the canadian chronicles

observations of a South African émigré



The best are those days when you forget you backed The Oatmeal’s latest awesome project, and it arrives in the mail like a little Happy Unbirthday present.

PS – Always ensure you order the NSFW add ons. They’re disgustingly wonderful.


Fall(se) Starts?

leavesSomething that I realise still seems alien to me, even after all these years of living in Canada, is how the new school year starts in September.

All my life, the school year has run with the calendar year. Logical, no? It means that as the year itself draws to a close, so does work, exams, etc. It’s so much more psychologically sound to feel like you’re wrapping up everything from one year and preparing to enter a new year with a fresh start. I can’t imagine starting a new grade near the end of one year, breaking for Christmas, and then starting up again in a new one. And it’s a similar feeling with work.

Of course I get that when you’re from the Southern Hemisphere, your longer holidays are over the summer, which coincides with Christmas time, versus having your longer holidays be mid year. But it just feels all wrong. And it’s totally unfair that when the weather starts to turn cold and leaves are tumbling off the trees (like pieces of your soul plummeting to earth), you’re supposed to be all gung ho about work or school (or like me, both because some of my work is at a school), when all you really want to do is crawl under a duvet and hibernate till spring.


And don’t even get me started on Pumpkin Spice Everything…



Poor Jealousy-with-a-capital-J

Othello - Green eyed monster

I can’t remember where I read it, but I recall that a while back I saw something that struck me as very true. To paraphrase the mystery source, when you feel yourself becoming jealous of something that someone else is doing, it’s very likely because you feel like this is something you yourself should be doing.

Now while I can attest to twitches of jealousy while watching acquaintances enjoy their trust funds,  for example, that pales in comparison to the rageful yet prim Jealousy-with-a capital-J who has reared her head to hear a friend is writing in a serious and/or recognized way – like getting published, joining a writing group, finding a literary agent, or having their blogs picked up by online magazines.

Am I not a despicable human? Of course I am.

That is not to say that I am not deeply happy for that person at the same time (but only if they really are a true friend of mine😉 ), and that I wouldn’t promote the crap out of their book/articles/websites etc., but I don’t get possessed by the same burning, ugly little gnome when a friend has reached success with a band or job or, as happened recently with a friend, in provincial politics.

An Ugly Girl-Child in a Buttoned Up Frock

I have been puzzling a lot over this Jealousy. She is a wheedly, sharply ugly girl-child in a frock buttoned right up to the neck, with an odd twist in her mouth. And I have been trying to get to know her better. How can I soften her, this Jealousy-with-a-capital-J? How do I teach her not to hold herself so brittle-ly? Because she is, quite sadly, carrying a shame at not working hard enough to achieve the desire to finish a novel and attempt to get it published. And it is that which is twisting her mouth and making her think such small, bitter thoughts.

And so, if she can’t bring herself to relent a little, how do I get her to at least ignore those feelings (the shame and the disappointment in herself and the anger towards others), so she can concentrate on her own affairs? I think that I have found a small answer – and a direction for her acid tongue.

An Unprompted Smile from the Prim Little Thing

I’m distracting her more by forcing her to blog again. I’ve fed her stingy little soul by writing again. I’ve allowed her to make a friend who has been providing her with some great research and detail for her story. And I could swear the other day she actually uncrossed her ankles , unfolded her hands from her lap, had a little bit of colour in her cheeks, and maybe even quirked a smile unprompted.

She shows promise, poor thing.

How can I not love her just a little?



A Georgette Heyer Bonanza

20160916_123508A few months ago, a fabulous friend of mine asked me participate in a new podcast she’s working on. The premise? All guests would be allocated a Georgette Heyer (1902-1974) book and we’d discuss it. Given that I was about to spend a month and a bit in a very small, isolated location, I was sure I’d have to wait until back in the city to purchase said book and then arrange the recording. Now Georgette Heyer (pronounced ‘Hair’) is a bit of a mystery, as she was a prolific but very private writer. She was genre-defining (Regency Romance) and by all accounts, a little bit of an oddity. But if you’re a Jane Austen fan, then it’s like being able to discover the same sort of world.

Who Is This E. Gordon?

Anyway, within a few days of arriving, I visited the absolutely wonderful bookstore on the island (oh how I love this place: it has not just a bookstore, but a library AND a huge book-by-donation section at the recycling depot) and wandered the shelves. On impulse, I asked the owner, Liz (yes, I’d already made friends), if she had any GH books. She looked at me a little quizzically and then said, you know, it’s weird but I got a whole stack in about a month ago, and she lead me to the used section in the sunny atrium and showed me a pile of what is almost every single GH book, lovingly marked as being the property of E.Gordon. (Who is this E. Gordon? Why did s/he donate the whole collection? why part with it now, given that most of the books are about 50 years old? Mystery!).

How Could I Say No?

I dutifully carried my assigned book (along with a pile of several others, including these two) home, restraining myself from buying more from the tempting pile. And then I promptly went back to buy the whole collection. On my last day on the island, I of course went back to the bookstore for a final browse. As soon as I walked in, Liz says “I found three more!”.

And so now, I am back in the city, ploughing through every one of about 30 wonderful, rolicking books and enjoying them all.

Thanks E. Gordon!

Flotsam & Jetsam III





Flotsam & Jetsam II




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