Source: torturedcreative.blogspot.com Rehtaeh Canning is the Halifax teen who committed suicide following an alleged gang rape & online bullying. Since Rehtaeh's father's blog about his daughter has been overwhelmed by responses, I've decided to post my message to him & Rehtaeh's loved ones as an open letter here: Dear Mr. Canning, There are simply NO words to express the deep-felt sympathy I, and countless others, feel for you, your family and Rehtaeh's loved ones. Someday, many of those loved ones will want the answer to the following question: Why do we continue to fail our children, children just like Rehtaeh, in a country like Canada? Every single one of us has a responsibility to the children in our communities, and especially our governments: ALL levels of government. Yet, how many times do we hear that issue on the eve of any election? Although I have no children of my own, I have spent many hours contributing to the lobby of all those government levels, both as a teacher and as the former education manager of an organization that advocates for children's rights. I was once asked in an interview if there was something I hoped to convey through my writing. An excerpt of my answer: "I want to convey the depth of my conviction that our greatest failure has been and continues to be our repeated dismissal as a society of every child's right to grow up in dignity in an equitable world - a world safe from war and fear. Conversely, our greatest accomplishments are those times we've chosen to uphold and protect those fundamental rights, in creating communities where children can play, and laugh, and learn and grow into their full potential." Some days on the journey to upholding and protecting children's rights, the complacency of many is incomprehensible. However, there ARE others: Compassionate, creative and determined people who want to help change this for our children. Find these people. Keep the one's you've already found close to you. Let them hold you up when you feel you are about to fall. The best ones may lift you up. May your positive memories of Rehtaeh live in and through you forever. That is my heart-felt wish for you & your loved ones. Sincerely, Dina
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We've all heard of life's two certainties: Death and taxes. In sizing up my life, I prefer to think of those certainties as writers' group and Sunday potlucks. At last Sunday's gathering, one of the regulars observed that our soirées reminded him of the salons hosted by Gertrude Stein & AliceToklas. . . . . .but with less wit?! Really?? Well, something would have to be done about that! So, I penned another stroem--this one's more story than poem--called OUTWIT to read at this Sunday's potluck gathering. Now, I'm no Dorothy Parker, but if you've got a hankering for some wit, here's a 2-page tale about the fallout after a Newbie Visits a Sex Shop Feel free to send your feedback. This is a first draft. Here's to a witty week! Cheers, TartanFrog (aka Dina) Caution: This blog will only interest oddballs (read: crackpot nut jobs) like me who research (read: obsess about) history and culture. Feel free to move on if you think you're more normal, or if chewing on cultural history makes you want to eat dirt. The deal's this: Ever since the BIG MOVE, I've been rifling through the litter of my past inside those cloning boxes of STUFF I can't seem to part with. The latest find: A final draft of a term paper I wrote for a university course called Canadian Cultural Landscapes. Divided Landscapes and Fragmented Identities Excerpt "At the intersection of identity and history around the time of Confederation, I find my narrative: myself, marginalized, fractured and fragmented. I am an Acadian Woman and from my maternal grandmother, the blood of my aboriginal sisters and brothers courses through my veins. What then, where then, is my Canadian identity?" Avant-propos I've spent countless hours watching the sun setting over the ocean by the Cape Breton Highlands. Many times, as I watched, I'd turn to peek at the Highlands and my brain couldn't fully grasp the multitude of hues shining through and in between the rocky crevices, the sublime play of light and shadow in the underbrush, and the sheer beauty of the place. Unlike my father—who worked as a fisher in the spring, a government transportation worker in the summer and a woodsman in the fall and winter—I’m more a product of my time, urbanized and removed from the imminent dangers of Canadian wilderness. Although I returned to my hometown twice to work in the Cape Breton Highlands National Park (CBHNP), I've spent the greater part of my life contemplating nature's wisdom from behind a book cover or computer screen. I've felt illiterate before my inherited Canadian landscape—in much the same way contemporary ecologists write about how society has come to feel in the face of the unfathomable environmental complexities nature presents us with. The landscape of my home also holds many 'unfathomable