The Pits and Pieces

The other night I watched a PBS documentary on boxing. It’s not something that would normally  interest me, but I was intrigued because of a fellow-blogger. She writes eloquently and passionately  about her wresting life . She speaks of wrestling as an art, of a match as a story, and about the close  family-like bonds that develop. The documentary was titled: Love Conquers Fear – Lessons in Boxing and Life. It takes place in a  small fitness facility in Buffalo, where the owner and coach, Kevin, teaches youth not only boxing, but  how to carry themselves through life.  “How you box is how you do life,” he says to them. He encourages  them to get involved in the community, taking them to plant trees and pick up litter. Coach Kevin is a  marvelous storyteller and all-round human being. The youth see him as a father figure and others in  their group as family. The centre is their second home; within those walls they can be themselves and  learn to release their anger and inner demons in a

E lection Day: Monday September 20, 2021. Yes, a somewhat unnecessary one, but nevertheless here it was. I went down to my polling station around lunchtime to vote. “You already voted at the advance poll,” the woman at the polling booth said to me when she went down the list to find my name. “But I did not!” I replied. She said she would have to make a call. No answer. In the meantime, other voters were streaming in. I was asked to wait outside in the other room. She came out about fifteen minutes later to say she still hadn’t heard back. I gave her my phone number and asked her to call me when she had more information. I returned to my desk at home but could not focus. My insides churned at the thought that I would be denied my right to vote by some administrative error. I needed to vote! I had never not voted in an election in which I was eligible to vote.  An hour later she called back. She told me I would have to fill in a bunch of legally-binding documents stating I had not previo

The other night I listened to an online panel held by the Eden Mills Writers’ Festival. Three authors were interviewed. The theme was: Where is Home?  The writers were all people of colour, from Canadian immigrant families.  EMWF Panel They spoke eloquently and passionately of their fluid identities and multiple layers. The host asked them to define home in three words. If I remember correctly, one said: Safe, Serene, Cozy. Another said: Comfort, Family, Peace. The third:  Family, Food, Friendship. For me, home is one word: belonging. I grew up in Bahrain, a small Middle Eastern island country in the Persian Gulf. I was born there, along with two of my siblings. My father was an expat, hired by a British telecommunications company and brought by them from Karachi to Bahrain on a work permit. He and my mother settled in Bahrain for over 30 years, raising their family there before sending the three older ones to Canada. My younger brother and I arrived in Canada with my parents over 40 y

Like many , I’ve been dreaming of travelling again. It’s been almost two years since I boarded a plane. I pulled a book off my bookshelf and thumbed through it. I bought it in a second-hand bookstore over a decade ago when I first fell in love with hiking in the beautiful, rugged terrain of mountains and canyons. The book sparked many dreams of more hikes, more adventure, more exploration.  The book, Trekking by David Noland (published in 2001) lists 20 great treks.  Over a dozen years after purchasing it, while I haven’t done a single one of those listed, I have done a fair bit of hiking, and a different version of a couple of the hikes listed: # 9 in the book: Peru, The Inca Trail. While I didn’t hike up the Inca trail to Machu Picchu, I did climb Huayna Picchu. #19 on the list: Spain, El Camino de Santiago. I didn’t do the most popular Camino ( Francés ) , but I did part of the Portuguese Camino. I’m currently writing a memoir on that decade of hiking, part travel memoir, part midli

I like how quiet and peaceful cemeteries are. There's a quality of serenity, almost meditative. And there's a story behind every tombstone. There is a cemetery about a fifteen minute drive from home that I especially like. It's set beside a river and woodland trail. Several years ago, I was on a second or third date (middle-age dating, ack!), and as we were walking along the trail we passed by this cemetery. I told him it was one of my favourites. As there were no dogs allowed (he had his with him), he sat outside on a bench and patiently waited while I went into the cemetery to wander around. There are tombstones in there from the 1800's, young children and whole families buried together. What were their stories? (In case you're wondering, the date never really progressed into a relationship. Perhaps a bit too much oddity on my part). A few years ago, while on a solo trip in Croatia, I stopped at a cemetery in the sleepy little town of Buzet. It was up a steep hill

I 've been watching a lot of the US Open. And I mean a lot! Our Canadians have been doing well: Leylah, Felix, Gabby, and Bianca (who lost in an epic match that went into the early hours of the morning). It's funny how I refer to the Canadian players by their first names and all the others by their last. Except for Roger of course, who is in a class by himself. In a country by himself! The country of Exquisite Perfection. But even if you’re not a tennis fan (and if you’re not, why not?), there’s something fascinating about watching individuals win or lose on centre stage, battling alone out there on the court, in front of the whole world. There’s winning with grace and there’s losing with dignity, and in between, a variety of emotions, reactions and personalities. I’ve always admired and envied the focus and intensity of athletes. They know their life purpose, at least for now. It may change later, but right now, right here, they know exactly what they want. And they work damn

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about retirement. I’m not there yet, but slowly sliding into it. And what then, I ask myself? I've been trying out new things. This past year and a half, this pandemic year, staying home has stretched me further. Take my painting endeavours - Please! (Sorry, bad joke). I post them on Instagram and very kind family, friends and strangers ‘like’ them.  They are embarrassingly amateur. But they bring me joy. I’m reminded of that Marie Kondo book (The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up) and, yes, I did buy that book a few years ago. But that’s a story for another day. I’m talking here about sparking joy. So instead of tossing things out, I bought paints and brushes and a small easel and watched hours of You-Tube. You can learn just about anything on You-Tube: how to remove the hard-drive from your computer (did that); how to caulk a shower stall (didn’t do that; hired a handy-man instead); and how to paint.  There’s two opportunities for joy here: watchin