Sunday, April 28, 2024

Every day is a good day to visit a bookstore. Here are a few favourites....

White Mountain Publications and Bookstore, Cobalt, Ontario, home of the Canadian Writers' Contest Calendar

Every year, Independent Bookstore Day comes on the fourth Saturday in April. But the other 364 days of the year are also good times to visit your local bookstore. Here's a few of the bookstores in Ontario:



A Different Drummer Books, Burlington

BOLTON: Forsters Book Garden

BRACEBRIDGE: The Owl Books

BRIGHTON: Lighthouse Books

BURLINGTON: A Different Drummer Books {which hosts many book launches}; 
By the Lake Books (A great used bookstore just around the corner from where I teach my in-person classes in Burlington. ~Brian) 



ELORA: Magic Pebble


GODERICH: Fincher's

Want some ideas on what books to buy? Check out this post and this one, and for more books and 70+ other gifts for writers, check out this post.  

GUELPH: BookShelf

HALIBURTON: Master's Bookstore


Indigo/Chapters has branches all over the place. {Yes, I know it's not an independent, but it's not Amazon, either.)

KINCARDINE: Fincher's

KINGSTON: Novel Idea

Bookshelf, Guelph


MISSISSAUGA: The Book Wardrobe 

NEW LISKEARD: Chat Noir


ORANGEVILLE: BookLore

ORILLIA: Manticore Books


PARRY SOUND:Parry Sound Books

PETEROROUGH: Hunter Street Books



Novel Idea, Kingston

ST. CATHARINES: Someday Books



UXBRIDGE: Blue Heron Books


WINDSOR: Biblioasis

Looking for gifts for writers? See here {and scroll down}

See Brian Henry’s upcoming weekly writing classes, one-day workshops, and weekend retreats here.


Sunday, April 10, 2022

“It’s Not Over Yet” by Barbara Stokes


Late winter green promises made across cold hard ground

The murmur of a rumoured storm in some unknown distant land

Coming at us slowly, water lapping on the shore

Covering pebbled beaches erasing footprints left in sand

Surrounding us, soaking our summer sandals then faster in crashing waves

Waves with no water turning us over

Pulling us down to drown

Gasping for air struggling to reach a surface that is gone

Celebrations once marked our time in happy company 

Now ebb and fall away

Leaving no space for exhilaration

Only the breath of crackling agony

No joy in waking 

Every day the drum beat of anxiety follows our feet

Bathed in strange strangled quiet, the people retreat

Fox families capture city streets 

In the places we once loved to laugh and promenade, sirens never cease

Way back there, we listened to arias on balconies 

and the 7 p.m. call to arms

Banging pots and pans to herald frontline heroes

 Their last post our saving grace

A prayer for ancient sailors tossed into the sea 

They sink without a trace

We look away from the mirror that reflects our ugly face

That year with no hope

We asked, when will it be over

No, not now … no .. now?

That was the year with no hope

But now…?

We thought by now it would be over

***

Barbara Stokes wrote “It’s Not Over Yet” based on a prompt from Brian Henry’s online Creative Writing class. Her essay “Stones and Clouds” was published in February on the Quick Brown Fox blog. Barbara is now tackling a crime thriller loosely based on something that happened to someone in Saskatchewan. Barbara lives in Burlington, Ontario.

See Brian Henry’s upcoming weekly writing classes, one-day workshops, and weekend retreats here.

Friday, March 25, 2022

“Bathing Beauties” by Laurie Childs

 

At the height of the second summer of the pandemic, feeling beaten down by waves of bad news, endless restrictions and dull repetition, I found my refuge where I least expected it – our local swimming pool.

 Swimming has never been something I sought out for recreation or exercise. Growing up there were swimming lessons every summer, and I could handle myself in the water. Other than family vacations and trips to the pool with the kids it was just never one of my favourite activities. It was too wet, too cold, too inconvenient, and public change rooms made me uncomfortable. I was indifferent to the backyard pool at our last home; it was unheated and until the odd week in late July or early August when the kids would shout “it’s 85!” I was reluctant to take the plunge.

That Covid summer had been especially hot and boring. We were relative newcomers to town so I had few close friends and I missed my old ones. With most social activities cancelled or restricted and suffering from an overload of spousal togetherness the aquafit classes offered by the City seemed a relaxing way to get a little exercise, cool off and meet safely with other people. And it wouldn’t really be swimming.

