An Immigrant Christmas in Canada, 1950’s

(excerpt from ‘Braids’ in the short story collection The Other Place, published 2012, ©Regine Haensel)

 I wondered what we were going to do about a Christmas tree. I knew we didn’t have money to buy one from the place in town where they had the trees stacked up. In the Bradley’s garden there were some evergreen trees, but I was sure they would notice if Papa cut down one of those. Maybe we could cut a few branches and make a tree out of that.

Then, after the Christmas concert, Mrs. Knowles asked if I wanted to take our classroom tree home on the last day before Christmas holidays. She said that it would just get thrown out and someone might as well have the use of it for another week or two. When Papa came to pick me up, he loaded the tree into the back of the truck. Mrs. Knowles and I had already taken all of the decorations off and put them away. Mutti and I had been making paper chains and other decorations at home to add to the few special ornaments we’d brought from Germany, and the tree looked wonderful.

On December twenty-third Papa went to town and brought home a parcel. Tante Dorothea had sent a nut cracker and a big bag of nuts: hazelnuts, Brazil nuts, and walnuts, my favourite. Onkel Hans had sent a box of marzipan. With the oranges and apples Papa had bought in town, the pfefferkuchen cookies Mutti had baked, we had Christmas plates almost like we used to have in Germany. Mutti said the only thing missing was liqueur-filled chocolates, but I saw her looking at Opa’s picture when she said it and I knew she missed him and all our relatives and friends. There were only the three of us in Canada.

On Christmas Eve when we opened the presents I found out that Opa had sent me the mottled yellow and brown tortoise shell combs. I knew it as soon as I took the paper off and saw the small worn box. I didn’t want to open it, but Papa and Mutti were sitting right there watching me. In Germany it had been all right to have braids, but in Canada things were different. I sighed.

Mutti came and sat beside me as I lifted the lid of the box. The red velvet inside seemed worn to me, the combs a little shabby. I picked them up.

“They were a present from her grandmother,” Mutti said.

So old, I thought. My great grandmother and my grandmother had both worn these combs. I rubbed a thumb over one edge; it slid smoothly, the combs felt warm.

“Did Great Grandmother have braids, too?”

“Yes, beautiful long braids all her life.”

“And they both wore the combs.” My fingers were still rubbing; the tortoise shell seemed to shine a little.

“Yes.”

“Did you ever wear them?”

“Yes, I wore them for my confirmation and for special occasions.”

Mutti put my hair up with the combs, in a coronet like Grandmother’s in the picture and I wore it that way for the late supper we always had on Christmas Eve. I felt strange wearing them, thinking of the women who had worn them before me. I peeked in the mirror and was surprised how much like Grandmother I looked. It gave me a funny feeling. I wondered why Mutti had cut her hair and when. My memories of her were all with short hair.

With the presents from Germany, the goose for supper, and the candles on the tree, I felt as if, for a brief time, we were back there again. I knew, though, that just a few miles away Susie and her brother were hanging up Christmas stockings. Tomorrow they would eat turkey and cranberries and their tree would have electric lights instead of candles.

Then Mutti started singing Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht in her high, clear voice and even though I knew Susie’s family would sing Silent Night, I couldn’t help but feel good. As Papa and I joined in on the carol that I remembered so well, I thought of Opa, Tante Dorothea, Onkel Hans, my cousin Willie, and Lotte. I noticed that Mutti’s eyes were very shiny and Papa had to stop singing to blow his nose.

On Re-reading the Classics

Recently at a second hand book sale, I bought a copy of Wilkie Collins’ The Moonstone. I’d read it many years ago when I was in high school during a period where I tried to read as many of the classic books as I could. Don Quixote, Pilgrim’s Progress, Robinson Crusoe, Gulliver’s Travels, The Count of Monte Cristo, Moby Dick, Little Women, Huckleberry Finn, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, The Picture of Dorian Gray, and others. At that time I wasn’t as aware that many good and great books continued to be written and I’d never get to the end of any list!

What makes a book a classic and who determines that? There are lists like the best 100 novels. Books that continue to be read and sold in bookstores, taught in literature courses, approved of by critics. But not everyone likes the same books, and some of the older ones don’t necessarily appeal as they once might have. Times do change and so do some of the titles that are read.

Still, certain books stand the test of time and continue to entertain and to provoke thought.

I still find Dickens absorbing. Re-reading David Copperfield some years ago reminded me of what a good story teller Dickens was. I love most of his, though found Bleak House, which I read for the first time recently, too long and quite a chore to get through. Interestingly, Dickens was a mentor for Collins and they remained friends.

The Moonstone, first published in 1868, is often cited as the first great English detective story. There are, however, earlier instances of the mystery and crime genre in Arabic fiction (in The Thousand and One Nights), and Chinese fiction. As well, there are other examples of English language crime fiction, including such stories as ‘The Murders in the Rue Morgue’, by Edgar Allan Poe, published in a magazine in 1841.

