Boozy librarians & old card catalogues

Contrary to the long-standing prim image of those in our profession, most of the librarians I went to grad school with were a pretty boozy bunch (yours truly included) and from what I've seen and heard, that trend has continued. Of course having the university's grad students' pub conveniently located a hop, skip, and stumble down the hall from our classrooms might have had something to do with upping the stats!

In tribute to those wonderful albeit fuzzy memories of days - and nights - gone by, here's the perfect gift for the oenophile librarian or the bibliophile wine-lover... a beautiful old card catalogue recycled as a wine cabinet!

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Turning the page...

As I've mentioned previously, I've been thinking about my writing and this blog and my journal and my journey, and I had a bit of a revelation that's helped me to make a decision.

Last week I finished reading one of the several books I had on the go: The Alchemy of Loss. (It was on my Christmas list but didn't make it under the tree, I guess Santa thought it was a bit grim!) Now before you get all worried because you think I'm reading too many 'widow' books, read on...

This remarkable book was written by a young Canadian woman, Abigail Carter, whose husband Arron died at the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. She wrote her story as a way to recover, a way through the fog of her widowhood, a remembrance for her young children who will have very faint memories of their father by the time they're old enough to understand what their mother struggled through… As she wryly notes, she wrote the book that she had hoped to find when she was struggling through the early years of her loss.

What especially struck me about Abigail’s story was the raw honesty of her writing. She talks candidly about her ever-changing roller coaster of emotions, ranging from crushing love to raging frustration with her children; gratefulness and anger at her parents; disappointment and eagerness in her eventual albeit tentative re-entry into the dating world; disillusionment and gratitude with her husband’s company legal representative; and so on across the cast of many people who helped her along her journey.

I couldn’t help but wonder what they all thought when reading passages about themselves in this book. Whether Abigail told all these people what she had written or gave them a preview before the book was published is unknown; she does thank many of them in her introduction. But I was impressed by her unflinching honesty. She told her own story – in all its pain and rage and love and helplessness and appreciation and humour and oddness. It was her way forward and she knew that the people who meant most to her would stick by her, for better or for worse.

When I began this blog, I thought it would be a communal place where Chris’ loved ones could bring their stories and we could share our memories and our sadness. But in the end that wasn't really what it was about… it was about me and my journey. Because I knew that many of Chris’ friends and family were reading this blog, I kept many things to myself (or to my counsellor!). But in recent months, I’ve found myself feeling constrained in my writing by the knowledge of who many of my readers are. I didn’t want to upset people or worry them but I’ve grown frustrated by that self-imposed embargo.

I considered abandoning this blog and perhaps beginning another one – anonymously, without notice - where I could express my pain and joy without judgement or fear of causing worry among loved ones. Or I could simply continue self-editing and use my journal – and my counsellor – to breathe… or both… or neither…

But then I read Abigail’s story and I realized that I was tired of worrying about what everyone else thought and that I just wanted to tell my truth. So dear readers, loved ones and strangers, you may read a different shade of me now. You may read things that are upsetting or worrisome. You may also read things that are amusing and deeply personal. If you know me, you'll recognize me - if you don't, you'll get to know me.

Fear not, I’m not falling into a dark pit of despair. Like everyone, I have dark days and light nights interspersed with humdrum errands and busy appointments. You mustn’t fuss and fret. I wouldn’t have thought it possible a year and a half ago but look how far I’ve travelled. I’m making up the roadmap as I go along so let me stretch my legs - I couldn’t have come this far without you.
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With this ring...

I recently read The Pilot's Wife - not sure why I hadn't read it earlier but whatever. The plot (for those who haven't read it this is not considered spoiler info) centres on a woman who's husband - the Pilot - dies in a dramatic plane crash, along with all the other people on board, and the secrets she discovers about him after his death.