If you have only ever visited Stratford for our famous theatre and fine-dining restaurants or to stroll by the chichi boutiques along the main drag, then you may have missed our best-kept secret.

Tucked away at the far end of the park and behind the downtown core, past the picnic spots and art show, beyond the boathouse where the ducks and swans compete for tossed grain, just where the river lazily makes its way over the dam and under the willow trees sits my oasis.

A fixture in the town since 1932 the Lions pool is not modern or fancy and the change rooms in the old building could use an upgrade. It’s all concrete floors and wooden benches with no lockers or cubbies but the pool itself has had multiple renovations. Instead of a shallow end there is a graduated children’s splash area with buckets that fill and empty over squealing kids and a palm tree that showers a dome-like waterfall over those beneath it. The deeper area can be converted for lane swims, lessons and Bronze Cross qualifiers and of course the twice-daily aquafit class. Best of all, it is heated. It became the highlight of my day.

Each morning from July onward found me making my way to the pool, bathing suit on under my cover-up and flip flops on my feet - my mother had instilled the fear of plantar warts in me from a young age. 

Emerging onto the pool deck, I was met by the sight of 10 or so women, floating and fluttering around, chatting cheerfully, waiting for the instructor. Shyly removing my cover-up, I quickly immersed my less-than-fit, 66-year-old body in the water.

My fellow swimmers came in all shapes and sizes and none seemed to have the usual concern or embarrassment that comes with exposing oneself in a swimsuit. Mostly senior ladies, we came with an assortment of pallid flesh, chicken-wing arms, leg and butt flab and varicose veins. My own perceived deficiencies were minor and my shyness unnecessary.

There was one remarkable exception in this bevy of bathing belles.

About 78 years of age, Sandy wore her long silver hair tied up in a Barbie-doll ponytail. She was lithe, fit and tanned; a gold bangle sparkled on one wrist and she sported oversized Jackie Onassis sunglasses. Her bathing suit, a colourful strapless one-piece of large tropical flowers, fit her slim frame perfectly and accentuated every curve, and she walked and swam with the confidence of a 25-year-old. She flirted shamelessly with the young male lifeguards, calling to them by name in her charming British accent. She had a different bathing suit for every day of the week, each more spectacular than the last, and basked in our oohs and aahs each time she made her entrance. 

By contrast, my suit was a slightly faded, much stretched piece that I rinsed out daily.  She was the pretty, popular girl in high school around whom others buzzed like bees around a fragrant flower.

As the self-appointed aquafit greeter, whenever someone new entered the pool she swam over, introduced herself, and presented them to the other bathers. This was a group that had been getting together all, and indeed every, summer for a very long time. It was as though I had floundered into a meeting of a friendly but exclusive club. Newbies came and went but a very serious core of women formed the nucleus of the class.

Now, by serious I don’t mean their dedication to water exercise. While a few of them half-heartedly followed the instructor’s directions, there was more chatting than effort going on at the back of the class and it was clear that this group was there for the socializing. The young women who led the classes had obviously given up trying to control them and carried on cheerfully through the routines with an attitude of “well, they paid their money, I guess they can do what they like.” To more serious exercisers the chatter was likely annoying and a bit rude but it soon became obvious that this was a caring and supportive group who just happened to come together in the pool.

Absences were noticed and concern was raised. When one woman announced the death of her father, there was an outpouring of support. We followed and gave advice on the dating experiences of a much younger bather who sought our collective wisdom. News of grandchildren was celebrated and surgeries and illnesses were dissected. We evolved into a beautiful bubble of support and friendship. Never once did we discuss the pandemic. We laughed a lot, and as the summer progressed I felt my cares wash away in the water and in their camaraderie.

Every weekday morning for that entire summer I bounced, stretched, splashed and treaded water with those ladies. Beneath the stretch marks, surgery scars and jiggly flesh every one of us was beautiful and I felt part of something very special.

It is well-known that being in, on or around water has restorative properties. As my sagging body became a little fitter so did my flagging spirit. And for one golden hour out of each day the chaos of pandemic life was forgotten.

*** 

Laurie Childs retired as a financial services professional in 2014. She is a proud grandmother of 4 and a compulsive volunteer. Her other interests include travelling, rambling walks, music, theatre and the Sunday New York Times crossword. She has hundreds of stories in her head and is thrilled to finally have the time to write them down. Laurie lives in Stratford, Ontario where she is enthusiastically waiting for the pool to reopen.