Getting back to re-reading The Moonstone, I was first impressed by the several pages of notes at the end that highlighted the origins of some of Collins’ ideas. In other words, he did his research, from drawing on real life crimes, to using historical events, as well as theories of disease and treatments, and personal experience of the effects of opium. The notes are nearly as fascinating reading as the novel itself.

Once into the book, I was charmed and delighted by the humour of one of the narrators, the house-steward where the incidents take place. Collins used several narrators, and Gabriel Betteredge, with his reliance on Robinson Crusoe, “I have found it my friend in need in all the necessities of this mortal life,” is my favourite.

The story draws the reader quickly into the action and along the twisted paths of possible motives, with plenty of false leads and a variety of plausible villains.

Along with the mystery, Collins presents social tensions of the class system, pokes fun and certain kinds of philanthropy, and touches on British Imperialism in India.

I had no trouble at all in reading this book, and thoroughly enjoying it, though it was published nearly 150 years ago. To me that’s a classic!

A Solitary Art

Virginia Woolf wrote:  -- a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.

Though writing can be done simply – all you need is a pencil and a piece of paper for the very basics – starvation and homelessness are not conducive to work of any kind! Even if your necessities – food, clothing, and shelter are taken care of, money worries (e.g. the roof is leaking, part of the house is collapsing) are not helpful when trying to do creative work.

Dogs will bark; people will interrupt; money must be made; health will break down.

Still writers write, and can manage on surprisingly small incomes if required, and motivated. It helps if you can focus on the writing and set other concerns aside for periods of time.

For most writers work is solitary. It may require quiet and uninterrupted time as well as space to write. Hence the room where, for at least part of the time, you can shut the door, spread out papers and reference works if needed.

Which is not to say that some people can’t and don’t write in coffee shops, at a kitchen table, on the bank of a river, in a public park, on a bus or while lying on a couch and appearing to sleep. The location may be public, at times even noisy, but the act of writing, whether on a piece of paper, a computer, or in your head, is solitary for most writers.

Some of us do collaborate, others share their work in a writing group, with a mentor or editor and get feedback that we may or may not use. Again, it’s up to the individual.

Actually getting the words down on paper or computer can be a struggle at times. There may be a rush of ideas initially and then comes the hard work of making your ideas a reality. Hurray, you have a first draft! Leave it for a while and come back with fresh eyes. Oh no, it’s awful! Or not bad, but not right either. What now? Another draft, the opinion of another writer? Perhaps.

Does a structure of writing at certain times of the day for a certain number of hours help? Some do it this way. Others set a goal of a certain number of pages that have to be done in a day, but can be done at any time – more flexibility. Some are morning people, other night owls.

Of course it gets easier the more you do it, right? Not necessarily. Each story, poem or book offers its own challenges. As do the changing circumstances of life that have nothing to do with writing.

So long as you write what you wish to write, that is all that matters; and whether it matters for ages or only for hours, nobody can say.

At times I’ve worked on several projects in a week, setting aside different days for each project. In other situations I’ve focused on one project until I completed a draft, then worked on another project while the draft rested. I’ve preferred the flexibility of setting goals of a certain number of pages.

Recently, though, I’ve had a more difficult time. Yes, I got some work done, completed a draft and a revision. But then, I had a hard time getting motivated to work on yet another revision. I felt tired, I wanted a holiday, or just wanted to goof off and do a lot of reading. A break can be useful, but this one seemed to be going on too long. It wasn’t what I’d call writers’ bloc (I’m not sure I really know what that is; I’m certainly never short of ideas, though I do at times lack the motivation or energy to actually sit down and write.) So I made myself do a little writing and felt OK about that, but not completely happy.

Aha! An idea. Where did it come from? I don’t know – probably the same mysterious source where all creative ideas germinate. What occurred to me was something I hadn’t done for a really long time. I would set a fairly rigid schedule and apply it to each week day, working in my activities such as yoga, walks, meals, reading and goof-off time as well as ample writing time. Weekends will be flexible. Yes! It appealed to me.

After some days of the above schedule I found that the writing was going well again, and I could also be flexible within the schedule if need be.

Therefore I would ask you to write all kinds of books, hesitating at no subject however trivial or however vast.

A Remembrance of Gardens Past – Autumn

It seems to me that September this year in Saskatoon has been unusually green even into the end of the month. There are a number of factors that cause deciduous trees to change colour, including shorter days and longer nights, colder temperatures, soil moisture and sunlight. We had a very hot summer and recent weather hasn’t been cold enough to start the colour changes, though we also haven’t had much rain. Nature can still be mysterious.

I may have to cut my grass once more and I’ve still got annuals blooming this year. My garden notebook from the past shows the variety in the season over a number of years, and it seems that we have had long falls before. Still, I remember snow and frost in September, though I’m glad to see that holding off this year,

Sept. 6, 1998

I’ve been preparing for spring by taking out some more grass at the back and planting pink tulips in front of the anemones, and a couple of white iris in front of the chrysanthemums.

Sept. 14, 1999

I have brought in all my tomatoes, left out carrots, beets, some lettuce and peppers. Will see how they do.

