In Fond Remembrance of Me by Howard Norman is quite lovely. What a godawful way to start a blog, "quite lovely?," sweet jesus, I sound like Jessica Fletcher writing a book review.
It's basically one man's recounting of a woman in his life who made him see the world in a different way. The way he writes about her is not too twee or nostalgic, it's just describing his own ignorance when he met her and the little ways in which she got him to think bigger. He was commissioned to translate inuit stories into English, and she was there translating them into Japanese, thus part of the text includes his translations of several inuit Noah and the Arc stories which are, well also quite lovely. Well, as with a lot of Native stories I've read, what they are is quite cheeky and it's amazing how many times people (including myself) miss the point in them given how simply they are told.
Total side bar to what I was actually going to write about, but I actually often relate these types of stories to the way I talk to boyfriends. This is not meant to be insulting to men, but up until recently, I've hung out with mostly boys my whole life and I know they like to be told what you're feeling in clear and simple terms so that's what I do. I also like to be talked to in this way, I hate passive agression and unclear stuff, so we have this in common. It's only sensible to try and be as clear as possible when explaining what's going on in your head to your loved ones.
I give no "well if you don't know what I'm mad about then I'm not going to tell you" kind of bullshit. I state things as clearly as possible eg:"it pisses me off when you sleep with other girls and lie about it," or "I refuse to make you my priority when my father is in the hospital." However, despite my intended clarity and simplicity, many boys still often seem to miss the point. Perhaps I should learn to become more stereotypically female and then at least I would only have myself to blame for their lack of understanding.
And back on to the topic at hand...
The book, you know the one I was talking about before the rant?, just reminds me so much of my feelings towards all the people in my life that have changed my perspective. I am so infinitly grateful for the plentitude of amazing hearts and minds that have affected me in such a way.
The story reminds me most of Vincent Buresi, my friend's uncle who lives in Navacelles in the south of France and who I lived with for most of the duration of my stay there. He's such an eccentric guy, at the time (god, 12 years ago) living the bachelor life with a mangy mutt named Scaff who he fed chicken bones to in the hopes that the dog would choke, though when the dog actually died after 13 years, Vincent was heartbroken. But he got drunk and played the piano alone in his cellar in the late evenings and lived in this town where only 4 people live year round and introduced me to art and the art of argument. Seven years later, my friend Nicky and her husband Mark got married in Navacelles, it was the first time Mark had ever been. They later held a reception in Calgary as many had not been able to attend the wedding, and I was amused to see that all Mark could talk about during his reception speech was Vincent and how Vincent had affected him.
I don't think you ever really know the people who affect you this way, you generally are too focused on what they are doing for you to notice who they really are. It's a strange relationship in that way. I certainly don't know my first belly dancing teacher, Rena, very well but she changed the entire way that I live my life. She changed the way I walk, the way I move through this world. And Dr. Eileen Conway, now a minister at the Anglican church near my house, she taught the first children's literature class I ever took and gave me the first push in any real "direction" that I'd ever had. I knew this woman as a teacher for 3 months, nothing more, and my whole perspective on what was important in reading changed because of her. What I intend to do with my life was brought to me by her and though I have written her emails letting her know as much, she hasn't seen me since she taught the course over eight years ago. And I know I could go and see her any time I wanted, but there's this romantic part of me that wants to keep her the way she was then, this mythic figure who gave me the world.
There are a great many more, my schizophrenic uncle, my dad, my mom, Pickle, David and Marie and the list goes on. I've been lucky and I can only hope everyone reading this has been lucky too.
It's basically one man's recounting of a woman in his life who made him see the world in a different way. The way he writes about her is not too twee or nostalgic, it's just describing his own ignorance when he met her and the little ways in which she got him to think bigger. He was commissioned to translate inuit stories into English, and she was there translating them into Japanese, thus part of the text includes his translations of several inuit Noah and the Arc stories which are, well also quite lovely. Well, as with a lot of Native stories I've read, what they are is quite cheeky and it's amazing how many times people (including myself) miss the point in them given how simply they are told.
Total side bar to what I was actually going to write about, but I actually often relate these types of stories to the way I talk to boyfriends. This is not meant to be insulting to men, but up until recently, I've hung out with mostly boys my whole life and I know they like to be told what you're feeling in clear and simple terms so that's what I do. I also like to be talked to in this way, I hate passive agression and unclear stuff, so we have this in common. It's only sensible to try and be as clear as possible when explaining what's going on in your head to your loved ones.
I give no "well if you don't know what I'm mad about then I'm not going to tell you" kind of bullshit. I state things as clearly as possible eg:"it pisses me off when you sleep with other girls and lie about it," or "I refuse to make you my priority when my father is in the hospital." However, despite my intended clarity and simplicity, many boys still often seem to miss the point. Perhaps I should learn to become more stereotypically female and then at least I would only have myself to blame for their lack of understanding.
And back on to the topic at hand...
The book, you know the one I was talking about before the rant?, just reminds me so much of my feelings towards all the people in my life that have changed my perspective. I am so infinitly grateful for the plentitude of amazing hearts and minds that have affected me in such a way.
The story reminds me most of Vincent Buresi, my friend's uncle who lives in Navacelles in the south of France and who I lived with for most of the duration of my stay there. He's such an eccentric guy, at the time (god, 12 years ago) living the bachelor life with a mangy mutt named Scaff who he fed chicken bones to in the hopes that the dog would choke, though when the dog actually died after 13 years, Vincent was heartbroken. But he got drunk and played the piano alone in his cellar in the late evenings and lived in this town where only 4 people live year round and introduced me to art and the art of argument. Seven years later, my friend Nicky and her husband Mark got married in Navacelles, it was the first time Mark had ever been. They later held a reception in Calgary as many had not been able to attend the wedding, and I was amused to see that all Mark could talk about during his reception speech was Vincent and how Vincent had affected him.
I don't think you ever really know the people who affect you this way, you generally are too focused on what they are doing for you to notice who they really are. It's a strange relationship in that way. I certainly don't know my first belly dancing teacher, Rena, very well but she changed the entire way that I live my life. She changed the way I walk, the way I move through this world. And Dr. Eileen Conway, now a minister at the Anglican church near my house, she taught the first children's literature class I ever took and gave me the first push in any real "direction" that I'd ever had. I knew this woman as a teacher for 3 months, nothing more, and my whole perspective on what was important in reading changed because of her. What I intend to do with my life was brought to me by her and though I have written her emails letting her know as much, she hasn't seen me since she taught the course over eight years ago. And I know I could go and see her any time I wanted, but there's this romantic part of me that wants to keep her the way she was then, this mythic figure who gave me the world.
There are a great many more, my schizophrenic uncle, my dad, my mom, Pickle, David and Marie and the list goes on. I've been lucky and I can only hope everyone reading this has been lucky too.
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