See Brian Henry’s upcoming weekly writing classes, one-day workshops, and weekend retreats here.

 

Monday, May 24, 2021

“A Year of COVID and the Birth of The Sooke Supremes Team” by Leslie Ann Bent

 


I took a look at the map and sighed, “Only 100 K to go and we’re done.”

“Yep,” my husband, Andy replied. 

I glanced at the whole route from St John’s to Victoria – one heck of a journey.  It’s amazing what seven pairs of legs can do. I recalled proudly making the Nova Scotia basket back in August for a lucky winner who ran through my hometown – virtually, that is. We celebrated  a virtual Christmas in Winnipeg, my birthday in some remote spot on Lake Superior, and Andy’s birthday in Charlottetown.

Back in April of 2020, Canadians were learning how to cope with this new virus called COVID.  We had restrictions on non-essential travel, stay at home policies, shops and restaurants closed, and limited visits with friends and family.

We cancelled our plans to visit aging parents in Nova Scotia. My course in Victoria was cancelled. Parks were closed. Our volunteer work supporting literacy at a local elementary school came to an abrupt halt. Our gym closed. Our running club group runs were nixed.

However, my bike was on the trainer in the basement.  Our 55-kilometer Galloping Goose rail trail stayed open. I could run or walk every day if I chose to. My bookshelf was full. I had an extensive stash of stationery, and I’m passionate about correspondence writing. 

We embraced Zoom. My personal trainer and I moved our gym sessions to Zoom. Our family visits moved to Zoom. My course resumed on Zoom. I volunteered to send correspondence to seniors in my parents’ assisted care home. Within six weeks, I wrote and sent over 400 cards and smiles to isolated seniors. I volunteered to organize a few running club events that wouldn’t involve us meeting as a group.

In April, I created the Virtual Vancouver Island Circuit Challenge in April. Could our cumulated club mileage get us around Vancouver Island in nine days?  With 30 runners and walkers, distances to tally and reports to write every day, it felt as though I had a full-time job with overtime. Then I created “May Marathon Madness.” How many marathons can you complete in a month? 

These are the types of things that kept me occupied in the early days of COVID. Friendship, health, family and a sense of fulfillment are the most important things for me in life. COVID or no COVID, I needed to keep these things central to my new and restricted world. The way I would approach fitness, family, friends and goal setting would change, but not the fundamentals.

At the end of April, I received an interesting email from a running organization in Ottawa. How would I like to be part of the Big Canada Run? After being slightly incensed that they stole my idea, I quickly learned that the run would engage running communities from around the globe to commit to 8,000 kilometers of distance on foot, crossing Canada from St John’s Newfoundland to Victoria, BC. Teams could be as small or a large as we wanted. We’d have a year to complete the challenge, starting on Canada Day, 2020. I was pumped to create a team.

I contemplated who to invite. We’d be a team and we’d need to support each other for a year. We’d need members to be accountable to walk or run their share of the distance. We’d need positive attitudes and not take ourselves too seriously.  Let’s face it – 8,000 kilometers would be no small feat. 

If one of us was having a hard week, we’d need to be supportive. If one was having doubts, we’d need to build their confidence. We’d need friends with some grit who wouldn’t quit when the going got tough. I chose people who I thought might fit the bill.

In the end, seven brave, spirited souls committed to be the Sooke Supremes Team. We made bets as to where the team would be on each member’s birthday. We’d celebrate each at an outdoor cafe. Every member made a basket of his or her home province for the other members to win – Nova Scotia, Quebec, Ontario, Alberta, and BC.

When interest started to fade, we added the Bass Ass Prairie basket, the Caesar basket, and the prairies Lean, Mean Machine healthy basket – all to be won by meeting motivational criteria. Maggie added the “100-k in day” for a New Year’s Eve challenge. I added the ugly sweater run.

We shared photos on-line. We were there for Megen’s surgery. We cheered for Maggie’s half marathon. We celebrated our successes.  We supported Kari through the loss of her beloved dog. We encouraged Andy’s 25-miler. 

We cringed at Kayla’s bloody knees and the dramatic story she relived with photos on Facebook. Maggie and I sold books for breast cancer and COVID initiatives for the hospital. We shared our family histories as we virtually passed through our ancestral regions.