Oddly, the widowhood angle didn't really send up any major warning flags for me before I started reading the book - I just thought it looked like an interesting story. D'OH!! But it was OK - I didn't get all freaked out and ricochet off on some wild emotional roller coaster (hmm, maybe that is weird...). Her reactions and emotions in the aftermath of her husband's death were startlingly real and very well portrayed. I think I read somewhere that the author, Anita Shreve, did do quite a bit of research into grief responses, etc. when writing the book. (Ultimately, I was disappointed by the book - the plot was quite predictable and contrived, it left me bored.)

Anyhow, one scene that struck me was when Kathryn throws her wedding ring into the ocean where her husband's plane crashed. Without getting into plot spoilers, it was interesting to ponder her reasons for doing so. In the book she thinks to herself: To be relieved of love is to give up a terrible burden.

When my mom and dad each died, I buried their wedding rings with their ashes. I didn't really have any interest in keeping their wedding rings for myself (sentimental reasons or whatever) and I have no children to pass them onto so it didn't seem to make sense. I supose I could have had them melted down along with some other pieces and made into something else but I didn't.

I didn't keep Chris' wedding ring either. I had the funeral home place it in the urn with his ashes along with his boyhood dog Sasha's collar tag that he kept on his keychain. (He forgot his keys at home when we went to Barbados and I swear he fretted every day worrying that he had lost Sasha's tag.) I don't know what I would have done with Chris' ring had I kept it - I felt that it belonged with him, it was part of who he was... and it was a part of me that would always be with him. It was sweetly inscribed S loves C.

A friend of mine kept her husband's wedding ring after he died and she wears it on a chain around her neck but she still wears her own. Another widow I know wears her wedding ring on her right hand now. I still wear mine on my 'wedding' finger. I know that some think that it's time for me to stop wearing it but I don't really care. In my heart I still feel married. I'm still in love with Chris. I'm not ready to stop wearing it. Besides, it's a beautiful one-of-a-kind ring that I really like.

Perhaps love is a terrible burden in some ways. Remember the scene from Love Actually when Liam Neeson gently pries into his step-son's worries and laughs upon discovering that the young boy is love: "...I thought it would be something worse." To which Sam replies "Worse than the total agony of being in love?"

I don't feel pain or sadness when I look at my wedding ring. It reminds me that I was once so fortunate to love and be loved - C loves S.
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Knee bone connected to the thigh bone...

So I found the computer/printer/DSL and managed to set it up all by my lonesome (this was always Chris' area of expertise)... everything works and I don't have any extra cables left over so I guess I did it right!

The move went as well as could be expected after arriving home from Iceland 12 hours earlier + a 4-hour time difference + very little sleep thanks to a whiney, lonely cat who shall remain nameless. BTW I don't recommend this type of intense insanity.

My success with the computer was somewhat undercut by the TV/DVD/VCR (yes I still have one)/cable hook-up. I even took a photo of the wiring connections before I packed everything up in the old apt! Despite three repeated hook-ups and complete rip-outs still nothing but crackling snow, which is charming on a crisp February morning but not so much after the departure of the cable guy. I gave up and called for help, turns out cable guy # 1 didn't actually connect the cable in the basement to anything! Thank you cable guy # 2.

And then there was the stereo (cue choir of angels). This was usually the first thing Chris set up, having always bought a special "moving in to a new place" CD to christian the event, so I was somewhat nervous about figuring out how to set up a "real" stereo system. Aside from the speaker wires being too short for where I want to put them, all is working so far. Pat on the back for me (and the reasonably explicit instructions and pictures in the manuals!).

But of course every move culminates in the unpacking of The Book Collection (only 11 boxes this time). Because I'm a book/library geek and into design porn (no, not porn design) I decided that when I unpacked my books I would try the sort by colour method that's so trendy on the 'net these days. It does however bring back haunting memories of post-BA minimum wage slavery at SmithBooks when I was often asked for some mysterious book that could only be remembered by its jacket cover colour.

Pictured below is the result of my ridiculously time-wasting little project (collection policy: coloured jacket fiction only, organized in the traditional visible spectrum colour range, many black & yellowing jackets left out simply for the sake of artistic vision, small selection of black covers serve as book-ends to frame the colours, single white cover chosen for its ironic title). Feel free to click on the pic below for full-size version to critique and compare (yes these are all my own books and no I haven't read them all... yet). Now this is just temporary and for fun, I'm waaay too anal to leave them like this!

