The rains are here, providing grey-toned contrasts to the sunny moments bright with the reds, oranges and yellows of autumn. It’s time to let go of the warm pleasures of summer—the outdoor adventures and late sunsets viewed from the porch. After so many years, the routine changes and adaptations are expected and welcomed.
Unexpected, unwanted changes are inevitable but harder to adapt to, especially those associated with aging. Perhaps, more about that in another posting.
But for now, it’s a back-to-school atmosphere and gratitude for the ordinary. I’ve stored the summer clothing and brought out the warmer woollens. I’ve harvested the marrows and pruned (some) of the plants for overwintering. There are indoor classes at the recreation centres—Yoga, Pickleball (turns out, it’s a ton of fun) and Swimming. The Instant Pot is dusted off, and the aromas of the soups and stews fill the house. The writing groups start up again and the dark mornings are better for sustaining my writing practice.
Outdoor Pool Memories
But the summer was lovely. It was the 75th Anniversary of the local open-air pool and the community offered complimentary access. It’s an old-school heated pool, thirty metres long. An awkward length and I’m not sure why. The changing rooms are pokey and well-worn.
A regular cohort of soon-familiar bathers showed up most Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings. In the crisp morning air, golden fingers of dawn stretched up over the East wall. The water transformed—glistening and diamond-filled, as we splashed up and down the lanes. Magical, like being a kid again.
I’m reminded of an outdoor pool in Ontario in the ’60s; two years before the national celebration of EXPO 67. My siblings and I, all under ten, with a few neighbourhood kids, trekked to the pool. Sometimes, a kid rode his banana seat bike. Not a minor feat, considering the route.
My older brother was in charge of the quarters required for admission. There were no sun hats, no sunscreen, no snacks, and no water bottles. There were no parents. Wearing our bathing suits, K-Mart flip flops and carrying our beach towels, we’d hike through the subdivision and then north on a narrow trail through the woods beside the Oshawa Creek. How far? Maybe a mile. We were an Imperial country then. At the place, where the water was shallow, we forded the creek to the pool, Somerset Pool. It’s filled in now. Repurposed. We’d wade across the muddy creek or hop from slippery rock to rock. Stones were thrown and skipped. We’d scamper up the grassy bank to the pool—a blue rectangle of water, sparkling on a dry, hot summer’s day.
Diving, cannonballing, pushing, running, splashing. Lifeguards shouting. Whistles blowing. The pool was evacuated for unknown reasons on an unknown schedule. Then, it would start all over again—diving, cannonballing, pushing, running, splashing. Kids flopping, exhausted on the hot concrete to warm up and dry off.
No one had a watch. Was there even a time we were supposed to be back? Somehow the decision was made. We’d slurp down a couple of mouthfuls of water from the water fountain and troop home. Sliding down the bank and wading across the creek, hiking down the root-crossed path, taking the tricky shortcuts through the neighbours’ gardens to get back.
Home with peeling noses, tender shoulders, muddy shins and stubbed toes. Swimsuits damp, and beach towels, heavy and muddy. To slake our thirst, a plastic jug of purple Kool-Aid—carefully made, trying not to spill the sugar or there’d be trouble. And sometimes a fight, deciding how to share the two remaining homemade popsicles. We’d collapse on the old couch in the cool of the basement.
Canadian Short Story Collections I’ve been reading
In September, I read a few short fiction collections, by Canadian authors and publishers. All are available at the Vancouver Island Regional Library—a fabulous resource. But if you can, buy these books
Carolyne Adderson’s A Way To Be Happy is an eclectic collection of characters in unusual situations. A pick-pocketing unhoused person at a New Year’s Eve party, male fragility in the setting of colonoscopy, missing dogs, phone sex, TOEFL teachers, sperm donators, fork-lift drivers. And my favourite, is the female character whose “excessive novel reading” results in her incarceration in an asylum.
In Caroline Adderson’s contribution to Resonance, essays on the craft and life of writing, edited by Andrew Chesham and Laura Farina, she writes “the character element…which …creates plot, is motivation.” Indeed.
Alex Ohlin’s We Want What We Want examines painful abandonments, rejection and loss. Mistaken loyalties and subsequent betrayals. Who has power and who is a victim? I enjoyed the drunken, palliative care nurses decompressing at their dart’s night in the local pub.
The author, Jann Everard is new to me. Her collection, Blue Runaways, explores dramatic physical losses (deaths and mutilations) in diverse settings. The stories are vivid and provocative. “The Robe” is so much more than your typical mother-daughter drama.
While not short fiction, Bad Ideas by Missy Marston, is loaded with lovable misfits in the Canadian setting of the St Lawrence Seaway. Fascinating history and great use of multiple POVs. Will Jules succeed in navigating his rocket car across the St Lawrence?
And what about an interconnected short fiction collection? Good Citizens Need Not Fear by Maria Reva’s explores the absurdity of surviving in the Ukraine, pre and post-1989. Zaya, warehoused in an orphanage, with her socially unacceptable deformity, escapes and finds allies to help her make her way. But where and what is home?
Happy fall and happy reading to you all.