While I was writing this piece, I came across a quote: “Running has given me many things, but the greatest gift has been the people that it has brought into my life.”  This quote sums up my experience with the Sooke Supremes. 

In years to come, I expect what I’ll remember about COVID is not the closures and personal inconveniences, but rather the tight-knit friendship I developed with The Sooke Supremes. During a year of global death, fear and isolation, we maintained our fitness, developed deeper friendships and, tallying our distances, completed an 8,000-K run.  In just nine months, we covered ten provinces on our own two feet.   We really rocked.

***

Leslie Ann Bent is a retired chartered accountant. She lives with her husband in the quiet hamlet of Shirley, BC, on the Juan de Fuca coast. She’s traveled to many corners of the globe and enjoys sharing her amazing experiences and adventures.  

 See Brian Henry’s upcoming weekly writing classes, one-day workshops, and weekend retreats here.

Wednesday, May 5, 2021

“The Dance of Worried Motherhood” by Nancy Figueroa

A pre-Covid family photo. L to R: Mike, James, Britt (Mike's fiancé), Nancy, Richard, John, Kimber (John's fiancé), and their dog, Mushu

When I ask my sons about work, I no longer want to hear their answers. John and Mike are General Internal Medicine specialists. Both regularly treat patients with COVID-19. I worry for my sons. But this is nothing new. I’ve been waltzing with worry for decades.

In the early days of the pandemic, I agonized about their dad too. Richard, a physician, is 72 but with a dedication to the profession that belies his age. When I first heard whispers about the virus in Canada, I tormented myself thinking: Oh no, what if Richard, John and Mike all catch COVID from their patients?

Sometimes I jostle awake in the middle of the night, haunted by stories of physicians who’ve died of COVID-19. I have to remind myself to breathe, just breathe. I was relieved when Richard’s hospital announced no one over seventy could work on the front-line. Richard was disheartened and dismayed.

Me? I was ecstatic, although I tried to hide this from him. He found other medical work, putting his degree in public health and epidemiology to good work with Toronto Public Health on its COVID-19 response. What a relief that one of my three men of medicine was safe, but what about the other two?

John, 36, moved to Calgary in February 2020. We’d planned to visit each other in June, October and December. COVID-19 laughed at our plans as it did to everyone else.

My toughest moments were last fall when John – working at Foothills Medical Centre, where the virus was raging – had to self-isolate and monitor for symptoms. One of John’s patients, not suspected of having COVID-19, tested positive. I breathed properly only when John’s test result was negative. Still, I wonder when I will see him again. I miss my first-born child.

Mike, 34, is on staff at Mount Sinai Hospital and lives near us in Toronto, but feels thousands of miles away. We’ve seen him only four times since COVID-19 struck; each time we wear masks and socially distance outside. Last July he paid me a short birthday visit but there were no hugs, no dinner and no drinks. I made do with a short walk, both of us masked and walking well apart from each other. It was strange, yet I was thankful to see his face… if only from the eyes up.

I once broke protocol with Mike. On a gorgeous November day on the shores of Lake Ontario, he proposed to his girlfriend, a veterinarian. When they stopped by our backyard – grinning behind their masks and holding up a newly ringed finger – I couldn’t help myself. I ran and gave him a big squishy nine-months-in-the-making hug. I felt so guilty.

Knowing vaccines are available helps to ease my worries (a touch). Still, the end of this pandemic is nowhere in sight. Families of doctors everywhere hope the world follows public health guidelines. We need to see our sons and daughters. We need to hug them. The dance of worried motherhood continues.

Nancy Figueroa is a writer of nonfiction and fiction, living in Toronto. This piece first appeared in the Blog of the Canadian Medical Association Journal.

For information about submitting to the CMAJ Blogs, see here.

See Brian Henry’s schedule hereincluding online and in-person writing workshops, weekly writing classes, and weekend retreats in Algonquin Park, Alliston, Bolton, Barrie, Brampton, Burlington, Caledon, Collingwood, Georgetown, Georgina, Guelph, Hamilton, Jackson’s Point, Kingston, Kitchener-Waterloo, London, Midland, Mississauga, Oakville, Ottawa, Peterborough, St. Catharines, Southampton, Sudbury, Toronto, Windsor, Woodstock, Halton, Muskoka, Peel, Simcoe, York Region, the GTA, Ontario and beyond.

