the cassandra pages

Blue Lights

Basilica Notre-Dame, Montreal

A couple of days ago we went to Canadian Tire to buy some things like, oh, self-threading metal screws, and we became entranced by the aisles, and aisles, of Christmas lights and decorations. There were a LOT of lights, different kinds than we're used to. And as it turned out, we were in the market for lights.

On the drives up here last winter, we kept seeing some bright, elaborate lights on Quebec houses and shrubbery. Our favorites were an intense blue that we'd never seen back home in Vermont. Blue isn't a hugely popular Christmas color back there, in the land of Christmas postcards and white clapboarded houses and church steeples. In fact, the only really acceptable color is white. And tiny. But we felt like, well, going for a more intense effect. We wondered, though, what was the deal with the blue?

The other night we were driving to a friend's for dinner and happened to pass by the Basilica. There were small Christmas trees on the street outside the portico - all lit with deep blue lights - and up in the towers, the same ethereal blue -- ghostly, glowing, mysterious --as behind the altar inside the cathedral. Later, when we were eating dinner, we mentioned this. Why was blue so popular in Quebec? Was it the color of the fleur-de-lys flag? There were two Anglican priests at the table and they mused about it for a minute, and then one said, "Well, blue IS the color associated with Mary."

Oh yeah. I had forgotten; I guess it just goes to show that I am Anglican and not Catholic.

In any case, we have blue lights now, wrapped around an evergreen garland on the fireplace mantle. Intense blue LED lights. Every now and then, J. looks over at them and says, solemnly, "the mystery."

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Note: tomorrow is Blog Against Racism Day. I'll be participating; hope you will too, in your own posts or in comments.

Hot Talks in a Cold City

The first U.N. climate summit since Kyoto opens today in Montreal.

Canadian Environment Minister Stephane Dion said he was interested in seeking a rapprochement amongst countries with different views on the best approach to tackling climate change.

"Let us set our sights on a more effective, more inclusive long-term approach to climate change... More action is required now," he said at the opening of the conference.

This is the official site for news and webcasts from the UN Climate Change Conference.

Courage

An historic first meeting for gay Nigerian Christians took place last weekend:

Around a thousand delegates were due to attend the gathering at the National Art Council in Abuja including 100 lesbian and 900 gay members of Anglican churches from every part of Nigeria.

The meeting from 25-27 November 2005 constituted the largest gathering of lesbian and gay people ever held in Nigeria and the first gathering of gay Anglicans. Presentations were made by Davis Mac-Iyalla, convenor of the national network, and the Rev Colin Coward, Director of Changing Attitude England.

During prayer time at Holy Communion on Sunday, prayers were offered for gay and lesbian people all over the world, for Dr Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and for Bishop Gene Robinson of New Hampshire in the USA – whose election caused a furore across the Anglican world.

Reflections in a scalloped mirror

Have you been missing the photographs here lately? I have. And there is an explanation: somehow, between Vermont and Montreal about three weeks ago, I "lost" my camera battery charger. This is impossible, but it has happened. I've looked under the couch cushions, behind the piano, in every bag, in the bed where I tend to rest my suitcase as I'm packing. Nothing. So I guess I will have to give up and order a new one, although it pains me. That has effectively stopped my picture-taking, but the silver lining is that in the past few days I've been looking back through my archives of un-posted photographs, and finding many I like that for one reason or another didn't make the cut at the time. So maybe I can tide things over that way for a while, until the replacement arrives.

Montreal is white today, wth a pale blue sky. Downtown, the stores are bedecked for Christmas, and today at church we chanted the Advent litany and lit the first candle on the Advent wreath. It seems early. The sun was bright and warm on the wet pavement as we walked down St. Catherine Street, and then when we turned the corner at La Baie (the department store of the venerable Hudson Bay Company, soon to be sold to an American conglomerate, I heard) the wind - as if commenting on that development - sent an arctic blast tunneling down along the red sandstone block.

Yesterday I went out for a walk as the sun was setting. The sidewalks were covered with several inches of sandy, slippery snow - the kind that makes the balls and heels of your feet slip sideways in a mushy motion, and after a block or two you begin to feel it in your thighs. I have dreams where I am walking in deep sand, or snow, like this, and all the strength eventually drains out of my legs until I am struggling to inch forward - and grateful to wake up. In reality it's not nearly that bad, and if I buy a new pair of vibram-soled boots this winter, walking will be even easier. Last night there was no wind at all, and I headed up the block looking at the first of the holiday lights on the balconies and porches. Ahead of me, three little boys chased each other, yelling, up the street and down the alley, as little boys do in every city - whether sandy and dry, or cold and snowy, or humid and tropical. An old woman, wrapped in a green coat with a fur-lined hood, stepped aside to let them race past. A mother pushed a stroller through the deep snow of an alley. Wanting to go out somewhere on a Saturday night, a young man brushed off his car windshield for the first time this year. A lone bicyclist rode down the center of the street; the bikepaths are closed. Parka-clad people hunch against the cold, shake their mittened hands, stamp their feet when entering a building. In the parks, the white-sided hockey rinks are set up, ready to be flooded. Children, bundled and soft like stuffed bears, play on the slides and swings, or lie on sleds pulled by their parents. One begins to walk...carefully.

