Category — New York City

Sitting down to write, here at the dinner table, the Pacific laid out before me, sipping tea while baby sleeps and indulging in a slice of carrot cake from Whole Foods reminds me of the way I felt during my first days working on the second floor at the CBC. Awe. Am I really here? Somebody pinch me.

Our dream really has come true.

The days so far have been filled with mother meet-ups and visiting with the Cowper family. We’ve sipped tea outside Daniel’s handmade house and entertained around our dining table.

Matthew comes by for a swing on a porch every day or two. We borrow their hammock.

I wandered into the Bowen Island Family Place last Tuesday and was enveloped in this intimate island community. This is one of my greatest joys as a mother: the instant community that forms around children. Two days at Family Place, a dozen introductions later, and a lovely mom named Victoria invited me to her mom’s group. I got thoroughly lost on my way there. Luckily Madeleine napped as I crisscrossed the island, finally making my way to Caroline and her daughter Katie’s beautiful home. Caroline, a former campaign finance lawyer from Washington, DC, bare-faced and effortlessly beautiful, welcomed me at the door. Her husband John, who owns an amazing travel company, came in to say Hi.

Bit by bit I am piecing together people’s stories. I’m hungry to know why people live here, where they’ve come from, how they make it work, what other roles these devoted mothers fill. One, a recent transplant from New York, left a career as a social worker and is writing copy so she can stay home with her little one. Another a forestry worker, another a teacher. Some from Toronto, Vancouver, many new to Bowen, just like me.

I plan to get back into the writing saddle while we’re here and have connected with three potential part-time nannies for Madeleine. One a student hopeful for a career in childhood education, one a composer/musician recently moved from Brooklyn, and one a mom with a daughter two months older than Madeleine. We’re taking the week to decide. I can’t wait to have two solid days to sit with my books, pen and MacBook and create.

It feels right in every single way that we’re here. Everything is flowing. A friend of mine, a deeply spiritual person, gave me this advice many years ago: Follow the way of peace. Now, not every part of of our life at present is peaceful (we’re unpacking boxes while the three of us nurse colds and we’re cranky, oh, and I killed the largest spider I have ever seen this morning) but at every turn peace is meeting us.

It’s like I can hear God saying “Yes.”

Last week I had the privilege of sitting down with three other poets to write over pints (theirs) and chamomile tea (mine.) Diane Tucker, fresh off the plane from NYC, brought with her a number of writing exercises from renowned educator, Kenneth Koch’s Rose, Where did you get that red? 

The challenge: Write a poem addressed to your poem asking it to do something for you.

Here’s my unedited attempt:

 
dear poem

please fling your consonants
your double-meanings

please leap-frog your seed truth
over the form
out the pages
off the screen

please drop-kick my philandering lead strokes
clear over closest range

then

brush yourself off
scale the rock
descend the mountain

climb into waiting lap

and speak
 

::::

Part of Imperfect Prose Thursdays

My most recent article appeared in the New York-based Curator last Friday. You can give it a read here.

An excerpt:

“There’s no question that technology has overrun our lives. Over the past century, the world has welcomed technological ‘progress’ with arms wide open and we’re living with the clicking, dinging, anxiety-inducing deluge of it.

But a creative backlash is underway, helping human beings cope with the avalanche of data that passes in front of most of us every day through the use of computers and cell phones.

Slow food, the back-to-the-land movement, and groups like letter writing clubs are being formed by a new subculture: the 21st century luddite, wielding fountain pen and notebook, and some checking e-mail from the public library a mere hour per week. Dolen and Fedoruk think this movement is more than a blip on the technological continuum…”

This may be my favourite article to date. I hope you enjoy it!

The other day author Nina Killham typed in the words “fear and writing.” It was one of those days and among her findings was a post by blogger Jennifer Louden who nails a daily fear for most of us:

“I have to know what my thing is and talk about it in very clever ways and be different than everybody else who does my thing or else I will starve /never matter / and be alone for the rest of my life, shut out from the brightness and goodness of life.”

“I know, that’s a powerful, believable, seductive story,” she writes. “I also know it’s a lie.”

The need to name and succeed can paralyze us. It keeps us from picking up the pen, the phone, the racket, the whatever. But as Christians it’s possible to live without fear. In fact, it’s implored of us. We are called into the dark to follow. We are led to new things without name. We are promised hardship, trials, and hard-won rewards. Yet success is seductive. Adoration, alluring. Recognition, rewarded.

I planned to begin this post with a line from J.D. Salinger’s Franny and Zooey: 

“I’m sick of not having the courage to be an absolute nobody.”

I’ve been meditating on these words for the past month. They came to me from a friend in Winnipeg. I haven’t yet met someone who wants to be a nobody. I am no exception. Even as a new mother I find it difficult to say no to opportunity though I have the perfect excuse. 

But we’re not called to success, certainly not to every shiny proposition. It takes courage to blend in the shadows. It takes work. It’s counter-cultural and Biblical.

I know a lot of people that read this blog are ‘somebodys.’ People who lead organizations, professors, and CEOs. I also know some of you are artists, students, freelancers (like me) and everything in between.  

Our culture is masterful at teaching us how to ‘get there’ but where can we learn to leave, to bow out, to persevere in quiet?

Casey Downing tackles some of these questions in his recent article “Notes on Leaving the City.” He is preparing to leave New York, noting Joan Didion’s public exit from the same city in 1967. Her essay Goodbye to All That begins:

“It is easy to see the beginnings of things, and harder to see the ends.”

Downing echoes her words:

“Suddenly we weren’t quite so young or quite so entitled. Suddenly the paradise of New York was preparing to cast many of us out. Were we unworthy? Where did we go wrong? This was something that no one had prepared us for.”

Maybe Downing and his friends weren’t being cast out. Certainly a city cannot bestow worthiness. How could he and his friends have been better prepared for the end of their stay in the city of dreams? How can we?

::: 

Originally posted on the Cardus After Hours blog.

So, it turns out I have way more postcards than I thought. I’m not sure from where I’ve accumulated them all, but there they are:

I’ve decided to send postcards to anyone that’s commented in the last two months, because I am simply enamoured with this project. The more postcards to type, the better!

If you’d like to receive a postcard (complete with a typewritten quote of my choosing) than simply say HI! below and I’ll follow-up to get your address. Know a friend who’d like a random postcard to show up at their door? Send them over…

Tippity-tap-clackity-clack, your resident of-all-trades-jack: Christina

The pictures are up. View them here. And more below. 

Brooklyn

In Anthropologie

The UN

Le Statue

Soho

Classic over-stimulated tourist

A great irony