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Purging & packing

Have I mentioned how much I HATE PACKING!?

Don't get me wrong, I'm really excited about moving into my own little house but bloody hell... Just when I think I've finally whittled my belongings down to a sleek, manageable amount I look at the growing pile of boxes and struggle to understand how 10 of those are just books! And, I've weeded my collection TWICE this past year! [sigh]

I consider the pile of boxes that I've packed so far and wonder how I would feel if all of them suddenly disappeared or exploded or were mysteriously lost during the move... Aside from photo albums and some really lovely, unique things that I've bought over the years or that I inherited from my mom & dad, I honestly think it might be a refreshing (albeit drastic) way to strip my possessions down to basics. Very Zen. Very William Morris.

Back to reality: the purging and packing continues. Anyone who knows me knows that I hate clutter and the mindless consumerism that drives our lust for pretty, new toys (even when I like said pretty, new toys - hey I'm not made of sackcloth & ashes!). I've actually managed to throw out very little in recent years. I donate clothing and housewares to organizations such as Goodwill, Value Village, and other local "resale" organizations - many of which are run by charitable organizations. (Besides, vintage/retro clothing and home decor have become so trendy in recent years it's almost ridiculous!)

Most of my donated books that aren't passed along to friends, go to the local public library where they are added to the collection or sold at the hugely popular annual fund-raising book sale. Now that I'm moving I've been selling some furniture via a "digital yard sale" (i.e. an e-mail to everyone I know in the local area code!) as well as on kijiji. Other sites such as Craig's List and FreeCycle offer similar services.

When I move into my house and maybe decide to do a bit of renovating/re-decorating, I'll probably donate salvageable materials to Habitat for Humanity's ReStore outlet. It keeps perfectly good materials out of landfill, reduces the demand for natural resources, and provides employment and funds for that organization's valuable international work.

Don't just recycle - re-think, refuse, reduce, reuse, repair, and then recycle what ever's left over. (OK, time to get off my little soapbox and get back to packing!)
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Love is a mix tape

Anyone who came of age during the 80's or 90's has no doubt been the creator and/or the recipient of a mix tape. I certainly was, I even have memories of taping songs from the radio onto my funky white plastic portable cassette recorder/player (it was the late 70's, cut me some slack).

Mix tapes heralded the beginning of individuals creating, in effect, soundtracks for their own lives... self-publishing before the world of YouTube existed. The mix tape was the first step towards what we now take for granted in the modern world of 'pick & choose' MP3 music.

Most of you will remember the popular movie High Fidelity, based on Nick Hornby's book of the same title - a classic tribute to music and love and mix tapes. There was even a Friends episode in which Chandler gives Monica a mix tape for Valentine's Day - sufficed to say that despite his good intentions the evening did not end well.

Chris made me several CD compilations over the years. The first he titled Here's Hopin' and gave to me the summer we started going out - apparently he was smitten and wasn't afraid to let me know! Others included one for Valentine's Day entitled Better Than Flowers (hmmm) and a blues-themed one I received for a birthday entitled Don't Nobody Know My Troubles but God. He also made compilations for family and friends - sharing music was his way of telling them he loved them.

A while back a fellow librarian, knowing of Chris' death, recommended a book entitled Love is a Mix Tape by music journalist and life-long creator of mix tapes Rob Sheffield. The autobiographical book recounts his time in Charlottesville, Virginia during the 1990's where he fell head over heels in love with fellow mix tape aficionado Renée Crist "a hell-raising Appalachian punk-rock girl". Not quite six years after their wedding, Renée died very suddenly from a pulmonary embolism at the age of 31.

In many ways this book is Sheffield's tribute to Renée but it's also the story of his slow and sometimes painful musical journey back into the world of light and laughter. It's been described as the happiest, sad story you'll ever read. This is a funny and well-written story - I smiled and laughed throughout this book. Of course I cried as well - how could I not?