Sept. 16, 2000

Yesterday and today were incredible days for September – hot, sunny, no wind. Sat in the yard a lot and just basked in it.

Oct. 14, 2001

Dug the last of my carrots, drained the hoses and cleaned up the yard a bit. My pink chrysanthemums are blooming in gay profusion in the back yard. (These have since died out, but I miss them. Have to look for more in 2018).

Sept. 21, 2002

A long fall – still have roses blooming, cosmos, golden Marguerite, and delphiniums for the second time.

Sept. 15, 2003

Cut some lavender, which is blooming for the first time ever.

Oct. 9, 2004

Malva still blooming, chrysanthemums in full flood with butterflies, white delphiniums having a second bloom.

Space Grabbers, Culture, Personal Space, Introverts and Extroverts

Advertising in some form is as old as our human ability to make marks. It could be on cave walls, carved on rocks and trees, printed in a newspaper or magazine, broadcast on radio or television and so on. Some of us need to let others know quite publically what we are doing or want to do.

In the 1920s and 30s press agents and publicists began to use print media to publish stories about their clients or products. So rather than straight ads readers would find what looked like newspaper stories or magazine articles that were in reality a new form of advertising. Apparently media owners really disliked this and called them space grabbers.

I’ve begun using the term space grabbers for other situations. The group that spreads out across a sidewalk and ambles along paying no attention to who might be behind them. The truck owners who take up two parking units, the motorcyclists who make as much noise as possible driving down the street, the people who park for days and weeks in one place on the street despite a parking bylaw that prohibits it. Those who scatter garbage in their wake and never pick up after themselves. The companies who use all the resources (e.g. water) they can without thinking about future generations. Those who pollute. Those who bully and harass others.

Why is it that these things bug me so much? It would be easy to say because those people’s behaviours are wrong; they pay little attention to the needs of others. And perhaps that’s so, but I think there are other elements at work as well.

Is it true as someone said to me recently that we are becoming less kindly in the way we live with each other? What bugs you most that might relate to space grabbers – the noisy concert many blocks away? The clouds of acrid smoke from a fire pit?

  

As cities grow larger they develop more problems just from the sheer mass of humanity and all its complexities. To a certain extent we have to put up with each other, be somewhat flexible about the things that bug us. Still, for each of us there seems to be a place where we hold the line.

In the end it may come down to something basic – how we feel about incursions into our close environment. And it’s not only our visual sense that notices incursions on personal space.

Edward T. Hall (1914 – 2009) was an anthropologist and cultural researcher born in the United States. In the 1930s Hall lived and worked on reservations in the southwestern United States. This was an area where several cultures existed – Navaho, Hopi, Hispanic, and Anglo. As he explored worlds strange and new to him Hall began to see how culture affected each individual’s behaviour.

Subsequently he traveled in Europe, the Middle East and Asia. Eventually he worked for the U.S. State Department, teaching intercultural communications skills to foreign service personnel. He continued to observe and study how humans behave in a variety of cultures and situations. His books range from The Silent Language (the ways that we communicate without the use of words) to The Fourth Dimension in Architecture (the impact of buildings on behaviour) and to The Hidden Dimension, which is about proxemics, or humans’ use of space and the effects that population density has on social interactions and communication.

It should be noted that Edward Hall is not the only person to study these topics.

In the Authors Preface to The Hidden Dimension (first published in 1966, but still very relevant and not only in the United States) Hall writes:

It is increasingly apparent that clashes between cultural systems are not restricted to international relations. Such clashes are assuming significant proportions within our own country and are exacerbated by the overcrowding in cities. Contrary to popular belief, the many diverse groups that make up our country have proved to be surprisingly persistent in maintaining their separate identities. Superficially, these groups may all look alike and sound somewhat alike, but beneath the surface are manifold unstated, unformulated differences in their structuring of time, space, materials, and relationships. It is these very differences that often result in the distortion of meaning, regardless of good intentions, when people of different cultures interact.

I began my life in a small city in Germany, living in an apartment block with a shared playground and other shared outdoor space. Later, my family moved to a farm in Canada with fewer amenities, a different language and much more outdoor space. Huge changes in culture. My earliest life, however, impacted me most for I still prefer to live in a small city rather than on a farm, though I do like visiting wilderness areas. And yet, in that city I am very aware (if only subconsciously at times) of the space around me.

Among animals, territoriality helps to prevent overpopulation and is a way to protect breeding grounds and raising of young. In our cities, have we been paying enough attention to the effects that crowding can have on the human psyche? Does it have the same effect on us all? Hall would say, No.

There are contact and non-contact species of animals. Halls list of the former includes walruses (showing a picture in his book of them sleeping crammed together), pigs, brown bats; his lists of the latter includes horses, swans, hawks. Though Hall does say that all species begin as contact types, but change as they grow and leave their parents.

According to Hall there is also a relationship between aggression and display – aggressive animals display more vigorously. So do some humans view vigorous display in others as aggressive?