That's how winter begins.

Canadian Blog Awards: Vote Now! Vote Often!

Even though I'll tell you I'm not into competitive stuff and that I think blog awards don't necessarily mean a lot, I was chuffed (thank you Natalie, for teaching me that great British word!) to be nominated for the Canadian Blog Awards this year (and thank you, Frank, for the nomination).

If you enjoy this blog and would like to go over there and vote, the nomination is in the Best Personal Blog category (I think I was nominated for Best Culture Blog too, but not accepted for that category - why I don't know.) You'll have to search a little; the lists are long. The Personal Blog Category is about halfway down, and mine is sixth from the end of the list. Giving fuel to my argument that blog award voting tends to be a rigged popularity content, the rules say you can vote once a day for the next week, at which time they cut to a short list and vote again. So we'll take the final results with a grain of salt, but I was very pleased to be nominated in Canada, and to be in company with some of the very fine blogs that were also tapped for the awards.

Qarrtsiluni was also nominated in two categories: Best Group Blog and Best Culture Blog, which is very cool, and great recognition for that new blog.

Frank, the author of Chicagoan in Montreal (next year we'll stuff the ballot boxes for you, Frank) and one of the contributors to Montreal Metroblog, has written a list of recommendations for these awards, especially for readers from Montreal. I find myself in very good company - who could choose? - and feeling relieved that MY honey isn't up for an award this year too (although I sure wish he start posting again on his blog so we COULD nominate him). The photo blog category would be one of the hardest to pick; there are so many excellent and deserving ones. Good luck to all, and may everybody win!

November Rain

The temperature is hovering just above freezing, and from grey skies pours a thick rain, falling in strings more than drops: white syrupy strands against the dark eaves of the houses and the tall pines behind them. By nighttime, this will be snow, but for now it is shivery, persistent November rain.

It's hard to describe late November in New England to people who've never experienced it. It is cold, rainy, depressing; punctuated by a few bright warm days that then plunge back into spirit-numbing greyness. Somehow I don't mind it all that much, mainly because beneath the veneer of greyness there is a subtle intensity of color: the grass becomes chartreuse, the bare branches of raspberry a dusty lavender, the dogwoods yellow and crimson. Tree branches, black and wet, draw pictures against the sky, while the borders lie in a tangle of rusty fern fronds and leftover leaves. And there is expectancy: water giving way to ice, soft earth to solid, color to monochrome.

Waiting for the tea to steep, I stare out the window like a cat - neither particularly excited nor bored. From here on the second floor, I can see the mouse paths, the chipmunk-run, the shrub rose hide-out of the sparrows. Rain splatters into the birdbath; two crows land on the ground nearby and quickly plunder soggy bread thrown earlier from the porch. My tail twitches, involuntarily.

From our box seat up here in the balcony, it's clear that the last act has finished. The seed stalks of the hostas bend at the waist, while their leaves, melted to the ground in the last frost, drape around them like circular skirts. On the stage of the garden, they take their final bow. Tomorrow -- we'll wake to whiteness.

A Few Eclectic Links

Chinese acrobats, by Liu Zheng

Chinese Photography: Social transformation in China: an essay and exhibition of the work of seven Chinese photo journalists at Bates College; and the astounding, disturbing work of Liu Zheng  (also here) (via Conscientious , and wood s lot.)

Nothing to do Wednesday night? How about a reading by Gerard Depardieu at the Basilica Notre-Dame in Montréal? He's reading from...The Confessions of Saint Augustine. Well, a little surprising, but who am I to say? If you don't make it in time to get a seat, a giant screen will be set up so that overflow crowds can watch from the Place d'Armes. (Cyberpresse, via Montreal City Weblog)

Speaking of mercredi...there's a great story about French Canadian names over at Language Hat.

A rather sympathetic interview with Gene Robinson from The Times of London, following his appearance at St.-Martin-of-the-Fields.

And this Sunday morning addition: It's Great Up North, a look at Canada by an American on a book tour (including an account of the train trip from New York to Toronto.) (from the Observer)

Personal Notes

You're right, I haven't been writing much here of a personal nature lately. So here is a little catch-up.

I'm feeling much much better, almost 100%; not getting overly tired anymore and able to eat carefully and simply, but fairly normally - meaning that J.and I can eat the same dinner now, so long as it isn't something like spaghetti. Let me tell you, that is something to be grateful for! I haven't been able to bring myself to write about the experience in any detail, but I intend to - when it feels right.

But the main reason for the lack of original or poetic or ambitious-at-all posts is that I have been intentionally concentrating and working very hard on my book, and  - I'm happy to say - making lots of progress. When I started this sprint-to-the-finish in early October I had two sections (of three chapters apiece) remaining to be written; one of those is now essentially finished and the other is outlined, with all the notes in order. I've got a few more phone calls to make, a couple more conversations to have with the Bishop - but completion is in sight.