Sunday, March 7, 2021

“I miss live music” by Anna Jaikaran

It’s been eleven months since the first COVID-19 lockdown in Toronto. When it started, I was worried about all kinds of things but not about staying home. I thought a couple of weeks at home would be great. My husband and I are middle-aged and we’re tired a lot of the time. Before COVID, we would often come home at the end of the week and be glad that we had no plans.

But every third Friday of the month we would go to see our favourite band. Actually, Freeman Dre and the Kitchen Party are our only band. We don’t see anyone else.

I feel a little thrill getting into the car to drive downtown at a time when I would normally be thinking about going to bed. A hundred years ago the Cameron House was a hotel but now it’s a bar. If there are acts on in both front and back rooms, the man on the door, Patrick, would ask who we were there to see. He was just keeping track of how many people were in each room but when we’d say Freeman Dre and he’d nod us in, I felt as if we had given the right password.

There is no cover charge and no dress code. Someone has painted dancing skeletons in sombreros on the walls and there is a low stage with a backdrop of worn red velvet. There are one or two servers but they’re usually making their way through with towering piles of dirty glasses so most people order from the bar. There’s an odd mix there, young, old, stylish, not so much, groups of friends, dating couples, solitary fans, so it’s easy to feel we fit in. 

More often than not, our friend Bob would already be there, hopefully saving us seats. He and my husband have known each other since grade six. He’s become quite involved with the band and, like many of the regulars, might step over to greet them as they come in and set up.

Freeman Dre, people call him Dre, short for Andre, is the lead singer and writes all the songs. Lonny, or Lon Tron Silver, is the guitarist. He’s buff and put together and a really amazing musician. Those two are the heart of the band but I love them all. I mourn the loss of their drummer, Neil. I heard he went to Germany to live with his girlfriend. Derek is great on the drums but it’s not the same.

I would call their music folk rock but I don’t know if that’s a helpful descriptor. Some love songs, some drinking songs, some songs about what it’s like to be alive.

And the news says polar ice caps are melting at a pace

That could one day in the future wipe out the entire human race

But we don’t think about dying when we hang out at my place

In Parkdale

And it sounds like home

And it feels like home

And it looks like home

For now.

Of course, I could listen to it at home. I have their CDs and the newer songs are on YouTube but it’s not the same. I’m surprised by how mellow and slow even videos of their live performances seem compared to what it’s like when you’re right there. There’s so much energy. Some people dance, reflecting the music back as it’s being played. The familiar strain of a good song grabs me by the forearm and pulls me into its heart. 

As the night goes on, everything gets looser. The musicians riff, taking the music encased in the skin of a song and stretching it and bending it and throwing it up in the air. And it’s so loud. I know by the time we go back to the car my ears will be ringing.

Once in a while, if everything is just right, the music takes me to a different place. I don’t know what happens but I come back at the end of a song happy and relaxed. As my familiar burdens gently fall back on my shoulders, they feel lighter. It’s a random fragment, something outside the narrative. The kind of thing you don’t find on Netflix or get over ZOOM. It’s the kind of thing that happens when you can go out of your house and actually experience something. 

But I don’t go to the Cameron to have private internal journeys. I go to the Cameron to hear the music I love in a dark beery room full of people I don’t know. I go for the fleeting alchemy of this song on this night with these people. When I think of it now I realize that the six foot radius around me was packed. We were touching the same surfaces and obliviously inhaling each other’s respiratory droplets for hours. I might as well have been kissing half the bar. It’s no wonder I miss them.

God, I’m tired of being in lockdown.

 ***

Anna Jaikaran lives in Toronto and works in a chemistry research lab. She is taking the opportunity provided by the COVID lockdown to explore creative writing.

See Brian Henry’s schedule hereincluding online and in-person writing workshops, weekly writing classes, and weekend retreats in Algonquin Park, Alliston, Bolton, Barrie, Brampton, Burlington, Caledon, Collingwood, Georgetown, Georgina, Guelph, Hamilton, Jackson’s Point, Kingston, Kitchener-Waterloo, London, Midland, Mississauga, Oakville, Ottawa, Peterborough, St. Catharines, Southampton, Sudbury, Toronto, Windsor, Woodstock, Halton, Muskoka, Peel, Simcoe, York Region, the GTA, Ontario and beyond.