People from different cultures, says Hall, not only speak different languages, but what is possibly more important, inhabit different sensory worlds.  Each world has its own set of sensory inputs, so that what crowds people of one culture does not necessarily crowd another. In addition, social animals need to stay in contact with each other.

Most of us are familiar with the terms introvert and extrovert. These are terms that attempt to define how individuals interact socially. Each of us generally knows where we fit.

I’m more of an introvert than an extrovert. That means I enjoy spending time with others in moderation and like a lot of time to myself. I prefer quieter activities though I do enjoy a noisy spectacle on occasion. Because I’m a quieter person who doesn’t often make a fuss, it seems to me that people don’t always notice that I’m

Extroverts are more out there, showing themselves, making themselves noticed. So they push their boundaries out quite visibly. Introverts who come into the orbit of some extroverts have to push back hard in order not to feel run over. 

Certain characteristics are born or created in us perhaps through culture, and are difficult to change. From all I’ve read you can’t change your tendency toward introversion or extroversion, though you can perhaps engage in various activities that stretch your preferences. Neither introversion nor extroversion is wrong. However, by being more aware of peoples’ tendency for one or the other we may be able to be more tolerant of differences. We need to remember that each of us comes from our own traditions and may have diverse needs in terms of personal space. At the same time, it seems to me that city planners and architects can do more to avoid overcrowding in cities and make them gentler, more livable places.

A Remembrance of Gardens Past – Summer

Summer is the time in my garden when I can relax and enjoy it – flowers blooming, herbs ready to use, berries to eat, greens coming along and other veggies. Of course, there is weeding to do and grass cutting, although I have very little lawn now. Summer is also a time when I think about what I might do differently next year.

A while ago I wrote from a garden notebook I kept for a number of years about spring in my garden. Here follow some entries from the summers.

June 11, 1998

My cukes died so I need to get some more. (I haven’t had a lot of luck with cucumbers. I have started some from seed indoors and transplanted them. Mostly they died. I’ve had a bit more luck with buying plants, though my cukes have never been plentiful or large. Too much shade where I plant them. Should try a different spot, even if it is among the perennial flowers.)

June 21, 1999

My pink and red roses are blooming. (I still have a couple of the rose bushes I planted at the beginning – Hansa and Henry Hudson. Others have died and been replaced or not. Disappointingly this year a yellow Bill Reid rose that I had for a few years hasn’t come up. I’ll have to look for another yellow rose to replace it next year.) Anemones and irises are pretty much done.

August 29, 1999

I have harvested some things – tomatoes (more to come), a few carrots, beets, all my potatoes (only about 8 – I gave up on trying to grow potatoes), garlic.

June 17, 2000

I think I am done planting for this year. Harvested some rhubarb (my rhubarb gradually declined so last year I moved it. It has looked healthier this year, but hasn’t grown much), half of which I will freeze.

July 10, 2000

I want to start more basil this winter (I love growing herbs, particularly perennials or those that reseed themselves – cilantro, tarragon, oregano, thyme; but I also plant others – basil is a staple). Also a few tomatoes again. Flowers. Maybe peppers and cukes.

June 3, 2001

Very windy today and cloudy – rain would be good. Am sitting out in my sheltered spot beside the house.

July 3, 2001

California poppies (annuals in a pot) in bloom. Also my other poppies (perennials) out in the garden are starting to bloom (This year I seeded some Icelandic poppies in honour of having travelled to Iceland; I was late seeding them, so I hope at least a few come up). Eating strawberries.

 August 8, 2001

Gladiolus (I don’t grow gladiolus every year, some years I save the corms over winter and replant them in the spring; other years I just don’t bother.) have been in bloom for a week or so. Daylily has been blooming. Ligularia had one kind of sick-looking bloom.

June 15, 2002

Have my deck set up with pots now and my chairs out. (I didn’t have a deck for some years and then decided on a low, small deck without railings as I don’t have a very large back yard.)

June 29, 2002

Have too many purple and white irises, but will thin them out some. (It’s fun rearranging and moving, adding new plants.)

July 26, 2003

Next year— move white delphinium, light purple delphinium and buy a yellow peony (Hah, I have yet to do this!), some purple lupine? The yard is much like I want it.

July 18, 2004

Deep purple delphinium is in bloom, also heliopsis (yellow), and Swan River daisies in pots.

July 2, 2017

I get so much joy out of my yard. Exercise, the fun of creation, surprises, birds coming to the feeders, planning and anticipation.

So You’re Going to Iceland!

I’ve wanted to visit Iceland since was in high school and read a fictional book about it. The countryside, the Alþingi, all that history. I wanted to drive the ring road. And this spring I did it, with the help of my son (who did all the driving) and my grandson (who added his love and laughter).

Based on our experiences I have a lot of suggestions and advice.

The high season is considered to be June through the end of August, but parts of the country (e.g. the south) were very busy even the last half of May. I speculate that the same might apply into mid-September. So unless you are gung ho for the summer festivals, I’d suggest going in May or September. Some facilities, including some camp grounds may be closed. I’ve heard that a winter holiday (excepting Christmas which is also very busy) are also great.