A number of years ago an editor gave me some good advice. He said, "Get the words down. Let that be your initial goal - just get it down. Don't' try to edit too much as you go because you will get bogged down; write down the words as they flow, then go back later." In approaching this huge reseaerch/interview/writing project, which is looking like it will be a biography of about 100,000 words when I'm done, I've tried to do just that, and it's worked really well. The next day, or the next week, I've been going back to cut-and-paste sections of a chapter to reshape the narrative, and do the finer editing that doesn't happen as I write. I start with a pretty clear structure and chapter organization already laid out, and then create the pieces. But this method keeps me from second-guessing the words when they first come out. I think what I've learned from blogging has helped too - which, again, is to just write -- regularly and a lot -- and then go back afterwards. It's so much less painful that way, and (I hope) the writing has a chance of retaining some of its original spontaneity. When I used to paint I noticed this same phenomenon - the underpainting and first gestures often had what I was aiming for, and as the painting became "developed" it risked losing that and becoming overworked - that was the struggle. Craft and technique always need to be at the service of inspiration, not the other way around, and artists need to develop a surefooted sense of what they are after - the spark, the high point, the moment or the gesture that makes the story. All the technique in the world can't put that in if you don't know it, feel it, keep it in front of you. But technique can do an excellent job of obliterating it.

You have to practice a lot, I think, and learn to trust yourself.

Pill Politics

I walked past a Canadian pharmacy last week and noticed these pills were being advertised as available. Sounds like that will not be happening anytime soon in the U.S. If you thought the F.D.A. was a non-political, scientific organization -- think again.

Top agency officials were deeply involved in the decision, which was "very, very rare," a top F.D.A. review official told investigators. The officials' decision to ignore the recommendation of an independent advisory committee as well as the agency's own scientific review staff was unprecedented, the report found. And a top official's "novel" rationale for rejecting the application contradicted past agency practices, it concluded.

The pill, called Plan B, is a flashpoint in the debate over abortion, in part because some abortion opponents consider the pill tantamount to ending a pregnancy. In scientific reviews, the F.D.A. has concluded that it is a contraceptive.

The boundless heart of Desmond Tutu

Archbishop Desmond Tutu, speaking at the University of North Florida this weekend, said that the Anglican communion should support its first openly gay bishop. I was moved by the words of this wonderful man, who I was fortunate enough to hear in person a few years ago, and by his continued courage and leadership. On this same day, I read a transcript of Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan William's Q&A session at the meeting of the Global South bishops last month. The contrast between the two men could not be more evident: one, personally courageous and answering always to a higher authority than any human one; the other, setting aside his personal integrity to try to hold together an institution that is itself the last vestige of the British Empire.

And actually, I think I am more fascinated by these human choices than anything else about this whole controversy. What makes one person  -- Tutu, or Robinson -- have such a strong sense of personal integrity, while others, coming out of the same training and tradition, neither have that nor seem aware that they don't? The world is in such a crisis of moral leadership, whether we look at politics or churches or secular institutions. So few people are willing to take a stand for justice, for peace, for humanity. So many use other issues as a smokescreen, and are focussed instead on not losing what they think they have, on clinging tightly, and making enormous moral compromises in order to hang on - to oil, to power, to money, to the past, to patriarchical tradition. I'm grateful that I don't have as much, and can at least think about making changes in my life to bring it more and more in line with personal integrity - God knows we all make plenty of compromises and are enmeshed in systems of taxation and consumption and often unwitting complicity in power and money schemes.

Here is Tutu:

“Jesus did not say, ‘I if I be lifted up I will draw some.'Jesus said, ‘If I be lifted up I will draw all, all, all, all, all. Black, white, yellow, rich, poor, clever, not so clever, beautiful, not so beautiful. It’s one of the most radical things. All, all, all, all, all, all, all, all. All belong. Gay, lesbian, so-called straight. All, all are meant to be held in this incredible embrace that will not let us go. All.”

“Isn’t it sad, that in a time when we face so many devastating problems – poverty, HIV/AIDS, war and conflict - that in our Communion we should be investing so much time and energy on disagreement about sexual orientation?”

Tutu said the Communion, which “used to be known for embodying the attribute of comprehensiveness, of inclusiveness, where we were meant to accommodate all and diverse views, saying we may differ in our theology but we belong together as sisters and brothers” now seems “hell-bent on excommunicating one another. God must look on and God must weep.”

Emphasizing the connectedness of the human family, Tutu further asked: "How could we then -- we who are family - go on spending obscene amounts on budgets of death and destruction, knowing full well that a minute fraction of these would insure that children everywhere would have clean water to drink, would have enough food to eat, would have adequate, affordable health care, would have decent homes. How could we if we really are those who pray as our Lord has taught us? How can we be willing to drop bombs on those who are our sisters and brothers, children of God, members of our family? God’s family. How could we?”

How could we, indeed?