Of Cabbages and Kings – A Meditation on The Walrus and The Carpenter

I’ve done a little meditation in my time and even taken a class or two in it. I’m not as diligent about practising it as I am about doing yoga most every day and going for walks at least three times a week. But I do recognize the usefulness of being able to put certain thoughts out of your head, especially when they’re negative and keep going round and round like a needle stuck on a vinyl record.

I’ve always loved learning to recite poetry ever since we had to do it in school around grades five and six. Do they still make kids do that? I’m not in favour of rote learning, more the experiential kind of learner and I like speculation and creative thinking, but I do think there is a use for learning to recite poetry. Simply, it trains memory, and it can be fun. It can also be a kind of meditative practice.

Recently I decided to learn “The Walrus and the Carpenter” by Lewis Carroll. It’s in Through the Looking Glass (And What Alice Found There). I wanted something to distract me when those less than useful negative thoughts intrude, and when annoying people are nattering on. So I learned a few verses a day and can more or less recite the whole thing now.

Then I began to think, besides being a silly, just for fun poem, perhaps it’s telling us something deeper. First of all the sun is shining in the night which made the moon sulky – the sun “Had got no business to be there After the day was done –“ There are often people who will spoil your fun, but who’s to say things have to be done the way they always have been done? Why not make room for change and innovation. And perhaps the sun is trying to shine a light on something dark that should be illuminated.

The Walrus and the Carpenter (lovely illustrations by John Tenniel in my copy) are rather narrow minded. They don’t much seem to enjoy the sand on the beach. “If this were only cleared away, They said, “it would be grand!” Never mind the usefulness of the sand. Does this sound familiar? Do you know politicians who act like this?

The Walrus calls on oysters to come and walk with them. The eldest Oyster is much too wise to be taken in, but some of the younger ones are up for the adventure, and to their cost they follow. Hmm, voters who keep voting for politicians who don’t have their best interests at heart? Lots of lovely nonsense. The oysters get all dolled up for the adventure including shoes that are “clean and neat –“ even though, “They hadn’t any feet.”

The Walrus makes a fancy sounding speech, “To talk of many things;” but it’s really all nonsense, and perhaps it works to lull the foolish oysters. The latter, though do finally realize what might be about to happen when the Walrus says, “We can begin to feed.” “But not on us!” they protest, in vain as it turns out.

“O Oysters,” said the Carpenter,
                “You’ve had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?”
                But answer came there none –
And this was scarcely odd, because
                They’d eaten every one.

The Other Place – A Collection of Stories

In 2012 I published a collection of linked fictional short stories about German immigrants in Saskatchewan in the 1950’s. The following is an excerpt from that book, the beginning of the story “Braids.”

Mutti had several family photographs on her dresser. She had grouped three of them into one of those hinged frames with three parts. A picture of her mother on her wedding day, Mutti herself on the first day of school, and one of me before we left Germany. All three of us with braids.

In the picture, Grandmother’s were wrapped in a coronet around her head (I remember Opa saying that when she took them down she could sit on the ends); Mutti’s were thick and hung to her waist, mine were looped and tied just above my ears. Each picture had a bit of hair tucked under the glass at the bottom. Grey in Grandmother’s, brown in Mutti’s and mine. But Mutti doesn’t have braids any more.

I remember when I was five, looking at that picture of Grandmother and wondering how long it would take for my hair to be long enough to sit on. Opa said that he would give me her tortoise shell combs when I got old enough to wear my hair up. He let me look at them sometimes in their cardboard box lined with a scrap of red cloth. I couldn’t remember Grandmother at all; she had died of cancer when I was two, but I looked at her picture a lot.

When I came to Canada I noticed that very few girls had braids. That first year it was just one of the other things about me that was different, tht made me feel a stranger.

If you’re interested in reading more of the book, it’s available at Sask. Made Market Place in Saskatoon, 1621 8th St E.

I will be at that location on Saturday, May 24 (along with other producers) for their open house. So drop by to chat, get a book signed, browse the store, or buy a book.

http://www.saskmade.ca/events/may-days-open-house

 

 

Random Thoughts

So it's Mother's Day and my son came over for a visit, brought me a couple of books for a present, and then took me out for lunch. Very unusual to be able to spent this much time with him on Mother's Day because usually he's in another city and province. So a special treat. I've noticed that there have been some anti-Mother's Day posts on FB. Didn't realize there were people really upset by that fact that mothers were being recognized. Not everyone is a mother, but we've all had mothers or nurturers, so I'm not sure what the big deal is. Of course, not everyone has had good mothering experiences, either, but it seems odd to get so upset over a day.

I've been busy also getting ready for my book lauch of "Queen of Fire," which is in two days at McNally Robinson here in Saskatoon. Have written and rewritten my remarks, chosen and read and reread the excerpts from my book that I'm planning to read. Timing everything several times and trying to allow for spaces between talking. I'm pretty excited. First book launch, though second book. I've done a fair few of readings before - short stories in libraries and schools, so am not really very nervous, just a little fluttery.

Lots of other things to do also, but I'm putting them off until after the launch. Gardening work, house cleaning, odds and ends.

And I have to get back to work on the sequel to "Queen of Fire." Am really close, I think, to finishing a first draft.

Cooperative Very Short Story

On May 3, I sat at the Sask. Writers’ Guild table for a couple of hours with Danica and Cheryl for the Broadway Arts Fest in Saskatoon. I provided the opportunity for people walking by to add to a cooperative story. The following is what we ended up with (bilingual, too):

Late one evening Geraldine walked out of the Broadway Theatre after the last show and noticed someone lurking in a doorway down the street.

            “Gerry! Gerry!” she heard the man whisper. Her heart and memory started racing. Could it be???

            “Dans la province prairie

            J’ai fumé du riz!

            Demain je vais boire un arbre et

            Sans doute je finirais dans les étoiles!”

            These lines of poetry raced back to her, along with flashes, memories of summers spent with Gerry.

            This is the type of thing that happens in the city. You meet all kinds, but for me I’m headed back up  north to the still and quiet!