Iceland is horrendously expensive. We took some dried food, bought food in grocery stores, and camped for a good portion of our trip. We splurged on one dinner and a breakfast, and also had one fairly reasonable lunch.  My son and grandson bought street fare – Icelandic hot dogs 3 times.

Camp grounds ranged from approximately $25 to $44 per night, not bad.

After a while I just quit converting to Canadian dollars. One other monetary issue: in northern Iceland the machines (grocery stores, gas stations, etc.) declined my credit union master card, though the ATMs took both it and my bank Interac card. On my return I called the credit card company and found out that in the north there were “encryption errors.” For some reason the machines didn’t work properly for my card. Initially, though, when it happened, I visualized us in Iceland with no money! Good deals are to be had, however – more on that later.

Try to arrive in Iceland late in the afternoon (most hotels and similar facilities check in is around 2 pm, though you can often get in earlier). We arrived at the airport just after 7:30 am and if you’re like me you don’t sleep on airplanes. This means a looong day before bedtime and we didn’t want to waste the day sleeping anyway.

At the airport usually one takes a ‘flybus’ to the BSI bus station (unless you are booked for a car or camper van right from the airport – they will usually arrange transportation to their facilities if they aren’t at the airport). This is not a city bus station, but the station where a lot of different tour buses congregate. From here you can walk, take a cab or get a shuttle to your hotel. Depending on where you are staying, I wouldn’t necessarily recommend renting a car right away. Parts of Reykjavik (if that’s where you are staying all your trip or only for a few days) have very narrow, congested and one-way streets that may also become pedestrian only during the weekend. If you do rent a van or car, do a walk around check of tires, hub caps etc. every day to make sure all is OK. Ideally, take pictures with date stamps. We lost a hub cap, no idea were, and it cost us extra.

We drove the ring road, with a couple of diversions in 9 days, eight nights. I’d recommend taking at least 14 days, or even 3 weeks if you want to see a lot and have the money. Another option is to stay in Reykjavik and either rent a car for day trips out or book  one or more bus tours.

A pretty good deal is the ‘Hop on, Hop off’ red bus tours of Reykjavik. The ticket (approx. $50 per adult is a 24 hour one and you can pack in a lot of the sights – start at the Harpa (concert hall and convention centre on the harbour, buy your ticket  from the driver), continue on to a square  near the downtown centre, city hall, a whale watching sight (separate boat tours - we didn’t book this), the Maritime Museum, the National Museum, Hallgrimskirkja, Perlan (a great observation point), Kringlan Shopping Centre (just like most other malls in the world), Laugardalur thermal pools and spa (well worth a stop for a swim. Great for kids with a water slide; soak in the hot pools) etc. If you’re 67 or over you get a discount at many Reykjavik facilities, children are free at some or get a discount. The bus departs every half hour from 9:30 am to 4:30 pm, the last one arriving back at about 7:30 pm. When you hop off, just make a note of the time and get back out to that stop ½ to 1 hour from that time. The bus includes earphones (take them with you each time) with multilingual channels for commentary.

If you get accommodation in the central area of Reykjavik, anywhere from near the Hallgrimskirkja to the harbour, you’ll be able to walk to many places as well. There’s a variety of hotels and hostels (the latter would be cheapest especially if you don’t mind dorm rooms). We had a very nice hotel suite for our first few days with kitchen facilities to make our own meals and breakfast provided along with the fee.

Another option is to rent a car and take daytrips from Reykjavik:

·         the Golden Circle, which includes Þingvellir Park, Geysir hot springs, and Gullfoss (a waterfall – foss means waterfall);
·         explore the Reykjanes peninsula where Reykjavik is located;
·         explore the south coast (glaciers and coastline; Keldur which is off the beaten track has a small turf house village; see Mount Hekla; waterfalls; the town of Vik and the troll rocks). This area was very busy with people and traffic when we drove through at the very end of May.

Or go a little farther afield for 2 or 3 days and visit the Snaefellsnes Peninsula in the northwest. Unfortunately we didn’t get there.

Another option is to base yourself in the north at Akureyri, a northern town/city. This is a quieter area and several day trips can be taken from here. https://grapevine.is/news/2015/08/31/akureyri-town-or-city/ You can fly to Akureyri from Keflavik airport, near Reykjavik (which is where international flights usually arrive).

An hour from Akureri is Mývatn Lake with bird life and lots of old caldera and lava fields. Nearby is Dimmuborgir with its castle-like outcroppings and ‘troll caves.’ Beyond that it’s not far to Dettifoss (a couple more hours or about an hour from Akureyri by a different route). Just past Mývatn watch out for a place that looks like a construction factory on the right. Stop there – it’s supposed to be a place where they bake/steam rye bread underground. Unfortunately we missed it. We didn’t miss the sulphur springs – a field of steaming and stinking mud pools, not for swimming! Very impressive. And later just off the side of the road, some outdoor hot pools filled from hot springs, and yes you can soak here.

What did I love? The East Fjords (wish we’d had more time to spend there), Reykjavik, Jokulsarlon glacier lagoon on the south coast, Skaftafell National Park also in the south, and the town of Vik, the Golden Circle, Keldur turf village.