complexities', and yet, every chance I get to go watch the sunset in the park I begin to feel reconnected to the vibrating heart of my ancestors and of my native landscape. Read Excerpt 2 On Constructing a Common History Full Final Draft (for the truly mad & Acadian history buffs only - it's academic!) OPTION For those who prefer audio learning, and/or for a deeper analysis about expropriation and the politics of constructing cultural landscape, I refer you to one of the sources I cited in my paper, Catriona Mortimer-Sandlands, a professor for whom I have much respect and gratitude for taking the time to examine part of the cultural landscape of my fragmented identity. The video is about 25 minutes long, but the first few minutes will give you a clear picture of the narrative that I've been contemplating for so long and which Ms. Mortimer-Sandlands articulates so well. Listen to Le Petit Dérangement: Expropriation, Ethnicity and the Politics of Landscape in Cape Breton Highlands National Park by Catriona Mortimer-Sandilands A final footnote from my paper that spells out my "perspective": 1 I’d like to note to the reader my struggle with the terms ‘ethnicized’ and ‘racialized’, both of which recur in the sources cited. I felt that using the term ‘ethnicized’ might appear weak or that I was glossing over racism. That is not my intention. I only utilized ‘ethnicized’ for the sake of clarity because the Acadians are not, in fact, a separate race. The ‘rationale’ used to try to exterminate us was based on our language and culture rather than our skin colour. And now for the rest of December, I vow to be perky and full of cheer, imagine a twig alive with insects doing a square dance:) Cheers! TartanFrog (aka Dina) About '13': When he's trying to do something naughty - he can be very crafty; He knows how to play with abandon - he's very fun-loving; He definitely understands the importance of REST! He's very loyal; To read more about "13" qualities and to read his very first campaign article, click on"13" . Photo Credit: Greg MacDonnell I have 3 questions for my friends and fellow Haligonians . . . but first: Isn't that photograph taken from the Dingle (left) spectacular? It inspired me to reflect on potential in our communities & our cities. And so, today: A New Blog Direction...with a new title: Sleep. Create. Play. (and imagine smiling with every breath) Gauguin, Paul Where Do We Come From? What Are We? Where Are We Going? 1897 Oil on canvas Museum of Fine Arts, Boston There's no more value in being American, French, Somalian or even Canadian...unless you happen to be a Canadian, which I am! RIP Jack! Maybe you're feeling more blue, green or red, but from his sky of orange, Jack Layton has left me and you with questions that only we can answer for ourselves and TOGETHER. He also left us a challenge to look towards the future with hope, optimism and love. Thirdly, he shared his belief, one that I happen to share, that: WE CAN CHANGE THE WORLD! I also believe that: YOU CAN CHANGE YOUR WORLD! Photo credit: Firdaus Bhathena When was the last time you felt truly happy? When was the last time you felt grateful that you were part of a community? Part of Canada? Are you as proud of being a Canadian as my father was? Or Jack was? If not, why not? And what do you plan to DO about it? Left to right: Cristina, Me, Shadie, Tanja, Niki, Stephanie, Jen, Jamie, and Heather. My friends and I organized a celebration for my dear friend, Tanja and her brother Niki on the day of their Canadian citizenship ceremony [They came to Canada as refugees in the aftermath of the war in Serbo-Croatia]. To see my answer to these questions click here. Would YOU sign that petition? I mean seriously! IT'S MY WORD ON THE STREET FRIDAY BLOG and this week prepare for what may just become a rant. I LOVE Halifax, but between cranky doctors & limited access to the gardens in the morning before work - I'm getting as cranky as the doctor who, yesterday, get this: She asks me what I'd taken for the constant sneezing & runny nose I've had recently? I reply that I've taken an occasional antihistamine, but that I don't like taking medication. Her reply: "Well, what do you want ME to do about it?" (assume the sarcastic tone implied) I reply: "DIAGNOSIS THE CAUSE!!!" (assume the word 'MORON' bitterly implied) Yes, the appointment went downhill from there. Now onto my 2nd point: We have a place in Halifax called THE PUBLIC GARDENS!!! [see photo left] It's one of those places Mayor Peter Kelly bandies about when talking about the vibrant downtown where new and old coexist in harmony when he's trying to attract WORKING PEOPLE to move downtown -- But who is this downtown public he'd like to see move here anyway? He claims that part of revitalizing downtown includes WORKING PEOPLE who chose to live closer to the center (the kind who pay taxes as I do). Well, many of these WORKING PEOPLE (those fortunate enough to have jobs) - have to be at work around or BY 8 A. M. - which is precisely the hour the PUBLIC