka the Grim Reaper, who inadvertently saves her life instead of taking her soul when she is choking on a chicken wing. If you are tired of hallmark and are looking for something different, I highly recommend it.
110. Death in Her Hands — Ottessa Moshfegh ❤️❤️❤️❤️ A masterful albeit disturbing story, this book was a Christmas gift from my son and as such, I gave it particular attention. The author has been on my to-read radar for a while now and I am glad to have broken the ice. The author describes this book as being about loneliness. It draws comparisons to another book: Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead by Olga Tokarczuk that I read and also loved, and I can see why. Both books are darkly suspenseful and feature older women as unreliable narrators, each with an attachment to dogs. The protagonist in Moshfegh’s story is recently widowed, 72 year old Vesta who moves to a rural town with her dog Charlie and deliberately carves out an isolated existence, shunning social connections and refusing to set up phone service. The story begins with the discovery of a note in the woods while walking Charlie: « Her name was Magda. Nobody will ever know who killed her. It wasn’t me. Here is her dead body. » Vesta becomes obsessed with solving the mystery inventing scenarios that begin to blur and merge with her real life. If you do read this book, I recommend doing so in 2 long chunks. It’s not the kind of book you will get into if you keep putting it down.
When my hairdresser of more than thirty years announced her retirement earlier this year, my heart sank. Who would console my hair woes now? What I loved most about Lou, apart from her professionalism and great sense of humour (she once nicknamed my hair « the planet ») was her pragmatism and consistency. She listened to me, followed through and as a result, I always left the salon somewhat relieved. Not exactly happy but feeling okay.
Years ago, 1987 to be precise, I stumbled upon a hairdresser who convinced me that my complexion would suit copper highlights and that getting a perm would give my curly hair direction. She did the colour first, that was the first disaster, but I was too polite to run screaming. Two weeks later, I watched with great apprehension in the mirror as she rolled the most dreadful hair colour I have ever sported in my life, a henna expriment gone wrong, into the tiniest rollers she could find. In short, the perming solution fried any part of my hair that was coloured and caused my poor, traumatized locks to recoil back into my scalp. Direction, my middle finger. I looked like a Greek statue for a month but I got through it and vowed, never again.
There have been a few other hair mishaps, the most notable one being when my ponytail caught fire on my birthday candle and my ex-husband managed to snap a picture. I gave Lou a print of the picture and she kept it in her salon for years, bringing it out to show clients what happens when you don’t get regular trims. I was like an anti-poster girl.
Not photoshopped one bit.
The good news is that I found a great hairdresser to replace Lou, not that Lou is replaceable, but I couldn’t risk another fire, not with the number of candles on my birthday cake this year. His name is Zeus and though he is a lot younger than me, he has embraced his grey. And bonus, he has curly hair. The last time I had my roots coloured and highlights put in was April 20th of this year.
Taken September 1st, 2023.
I will be the first to admit that this is a difficult process for me, that I do not do this gracefully, nor do I embrace my grey yet. In fact, I am doing my best to hide the demarcation line with head bands, at least until the cooler weather arrives and I can wear a hat. If you look at my google search history of late, you will find the following topics: 1. How long does it take to grow out grey hair? 2. Pixie cuts for large heads with a flat spot at the back. 3. Tips for making hair grown faster. 4. Will I regret my buzz cut?
So why do it? Partly because sitting in the salon once a month to hide my roots wasn’t bringing me any joy. In fact, it felt more like a ball and chain. I hated the first several days after dying my hair because the colour left an unnatural looking tinge to my hair part and hair line. That left me with about ten days of feeling okay until the silver roots started to show at my temples and center part. There is no hiding roots at 4’10 inches.
Honestly, I have no qualms about telling people my age and looking younger isn’t necessarily doing me any favours. In fact, I find people tend to have higher expectations of you when you look younger than your biological age. For example, my son was appalled that small, grey-haired ladies in their 60s were having to lift heavy boxes at his work place (hint: a Canadian store that sells tires). When I reminded him that I was small, sixty, and had to lift heavy people at my workplace, he drew a blank. And then there is my sweet mum who often asks me how school was today as if I still have my whole life ahead of me.
This is my great exercise in self-acceptance. It will not come easily but I will continue the journey. A little while ago, an acquaintance confided to me that she’d love to go grey but her partner would never accept it. As she spoke, I looked over at said partner, a man in his 70s, and noted that he was completely grey. People have had mixed reactions to my announcement that I am going grey. A male work colleague reflected on the fact that while he looks upon his father as old, his mother seems ageless because she dyes her hair. He told me the grey will age me, not in a mean way but as a matter of fact statement, and my response was, so? Why on earth would I want to look younger? Others have been encouraging, rooting me on. And many more admit they are not ready which is perfectly fine. There should be no judgement whether you do or don’t. Just be you, colour or not.