What do I regret not seeing? Snaefellsnes Peninsula in the west, the West Fjords, more of Akureyri, Dettifoss, the underground bakery, going on a whale and/or puffin watching tour, exploring an ice cave. Not enough time, not enough money.

I’m glad we had a van on those rainy and windy nights. I admire the young people who bicycled and camped in tents. One night I went to the kitchen/washroom area building in our campground (it was pouring rain) and the floor was filled with sleeping bags.

I’m home now and I keep having dreams of travelling across lava fields and in small spaces. I’m working on a long poem that I started in Iceland. I also have ideas for a story related to my series ‘The Leather Book Tales’ and just a smidgeon of an idea for a young people’s story.

A Remembrance of Gardens Past – Spring

When I turned 50 a friend gave me a garden journal with quotes and poetry and space to write in. I used that journal from 1998 to 2007. I wrote a lot each season in the early years and then was skimpier over time. Here follow a few of my entries from springs through the years.

March 20, 1998

I have decided to plant at least I rose this spring. Haven’t decided between a Fairy Rose in a pot or some shrub roses – David Thompson, Cuthbert Grant, Hansa, Prairie Dawn – in front of my vegetable garden. (Note: I have currently 3 rose bushes – Hansa, Henry Hudson, and Bill Reid).

May 16, 1998

Have done a little bit more at the back to begin the decline of lawn. Put in a couple of meadow sweet (tall, white) against the back corner of the west fence. I moved the peonies up so they are in front – took out grass and weeds.

April 8, 1999

Have started by raking leaves, filling up the compost. If it doesn’t snow I will rake more leaves tomorrow and maybe even cut grass. (Note: I compost leaves every year.)

May 2, 1999

I like the physical work of gardening.

April 11, 2000

Next year I start my bedding plants a month later – Feb. 1. The tomato plants are getting huge and it will be more than a month before I can plant them outside. (Note: Haven’t grown my own bedding plants for a few years.)

May 28, 2000

White anemone blooming, also a pink tulip. Had a deep purple red recently. I’ve planted annuals at the back – white alyssum near the garage and lobelia (blue) near the house. It’s been a cool spring. Soon I may be able to cook some rhubarb.

April 20, 2001

Planted sweet peas outside on the 14^th. Today I planted a row each of spinach, carrots and lettuce. (Note: These were all seeds.)

May 23, 2001

Just to note, the dwarf lilac (syringa vulgaris) I planted this month is called Prairie Petite. Prune dead or broken branches in spring and other that (prune) right after blooming.

March 3, 2002

Dreamt last night that I had tomatoes and peppers really early in the season in my garden. There was a funny friendly beige and white striped (like a sweater in horizontal bands) rodent living in my garden.

May 6, 2002

Carrots, lettuce, arugula.

May 6, 2003

It looks as if my clematis vine is coming up. I was worried that it had died in that shady spot by the back fence. (Note: My clematis has been thriving in that spot for many years.)

May 29, 2003

Siberian Iris blooming. The anemone sylvestris and pulsatilla have been blooming for a while.

April 19, 2004

A beautiful warm sunny day, though windy, and cumulous clouds. Tulipa tarda coming up. (Note: This is a lovely small yellow perennial tulip that spreads and survives.)

April 20, 2005

Rhubarb just popping up. Strawberry plants, of course, as always greening early.

April 15, 2007

Little yellow crocuses coming up. Raked snow mold – lots – first I can remember here.

May 16, 2017

Through the years I’ve changed my front and back yards, taken out sod, added more perennials, tried different vegetables (I have a small herb and salad garden). Each spring I’m anxious to get out into my yard, see what’s coming up, decide what to rearrange or change. I have a small lot and a small house, but I love to create in the outdoors as much as I love to create with my writing.

Running Away

On Sylvia Tyson’s 1976 album ‘Cool Wind from the North’ there’s a song called ‘River Road.’ The chorus goes:

Here I go, once again,

With my suitcase in my hand

I’m running away down river road

And I swear, once again that I’m never coming home

I’m chasing my dreams down river road.

That’s exactly how I have felt recently.

It’s a quest for freedom, for relief from stress and worry, from certain responsibilities.

I’m sixty-nine and my parents are ninety-four and ninety-one. My mother has dementia, my father has within the space of five months fractured both hips and had hip replacement. When not in hospital my parents are in good long term care two hours away from me. I try to see them once a month there. The hip replacements meant extended hospital stays in the city where I live, so I was up to visit every day. It’s hard to see anyone, much less a parent in distress because of pain, confusion and frustration. There’s really nothing to be done to ease the distress of confusion and frustration. I see the years of decline and think about my own aging.

I retired from my paying job fourteen years ago so that I would have more time to write. Since then, I’ve published four books. Writing is my passion, and I’m still learning and developing. I resent time away from it because I know that I haven’t as much time and energy as I did when I was in my twenties, thirties and even forties. I have more aches and pains now and don’t recover from injuries as quickly.