I think Chris would have enjoyed the story of Rob and Renée - he would have recognized wry similarities in the 'opposites attract' stories. (Although I'm sure he would have taken issue with some of the musical selections or the way they were put together. Like most music junkies, he was very opinionated about how to put together a great compilation - how the songs worked together was just as important as the songs themselves!)

If you enjoy a good mix tape, you'll enjoy this book. It will bring a smile to your face.
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Too much stuff

Inspired by a friend and fellow librarian who sent me a posting from one of my favourite blogs - Unclutterer - I took a good, hard look at my bookshelves and then went to town. I decided to once again try sorting my books into read and unread - a scheme I've used in the past with some success but became bored with. I was horrified to discover that nearly half the books on two full bookcases were UNREAD (I won't humiliate myself by providing examples)!! My excuse is that many are Chris' books... some are in Cyrillic!

Despite having purged about four boxes of books before we moved two years ago and another four boxes of non-fiction after Chris passed away, I realized that it had been a loooong time since I had cast a critical and realistic eye on my book collection. The Russian classics in Cyrillic were weeded, as were one pair of the inexplicably duplicate copies of both The Iliad and The Odyssey. I'm still waffling on the pile of Robertson Davies - a favourite of Chris' but not so much mine. The give-aways have gone to friends, our apt building's book exchange cupboard, and the library.

Call it spring cleaning if you wish but those of you who know me know that I love to get rid of clutter. In my fantasy life I aspire to these inspiring words of William Morris: "Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful". In reality I have been known to verge on mild panic attacks when feeling overwhelmed by too much clutter!

Those of you who knew Chris knew that he was not afflicted by this difficult condition. :-) So I guess we were a healthy match - he wouldn't let me get rid of things that we really shouldn't and I wouldn't let him hoard things that we really didn't need. Like bundles of ten-year old pay stubs, manuals for obsolete software, and one rusty hubcap for a car we didn't own (in case you're not sure, these are things deemed unnecessary for us to keep).

My dad often used to say that one person's trash is another's treasure... of course he was a delighted recipient and wheeler-dealer of many people's 'trash' over the years. (My purging tendencies are no doubt a direct albeit unintended result of his influence.) But while I love to get rid of stuff, being an eco-witch means I'm loath to throw things in the garbage so I'm a long-time fan of thrift stores, freecycling, and swap parties (see earlier reference to "one person's trash...").

On that note, go out and celebrate Earth Day tomorrow by not buying over-packaged, cheaply-made stuff you don't really need; get rid of some of the stuff you already have too much of; and give away what we all need more of: laughter, hugs, and kindness.
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It's a small EPS world

Several months ago, I stumbled across an Internet reference to a book entitled Barry's Stolen Life. The book was written by Linda Sweetland about her 28 year old son Barry who died of complications from kidney disease in 2003.

What made me take a second - and then a third - look at this reference was the startling series of coincidences between Barry and Chris' stories. In the end I ordered a copy of the book for myself and read it in one sitting. The book is self-published and is - as many such projects are - a labour of love rather than a literary masterpiece.

Like Chris, Barry was born seemingly healthy but began to show evidence of underlying problems at a young age. The coincidences begin: both were diagnosed with Reflux Nephropathy at a young age; both had surgery in an attempt to correct the problem; both were ultimately diagnosed with End Stage Renal Disease; both underwent hemodialysis, kidney transplants, and peritoneal dialysis; both suffered through peritonitis; both lived active and happy lives; and both married their sweethearts shortly before their sudden deaths. Barry and Becky were married for little over two weeks. Chris and I had nine months.

It was complications from the relatively innocuous peritoneal dialysis that caused them both to develop a rare condition called Encapsulating Peritoneal Sclerosis (EPS). The condition seems to mainly occur in patients who have undergone peritoneal dialysis for longer than five years. The statistics rise the longer the treatment is used – but even so the rate hovers around a lowly 3% of dialysis patients who develop EPS. Chris' team of nephrology specialists had seen less than a handful of cases over the span of 20 years in the field.