All I can say is it’s not a bad thing to sit with discomfort for a while, to reflect on how you want to present yourself to the world. As much as I love routine and hate change, I feel this transformation is a kind of pilgrimage, permission to stop and rest after a long voyage. I am tired and for once, I want the world to know it.
It’s been ten months since my dad died and as many months since I retired, these two events followed by a string of unfortunate incidents and other losses, difficult to measure against those major ones.
When people ask me how I am enjoying my retirement, I tell them I am only semi-retired now, having returned to work two days a week, cutting that loss to a little less than half its value.
Work days start off with black coffee and culminate in a sixteen hour fast. I am much more disciplined with the rigidity of structure. I keep a few ginger lemon drops in my pocket for the drive home to break my fast, my reward for getting through the day.
Days off start with pain in my right hip as soon as I slide off the bed and hit the floor. That’s a long way down at my height. To save my hip, my husband carries one of our elderly dogs, who is lame and low vision, down the stairs. I feed the dogs and tend to our four birds. I pour a little black coffee in my cream. On unstructured days, I need the comfort of cream like a buffer for the day. I sit in my chair by the window and bend my back rather than my knees to hoist the needier of my two dogs onto my lap. He’ll jump down a few minutes later, then whine to be picked up again. I do the New York Times Wordle, always starting with the word « aloud » to take care of three out of five vowels. Then it’s the mini crossword while my cockatoo screams for attention, my cockatiel whistles her flock call, my Linnie does a soft wolf whistle and my parrotlet forages noisily for seeds. A morning person, I no longer exercise in the morning; it is the beginning of my demise.
There are always lots of chores and errands to do on my days off and every day off or thereabouts, I visit my mother at the senior’s residence where she was placed after my father died. It is a beautiful place filled with light, birds, dogs, caring workers and good intentions. It is the place I chose for her, five minutes from my house. As wonderful as I think it is, it is not home. Rather, it is where we dropped her off when caring for her became inconvenient.
To grow old is to lose everything as your life winds down and you are waiting to die. It is to be forgotten if not by all then by many.
What is semi-retirement like when you are caregiver to a parent? It is dutiful love or loving duty, heartbreak, anguished guilt on the days you don’t go visit.
I sandwich the days off with coffee in my cream and chocolate. I wear boyfriend shirts to hide the filling. My husband carries our gimpy dog up the stairs. I set the alarm for another day.
Sixty years ago today, I was born on an elephant in the eastern Indian state of Odisha, formerly Orissa, on the Bay of Bengal, to a Punjabi father and a Welsh mother.
This birthday is particularly painful because my dad died this past July and he was a true aficionado when it came to birthday celebrations. Granted, I would probably have had to remind him that it was my birthday, but once informed, he would have responded with a booming birthday greeting.
My father was the quintessential optimist, the most enthusiastic birthday celebrator and I really miss him today.
Probably some kind of delayed grief response to his death because honestly, I haven’t taken the time. Correction, I did try some grief counselling offered by the funeral home post funeral, only to be accused by the grief counsellor, who was a person of colour, of being racist as a white person for referring to my father and I as members of the brown club. She said some other bizarre stuff to background music of The Twilight Zone, offered me juice and a granola bar, then tried to convince me to sign up for group counselling. Over my dead body, though I won’t be checking into that funeral home when I die. Nope. I will donate my body to Science and let them sort out the racist as a white person versus brown club controversy.
To add to my grief, my mother, who has dementia, did not remember it was my birthday today which made both of us sad when I gently reminded her.
On the bright side, because there is one, there was cake (the kind with four corners) and there were flowers, cards and gifts and lots of lovely messages in all sorts of formats and there was love. There was love and there was more to love. And for that, I am very grateful.
Today, a client of mine with neurological deficits affecting her balance and coordination reiterated her need for exercises to improve her balance.
She pulled out a publication for seniors, L’âge d’or (The Golden Age), and showed me a page she had dog-eared: a grey-haired senior stretching her quads in the standing position, one hand on the wall for support.
« Would this exercise help my balance? », she asked hopefully.
Standing quads stretch.
I started to explain that this was not an exercise for balance but rather for flexibility. As I spoke, I demonstrated. I lifted my right leg, knee bent behind me and reached for my Skechers-clad foot. To my horror, I could not reach the foot and in my attempt to prove that I, experienced physiotherapist that I am, could do what I say, lunged for said foot, performing a reckless rotation/side bend of my trunk, causing the quadratus lumborum of my right flank to go into immediate spasm. I promptly lost my balance as my horrified client looked on.
Nope, not good for balance at all. 🙄
P.S. You will have to google quadratus lumborum for more information. I ain’t posting a picture of mine. Let’s just say it hurt where my love handle articulates.
When I saw my eye surgeon January 14th, he said all was well post vitrectomy and that I could resume work and all activities without restrictions. He also gave me the green light to drive, once the gas bubble in my eye was gone, giving it another two weeks to dissipate.
Today is my Independence Day. Instead of my husband chauffeuring me to visit my mother at the senior’s residence where she lives, I will drive myself.
