Monday, April 9, 2012

Victory at Vimy; Defeat at the Burlington Public Library

As the granddaughter of a Canadian soldier, killed at Vimy, I am happy to see the effort that many Canadians have put into commemorating the 95th anniversary of this nation-defining event.

Most of us have never experienced war firsthand, paying lip service only at Remembrance Day.

We cannot remember what we have not learned, which is why I contacted the Burlington Public Library last week in order to donate a new copy of a book entitled, Dear Harry, The Firsthand Account of a World War I Infantryman. The late Lt.-Col. Gordon Atkinson, said of the work, “Fascinating and evocative of war. Tim Cook, First World War historian at the Canadian War Museum called it, a thrilling opportunity to gain insight into a little taught era in our heritage.

The Burlington Public Library said, “No thanks.” It seems there is no room in their stacks for a compilation of World War I letters, even at this time of commemoration. Some might view this as one more skirmish in the battle for support of the arts. I see it as a failure to honour our war dead.

It left me to wonder what they do have room for at the library.

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Thursday, April 5, 2012

Why The Oatmeal Burns

Everyone in my household knows why the oatmeal burns. And not just the oatmeal—bacon, eggs, toast—you get the picture. When I wrote my firstbook, Dear Harry, I learned that we are at our most creative early in the morning, which is why every day, after a five-minute exercise routine (that's right, five minutes), I head for the computer and begin working on my various projects, after stopping in the kitchen to get some sort of breakfast started.  

I start it and forget about it; that's the problem. By now (7:45 A.M.),  the dog is on my lap trying to cute me into taking him for a walk, and my husband is calling "What's burning?" Strangely, I never notice the smell myself, I'm so focused on my writing. 

Occasionally I've endured smoke and caused flames to leap out of the microwave, and twice my husband has found me outside sharing a puffer with the dog. He relies on the smoke alarm for his wakeup call (my husband, not the dog) and each year, spring thaw reveals the number of blackened pots I've had to throw into the snow over the winter.    

Whether it's original content for a blogsite, a manuscript appraisal for a client, or the latest chapter of my novel, it all takes priority over the activites of daily living which I quite enjoy once I finish my creative writing and start on my To Do list. 

That reminds me; with Easter coming I'll have to go shopping for cookware. My husband will be preparing the meal, but he'll need some stainless steel to work with.   

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