GARDENS open. A great time for tourists and retirees, but NOT the WORKING PEOPLE. These types can't go for an early morning jog or enjoy a luxurious cup of coffee near a gurgling fountain. We must gaze through those iron bars at what could be. I had to go for blood tests this morning so I tested my theory. On my way back, I sat on a bench in the PUBLIC GARDENS and watched those people who could walk or jog through the gardens on their way to work. Here's what I saw & heard: Smiles. Singing birds. Fountains gurgling. Pebbles crunching underfoot as workers walked by, a jaunt in their step. Some even whistling a tune to themselves. "Good morning," I said to passersby and we exchanged smiles. SO JUST OPEN THE GARDENS EARLIER WILL YA??!! 7 AM AT LEAST, 6 AM BETTER!!! We have a short season and limited amounts of sunshine & with the amount of municipal taxes we fork out we deserve access to our green spaces. Install a proper spot for bicycle commuters to park their bikes. If Ottawa can make skating to work in -50 appealing I think Halifax can compete!! In an earlier blog I wrote about my second novel: "It's about an ordinary woman from Cape Breton, who, for a brief moment in time, believed she was meant for an extraordinary life". We need a mayor for this great city who believes with passion that Halifax may be an ordinary city to an outsider, but she believes (as do those of us who know her intimately) that she is meant for an extraordinary life. Less Manicuring!! More Access!! Have a great weekend everyone & why not take a stroll in the Gardens. It's a great spot for writing too!! TartanFrog The sun's out & I'm not recommending any Haligonian events for you! Instead, the following activity can be done anywhere: - bask in the freedom of a lazy Saturday or Sunday (if you can); - embark on long contemplations about those loved ones who have inspired you. I've been scrutinizing my motivations for writing novel # 2. It's about "an ordinary woman from Cape Breton, who, for a brief moment in time, believed she was meant for an extraordinary life". I believe we're all guilty, at one time or another, of wasting precious time on the ordinary when we could be living extraordinary, and that doesn't have to mean living an ECTOPLASM OF HYSTERIA... ...it can simply mean looking at what others may think is ordinary and seeing the absolute beauty and extraordinary in it. Every day, the extraordinary is all around us -- disguised as ordinary. When we take time to notice it, ordinary begins to shine, sprouts wings and launch into the air, radiating energy and joy with each flap. Miracles happen. This was the gift I received from my parents and one I offer freely to you. In honour of this gift from my parents I wrote to one of my extraordinary friends to remind her of that extraordinariness: Dear Beloved Friend, Of course next summer would be wonderful, but if we went twenty or thirty years without seeing one another, our bond of friendship would still not retire in my heart. And we will again sit together sipping wine on a lazy afternoon (where I promise there will be no flying monsters) wearing orange pants and solving the world's then unanswered philosophical questions. We will talk about your children's children and what wonderful and meaningful life paths they have chosen. How liberating those days of orange pants (and, in my case, the leapard tights) were for me. I will never forget those days... They may have been brief, but they were (don't mind the cliche) they were golden. These deep friendships are dear in this life. Thank you for your e-mail [name withheld]. I hope that besides the extra pounds (which, btw, I've also packed on since I quit smoking) you are well. Besides, in my heart, you are as radiant and as beautiful as ever!! As for me, it was a challenging winter - I felt overwhelmed much of the time and also missed my Mom who passed away last summer. I also found myself squaring off with that Scorpion rising in me which you so perceptively identified. Another dear friend who you met I think, Stephanie (a Sun Scorpio) sent me a newsletter that said everything we're repressing and refusing to express is seeping through the floor boards of consciousness and that we're bound to be more beastly than princely during these times. That's Scorpio for you! There's a quote by Goethe that I love and for some reason, I'm thinking of it today as I write to you, because it highlights the power of magic present in these times, across oceans, as providence moves to bring us together, simply because we both believe in the bold genius, power & magic of our dream to reunite: "Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth that ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way. Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now." Johann Wolfgang von Goethe I send you all my love. I hope you are feeling immense joy in the company of your beautiful family. Wishing you all the magic the other side can muster....Dina Hmmmmm. . . What to write? Imagine you're standing in the corner of the photograph on the left and have to place your toe on one of the hearts which will then take your life in a completely different direction - which heart would you pick? Last night I watched a man at the corner of Morris and Brenton slide down a pole he'd been hanging onto and slump deeply within himself, succumbing to sadness and too much alcohol. Since I'd already been in bed and wasn't dressed I watched from the window to see if he'd just stumbled momentarily or whether he really needed help. As he tried unsuccessfully to get up and then eventually to lay there in the snow, I watched as people filed by without offering the man a glance never mind a hand. From the upstairs landing, I called down to Pete to phone the police so that the man wouldn't freeze to death in a snowbank. Of course, I could have gotten dressed and gone down myself to see how I could help and that would have changed our life course in other ways. I was about to claim no judgment here, but that would be a lie. I really hope that someone in that group of people who filed by seemingly completely unaffected by a man lying in a snowbank unable to get up did go around the corner, pull out their cell phone and call for help, but if not, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING???? Is it that you're so superior that you can't possibly imagine that ever happening to you or to anyone you love? In this far-fetched reality, wouldn't you want someone to lend a hand? Why is it that when we see an innocent child reaching for a doll, we instinctively reach out to help? Remove the child from the picture and insert a grown-up (who once WAS A CHILD) and then we just stroll on by - get the frickin' doll yourself dude! Last night, I felt transported onto a playground watching a bunch of children who remain silent and look the other way while others are bullied. It all begins there. In contrast, I grew up in a house where that man in the snowbank would probably have moved in for a few months till he got back on his feet because my parents believed that everyone got 'down on their luck' once in awhile and that giving them a hand wasn't something to be recognized, it was just the HUMAN thing to do! In a world that's so vastly connected, it's easy to forget that every moment of every day we make choices that define us. And every choice will completely alter the course of the universe - infinitely. I know this metaphor isn't new, but I love the image of how each of us is fashioning a necklace of sorts with gems, beads, even rosary beads that represent our journey. Some of us believe that those choices are more divine like rosary beads while others, on days such as today will reflect on the individuals they love as the gems that make up their own necklace - okay, so mine is very expensive - more like a chandelier - chock full of diamonds! As I reflect upon those individuals so dear to me, the image and memory of the man from last night will likely recede, but it will still be part of my necklace - a diamond in the rough. We all believe in something even if that something happens to be nothing. If you're stuck on what to write today, write about whatever it is you believe. Happy Valentine's Day All & especially to Pete, the 'red heart' on my chandelier. . . Please spread some love around - the world needs it! TartanFrog P.S. If someone believes in nothing, can they still write about something? Anyone who's stepped foot into the pad I inhabit has likely left under the assumption that I'm an art lover - it's true, I love and live for art- my favourite paintings and photographs peer at me no matter where I sit. So I guess it makes sense that I would gab about them. So here's my first stab at this thing called 'BLOG'...from a TartanFrog (refering to my Caper roots and Acadian frogness). My aim here will be to try to post a new artistic inspiration twice a week that you might use to spur on some writing. I wrote my first novel while staring at a charcoal drawing my friend Heather gave me. Ah yes, I will include a brief 'about' the art also. ABOUT 'Baile': Btw, for anyone wondering, yes, the word 'baile' means 'dance' from the Spanish 'bailar' or 'to dance'. This is one of my favourite paintings by Diego Rivera. Though not as well known as many others, it has been close to my heart this week as I've been writing about the dance and the dancer. I felt compelled to re-write the ending of my second novel to show the growth of the main protagonist, Sabine. She reflects on the madness in the world of her contemporaries (she is 18 years old in the year 2019). It seems to her that everyone is bustling about so much and that all this fidgeting, whether it be globe-trotting, changing jobs and lovers, is symptomatic of a lack of connectedness. She compares it to a French dance move known as 'chasse-croise'...Over to you: Happy Scribing, TartanFrog |
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December 2015
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