Even specialists studying EPS do not yet understand what triggers it in some patients but not others. EPS causes the normally tissue-thin peritoneal membrane to become thickened and impenetrable, making the fluid exchange of dialysis impossible but also slowly encasing the digestive organs thereby cutting off nutrient absorption.

Chris had undergone several surgeries and was receiving experimental drug therapy for his EPS – we’ll never know if he would have been cured. Barry suffered terribly from the condition and in my heart I am relieved that Chris (and I) never had to endure such distress. He never expressed regrets for having chosen peritoneal dialysis as a treatment method. He always spoke of the freedom it gave him - to travel, to work, to live.

According to the book, a percentage of the profits from its sale will be donated to research into the condition. The International Society for Peritoneal Dialysis is working with several specialists to create an international EPS registry to aid in the research of this rare condition.

You may be wondering how I could read Linda's book. I’m not sure. I’m a reader, a learner, by nature. It’s one of the ways I understand life and cope with issues I don’t understand. As well, the coincidences were almost freakish and I wanted to see how someone else had coped with such similar experiences. We're all learning and that doesn't always mean choosing the easiest path.
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Like a pebble in my shoe...

I’ve been going through Chris’ things. I slowly triage the boxes and books, the clothes and the CDs. But some things I can’t do anything with. His shoes for instance... I can’t bring myself to even remove them from the shoe rack. A person needs shoes, especially in the winter! If he came back and found all his shoes gone, what would he do...

We wear in our shoes. We break them in. We leave an imprint of ourselves, our weight, our gait, in our shoes. How could they be anyone else’s? They’re so personal, so individual.

I recently read a poem entitled Death in Absentia which contains these evocative words: Like a pebble in my shoe / I’ll walk with you for the remainder of my days.

So what else can I do but keep Chris’ shoes? Joan Didion wrote so very eloquently about this heartbreaking and illogical dilemma in The Year of Magical Thinking. I remember thinking her predicament odd when I read the book, but now I understand.

So many things in life seem odd until we experience them... and then we understand. We walk a new path - in someone else’s shoes.
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Brotherly love

Chris' brother Ryan gave me a lovely gift this weekend. It’s a copy of a forthcoming book from Random House entitled Hockey's Young Guns which Ryan co-authored for The Hockey News where he is a writer. Chris was pretty proud of his “kid” brother and kept abreast of his latest articles and interviews but this would really have made him burst his buttons!

When Ryan presented me with this gift I had no idea that he had included a special tribute to Chris who passed away before knowing that the book was forthcoming. The dedication page contains just two simple but poignant words: for Chris

I know that Ryan will carry his big brother’s spirit and love with him throughout his life’s journey. And I know that his big brother will always walk beside him.
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Ashes to ashes, dust to dust

We buried Chris' ashes today.

It was the kind of day that Chris would have loved: blue, blue skies; bright, golden sunshine; a light refreshing breeze blowing through the red, orange, yellow and green leaves; not too warm - a perfect September day. Fall was Chris' favourite season and he often said that September weather was the best of the year. He was usually right!

We buried his ashes in lovely clearing beneath three soaring trees deep in the heart of one of the oldest cemeteries in London. It's a beautiful, tranquil retreat from the noise and bustle of the city. Chris & I often walked there, as do many people in the neighbourhood, enjoying its park-like setting. I know that he will rest peacefully there with the birds and squirrels to bring him the news of the day between my visits.

This is the poem I read at his burial:

Music I Heard
By Conrad Aiken

Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread;
Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
All that was once so beautiful is dead.

Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, beloved,
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.

For it was in my heart that you moved among them,
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes;
And in my heart they will remember always, -
They knew you once, O beautiful and wise.

I also read the closing chapter of Trumpet of the Swan, one of Chris' favourite books. For those not familiar with the book, it was written by renowned children's author E.B. White who also wrote the beloved Charlotte's Web.