I believe in finding answers to problems and challenges, but I haven’t found the answer to my current one yet. It seems to me to have something to do with attitude. I continue to think and read about this to try to find the path forward so that I can be as healthy and happy as possible. I don’t want to be an angry, grumpy old lady. So I continue to do yoga nearly every day and go for long walks by the river, as well as to write.

At times it feels as if it’s all I can do to hang on, to go forward. I have friends, but at the worst times it seems too hard even to try to contact anyone or to have to deal with people at all. It requires too much energy. There are times when it’s vital for me to withdraw from the world and try to regain peace, hope and energy.

I still believe in the possibility of finding answers to these challenges. I haven’t ruled out running away.

Creativity’s Chimera

Apparently the ancient Greeks had no word for ‘to create’ or ‘creator’ rather they used a term meaning to make, that applied mainly to poetry. However the various Muses could provide inspiration.

In Judaeo-Christian traditions, creation was the sphere of God and humans could not do it, though they could be inspired.

The origin of the word ‘inspire’ relates to the breathing in of spirit from the divine.

A gradual shift occurred during the Renaissance and into the 1800’s, by which time creativity and imagination became more important.

William Duff (1732 – 1815), a Scottish Presbyterian minister wrote ‘An Essay on Original Genius,’ to “explain the nature of genius and to point out its essential ingredients.”

Gertrude Stein: “It takes a lot of time to be a genius, you have to sit around so much doing nothing, really doing nothing.”

Graham Wallas, in 1926 wrote ‘The Art of Thought,’ describing four stages of the creative process: preparation, incubation, illumination, and verification.

I could go on with the process of charting various writings and theories. I’m also interested, however, in the characteristics of a creative person. I was going to call this bog, Cracking the Creativity Code, but discovered that there are various books and at least one documentary called that.

Some of the characteristics of creative people often cited include independence and autonomy, a wide range of interests, thinking and associating ideas in unusual ways, verbal fluency and an ability to express ideas, productivity, interested in philosophical issues, curiosity, adventurous, and so on.

Eleanor Roosevelt: “Do one thing every day that scares you.”

A recent issue of Scientific American had articles on topics such as ‘The Origins of Creativity’ (when our ancestors started thinking outside the box – or maybe the cave), ‘Predicting Artistic Brilliance’ (self-motivation in childhood), ‘The Unleashed Mind’ (are creative people weirder than the rest of us), and ‘Switching on Creativity’ (freeing the mind for creative problem solving).

My own experiences lead me to believe that creativity begins at birth. By providing babies and toddlers with a variety of experiences – people, places, activities – parents can lay the groundwork for a creative child. By not insisting on one right way to do anything or to think of anything, we can encourage creative thought in our children. By reading to them, letting them listen to music, giving them opportunities to play music, to play with paints and crayons, to run and jump and use their bodies, to make things up, we can nurture continued exploration. I also think that upsetting or difficult events that take a child out of his or her normal situation may contribute to creativity – a major move for instance, death of a loved one, a difficult family situation. Sometimes a child who feels displaced will find solace in creative artistic expression, or will find creative solutions to a difficult situation.

Anatole France: “To know is nothing at all; to imagine is everything.”

But now that I’m getting older, I’m very much aware that creativity is needed at all ages. Is it possible to increase creativity? If you don’t consider yourself a creative person can you become more so? Perhaps it is all a chimera, an illusion. I think that creativity can be spurred by the will, by activity, by dreams, by trying new things. And that can happen at any age, nor does it necessarily diminish with age.

Creativity and innovation is not limited to visual artists, writer, musicians, dancers, actors, etc. but is also found in science and many other areas. Each of us has to be creative in some way to live, to make choices, to find joy. Some people may seem to be more creative than others, but all of us have the capacity.

Pablo Picasso: “The chief enemy of creativity is good sense,” and “I am always doing that which I cannot do, in order that I may learn how to do it.”

Child of Dragons (excerpt) ©Copyright Regine Haensel 2017

Chapter I

Circles

Like a long skinny insect with many legs the caravan creeps over flat, dun-coloured land. A bowl of clear blue encloses us above. We’re only about half a day out of Aquila, City of Eagles, skirting the edge of the desert. The road is packed sand and stones, a decent surface for riding and for the oxen and wagons, but there’s nothing much to look at – scattered ragged bushes and spiny plants. Dust rises and tickles my nose. Sweat gathers under my cotton tunic, and the leather of my riding breeches chaffes my legs. For the last year or so I’ve mostly been wearing skirts and loose robes. I fumble for my water skin, squeeze out a couple of mouthfuls.

By the prickling at the back of my neck I know his eyes are on me. When I glance in his direction I catch his head turning away. He’s been watching me for a while.

I saw him for the first time as Father and I made our way to the caravan meeting place just before dawn. My fourteen-year old brother Samel had refused to stir from his bed, so just the two of us walked yawning through the quiet gradually brightening streets. A few people hurried to early work or to other urgent business. Ahead of us a dark-haired man wearing a black sleeveless tunic with red thead embroidery, along with a sword and quiver of arrows, strode rapidly along.