The gas bubble is still present, rolling around my visual field like a rogue punctuation mark, a swirling purple period with a Milky Way centre, small enough not to interfere with my vision or cause any blind spots.
I’ve remarked on a few things while recovering from this retina repair:
I need structure in my life, fixed landmarks around which I plan my day, week, life.
I have a propensity towards a sedentary lifestyle. I like to sit and read, especially during the winter months. When I am not reading, I sit and ponder, and when I’m not pondering, I sit and write. There is a small table next to my favourite chair in the living room which allows me to sip coffee or tea while I sit and in the late afternoon, it holds crunchy snacks. I am becoming a placid blob without purpose or straight lines. As my son once observed as a youngster: « Mummy, you sure like to blob. »
I have lost my confidence, the assurance that all is well in my corner of the universe. I am afraid to resume the life I led pre-surgery, rife with stress and heavy lifting (both figuratively and literally). I am afraid to take a plane, to travel to a place where they may not be able to fix my eye if my retina detaches again, of being without recourse or resources. I fear driving in the bright sunlight or at night. I am worried that all this sitting has made me more kyphotic and further lowered my centre of gravity. I am terrified that if it does happen again, I will lose my sight permanently. And I am strangely sad that this gas bubble that has been my retina’s stalwart anchor, not to mention, of late, my big fat excuse in life, will soon be gone.
I’ve received two weird facebook comments in as many days from random people asking me to add them as friends.
The most recent one was in response to a YouTube video link of a cover my husband and I recorded, from some dude named Ericus Mandy: « i need to listen to this song, i hope it is a good one. Sharon, i will like to have you as a friend. kindly add me up as a friend. thank you. »
Well, of course it’s a good one, Ericus. What are you insinuating? That if it’s not, you won’t be my friend?
If my father were still alive, he would have insinuated that Ericus was probably a very « gungkish » kind of fellow. I think he meant gonkish but with his East Indian accent, it sounded like «gungkish ». Both versions mean stupid.
I checked Ericus’s (too many esses to be real) facebook profile and OMG, how lame can you get, this faker is posing as a divorcee, originally from Bucharest, now working for the US army in Orlando, Florida.
Yeah, right. You are bogus, Ericus; your syntax gives you away. And that’s no Walt Disney castle in your cover picture.
The other comment was from a woman living on the Island of Réunion in the Indian Ocean under a photo album I posted years ago. « Bonjour comment allez vous aujourd’hui? J’ai vérifié mes mises à jour lorsque j’ai vu votre profil. J’ai vraiment aimé ce que vous partagez sur votre profil. Je voudrais vous envoyer une demande d’ami, mais sans votre consentement, ce serait impoli. Je vous demande de m’envoyer une demande d’ami et je l’accepterai. Soyez amis. Je veux vraiment être votre ami et j’espère que cela ne vous dérange pas. ☺️🥰 »
Yikes, get a life. I checked her profile. She only has one profile photo of a very pretty woman who looks to be in her early 20s. Her interests are: shopping, healthy cooking and gardening. Even if I was looking for friends, and I’m not, we clearly have nothing in common.
This seems to be a new trend. Instead of the scammers sending me a friend request, they are trying to cajole me into adding them through cheap flattery and over the top courtesy.
They obviously haven’t read my blog entry about being an introvert.
I guess I shouldn’t complain. A decade ago, I was getting messages like this one:
« LOOKING FOR FRIENDSHIP…… AM ALSO LOOKING FOR, EXCUSE ME WHAT IS YOUR MARRITAL STAYTUS PLZ?? »
My singer-songwriter-guitarist husband has an upcoming gig in February that he is really looking forward to.
I’m happy for him. He works hard at his craft, is a prolific songwriter and a gifted (and patient) teacher.
Ian in his happy place.
Since we met, he has generously invited me into the fold, whether to play guitar alongside him or accompany him using one of the many little instruments that clutter our home. He has taught me how to sing harmony and when the harmony is too difficult, allowed me to sing melody to his harmony in my reedy, wobbly voice.
Happily for me, he has invited me to play on three of his original songs for the gig, using three different instruments: guitar, bass ukulele and merlin (like a dulcimer, tuned to D).
Unlike Ian, I only practice when I have an upcoming gig or open mic spot. Today, I decided I’d better get cracking. I knew all three songs but hadn’t played them in a while. To my delight, I was able to remember all three arrangements after a quick run-through.
One of my favourite things to do when playing music is to accompany, to sit back in that role of enhancing the performance without having to assume any of the heavy lifting.
I keep forgetting what a joy it is to play music. When you play music with others, you are forced to be in the moment, intently listening to the lead player, watching as you would a conductor, yet your brain must also multitask, keeping track of tempo, dynamics, phrasing and of course, which notes to play.
The rehearsal was so efficient, we had time to record a favourite Jeff Tweedy cover.
bogeyandruby 