Trumpet of the Swan is the story of Louis, a trumpeter swan who was born mute and how he overcomes his handicap with creative thinking, determination, and the support of family and friends. Along the way he has many adventures and eventually meets the swan of his dreams whom he woos with his musical prowess. It's easy to understand why Chris loved this story and why it was particularly resonant to him. I think he would have liked the simple pleasure of this tribute.

Rest in peace my love.
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More late night reading

Former U.S. Poet Laureate Donald Hall wrote a volume of poetry entitled Without: Poems after his poet wife Jane Kenyon died of leukemia in 1995. The poems are raw and touching and so full of love and pain. Anyone who has experienced love and loss will find his words resonant.

Is the ultimate experience of intimacy to watch a loved one die? Such an incredible gift to the dying one, such a responsibility for the survivor.

Into the light

This hauntingly beautiful quote was posted by Elizabeth, a fellow Russian studies classmate of Chris'. It is from Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, one of Chris' favourite books by one of his favourite authors.

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". . . his whole heart blazed up and turned towards some kind of light, and he wanted to live and live, to go on and on along some path, towards the new, beckoning light, and to hurry, hurry, right now, at once!"

Bon voyage

After we got back from Barbados in April, Chris and I talked about doing some "real" travelling. That trip was a real watershed moment for Chris, trusting in the skill and services of a faraway dialysis clinic where he literally put his life in the hands of the staff. He was very pleased with the service at Island Dialysis in Barbados and even wrote a cover story about his experiences for his home dialysis unit's newsletter!

Here are some of the places we talked about visiting: Iceland (of course!), Scotland, Ireland, Italy, Sweden, Finland, Japan, and New Zealand. These are some of the places that Chris had already travelled to over the years: Belarus, Russia, Denmark, Germany, Poland, Lithuania; Canada: Alberta, Saskatchewan, Manitoba, Quebec, Nova Scotia; USA: Michigan, New York (state), and Pennsylvania.

I have been reading the travel journal that he faithfully kept when he went to study in Belarus in 1995-96. It is a wonderful keepsake that captures his day-to-day adventures as well as his reflections about everything from being far from home and family to Communist doctrine! As I read (actually more like decipher his minuscule chicken scratch!) the pages, I can hear his voice in my mind as if he were reading the journal out loud. I will treasure this journal as long as I live. Bon voyage my love... au revoir.

Late night reading

I've been reading a lot to help me through this darkness. These are some that have touched home for me:

The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion (thank you Sarah)

Giving Sorrow Words: how to cope with grief and get on with your life by Candy Lightner (founder of MADD) & Nancy Hathaway

I'm Grieving as Fast as I Can: how young widows and widowers can cope and heal by Linda Sones Feinberg

These are a few of Chris' favourite things...

Interests/Hobbies: Cooking, Social Network Analysis (how ironic), Photography, Reading, Listening to Music, Chess, Cricket

Favorite Music: The Cure, John Lennon, Motown, Pixies, Catherine Wheel, Josh Rouse, Radiohead, Sigur Ros, Peter Gabriel, The Smiths, Belle and Sebastian, James, Daniel Lanois, Bonnie "Prince" Billy, My Morning Jacket, early Suede, Hot Hot Heat, REM, Tahiti 80, Manu Chao, Arcade Fire, Elliott Smith, The Decemberists, Leonard Cohen, Lucinda Williams, Rufus Wainwright, Louden Wainwright III, Martha Wainwright, Feist, Cat Power, James, Dumas, Depeche Mode, Elbow, The Dears, Modest Mouse, New Order, Beth Orton, Sloan, 54-40, Skydiggers, Neil Young

Favorite TV: Lost, Food Jammers, Food Network, Rick Mercer Report, The Hour, This Hour has 22 Minutes, Dead Like Me, Jeopardy

Favorite Books: What's Bred in the Bone, Les Miserables, The Englishman's Boy, Trumpet of the Swan, Brothers Karamazov, A Clockwork Orange, A Fine Balance, Power of One, High Fidelity, Fall on your Knees