 A young boy pulling at an obstinate donkey blocked most of the narrow street ahead. With two large baskets hitched over its back the donkey was at least three times the size of the youngster. The boy hauled at the halter rope and yelled, but the beast just leaned in the other direction.

“Rowan,” Father said, “Let’s give him a hand.”

But before we could take another step the man reached the child. “Out of my way,”he yelled. “I’m in a hurry.” And then he shoved the boy knocking him down, and marched on without a backward look.

The boy hit the cobblestones and lay there, though he didn’t let go the rope. The donkey pulled harder dragging the child over the bumpy ground. Father reached the spot in an instant. Laying down my saddlebags, Father righted the boy with one hand and with the other he grabbed the donkey’s rope.

“Are you all right?”  I asked. Blood oozed from scrapes on the boy’s arms and legs. “I have bandages.”

“Thanks,” the boy said. “Don’t need more help.” His eyes flicked here and there as if he expected someone to arrive and scold him.

Father and I watched him for a few moments. For some reason now the donkey decided to obey and ambled peacefully along beside the boy, who limped. I wanted to do more to help, but Father shrugged and picked up the saddlebags. We had little time to spare.

When we reached the caravan just outside the city gates, Father helped me get my saddlebags onto my horse and made sure everything was ship shape. Ursallia, the caravan leader, nodded her approval, then moved off to check a wagon.

“Well,” Father said, “I guess it’s time.”

“Thank you,” I said, “for everything. I mean for buying the horse and the supplies and . . .”

“Rowan,” he interrupted taking a step toward me, “you’re my daughter and . . .” He paused, grasped me by the shoulders. “You’re coming back aren’t you?”

I stood rigidly, attempted a brief laugh. It didn’t sound convincing. “What else would I do?”

“Well,” he said again, then added in a rush, “We want you back.” He gave me a brief hug. “Take care of yourself.” Then he was gone.

 Stupid me. Why couldn’t I have said the right words? My eyes started to itch. I bent to adjust my saddle. A loud voice made me turn.

“Stay away from my horse.” The man in the black tunic was young, not much older than me I thought. He confronted a burly man who stood beside two oxen hitched to a wagon.

“Keep farther away from my team, then,” the burly man growled.

“No quarrels,” Ursallia said in a flat voice. “We’re moving out.”

The book is available on Amazon and Kindle as well as from the author https://www.facebook.com/RegineHaenselwriter/

Negative and Positive

I realized recently that for the last year, probably longer, I’ve been focusing on burdens rather than joy. I want to change that.

Before Christmas 2016 I began reading ‘The Book of Joy’ – His Holiness the Dalai Lama and Bishop Desmond Tutu with Douglas Abrams.

John Cacioppo, Director of Cognitive and Social Neuroscience at the University of Chicago, did some studies in the past in regards to negative brain bias. He’s on to other things now – studying loneliness – and I haven’t been able to find the dates of his negative brain research. However, according to a June 2003 article in Psychology Today, Cacioppo’s research at Ohio State University showed that people reacted differently to positive (e.g. pizza), negative (e.g. a dead cat) and neutral images (e.g. a plate). He found that there was more electrical activity in the brain in response to the negative images. Speculation suggests that being aware of danger (negatives) was and is a survival mechanism.

Roy Baumeister, a professor of social psychology co-wrote an article in 2001 called ‘Bad is Stronger than Good.’ It summarizes research that suggests bad events have more impact on us than good ones and that their effects wear off more slowly than good events.

A professor of business administration at Harvard Business School, Teresa Amabile, found on analyzing diary entries of 238 professionals that the negative results of a setback at work was more than twice as strong as the results of a positive event.

In contrast, according to the on-line Harvard Mental Health Letter (Nov. 2011), “In positive psychology research, gratitude is strongly and consistently associated with greater happiness. Gratitude helps people feel more positive emotions, relish good experiences, improve their health, deal with adversity, and build strong relationships.” The article also suggests ways to cultivate gratitude (e.g. keeping a gratitude journal, mediating, thanking someone, etc.)..

Robert Emmons, a professor of psychology at the University of California has been conducting research on the science of gratitude for eight years. According to his website:

Cultivating an attitude of gratitude is tough.

It is, according to Emmons, a “chosen attitude.” We must be willing to recognize and acknowledge that we are the recipients of an unearned benefit.

I’m getting older. I’ve seen a lot of life, not all of it positive. I’ve watched my parents ageing. I’ve met many challenges. I’m feeling my own aging process. At times I get very tired of it all.  It’s easy to fall into the negatives. But I want to live the best life I can.

One of the stories told in ‘The Book of Joy’ is about a black man (Anthony Ray Hinton) who spent 30 years in prison. He was innocent and when he was finally freed he said many positive things about his approach to life. Here is one:

“I don’t walk around saying, ‘Man, I ain’t got a dollar in my pocket.’ I don’t care about having a dollar in my pocket, what I care about is that I have been blessed to see the sun rise.”