Every year around this time households in Ontario (and elsewhere in Canada, I believe), either through their local daily paper or other means, receive a copy of The Milk Calendar. Apparently this started back in 1974 but I only became conscious of it in the ’90s. Kathy and I had moved to Oxford, UK, in September of 1994 with little more than one suitcase each. We had a flat in the draughty, cinder-block, married-student accommodations in north Oxford. We didn’t know anyone, and we really aren’t predisposed to meeting and making new friends (though despite ourselves we did eventually discover the very best of friends). Dreary November and December days stumbled toward the holiday season. But with no funds for travel home or onward we knew we would be left to our own devices.

It must have been some time in December that the package arrived. A well-labelled and multi-stamped box from Kathy’s parents. The shipping label declared, unceremoniously, an itemized list of the “Christmas gifts” contained therein. Nothing grand, but we were so grateful to receive this bundle of cares and well-wishes. There may have been tears. It turned out, however, that the greatest gift was not in fact identified on the shipping label. Perhaps including it had been an afterthought. I’ve never asked. There amidst the crumbled newsprint used as packing material lay The Milk Calendar for 1995.

I’m sure we still have that calendar, though the recipes (yes, recipes!) it contained have long since been transferred to other media. What makes The Milk Calendar distinctive is that it always contains a set of recipes (at least one for each month) for dishes or desserts that are easy to make, taste great, and, naturally, involve milk somewhere in the instructions. What they don’t mention is how those recipes can transport you across time and space. In that slender calendar was the essence, or so we thought that winter, of Canada.

I don’t recall now how many of those recipes from the 1995 calendar we actually used more than once. But I’m fairly certain we did try each one at least once. I remember writing letters to Kathy’s mum to tell her about them (those were the days before email was ubiquitous).  Each one a reminder of how that calendar helped us beat off the damp chill of the English winter.

The Milk Calendar for 2011 arrived today. I can’t help wondering whether any Canadians far from home will be opening a package in a few weeks and discover within that things aren’t nearly so dreary as they imagined. I hope so.

Not so long ago I was enthusing about a local writing club. I had been involved in this group for a year and was looking forward to the new year (it’s meetings ran from October to July).  Alas, a cloud has formed over that group and I find myself at loose ends.

Perhaps I should have seen that cloud on the horizon. Information about the Writers’ Collective disappeared from the KPL website. My email queries to the person from KPL who had faithfully organised the collective for some years went unanswered. And then for two months in a row I received no writing submissions from the other members of my group thereby obviating the point of any meeting.

Maybe it’s me. Last year the group to which I had been assigned seemed vibrant for about 4 months and then folded. I shifted over to another group within the collective for the remainder of the year. Now it too seems to have folded. I know that the two originating groups have persisted despite difficulties with communications (they have been sharing their work directly rather than going through the KPL intermediary). Since I have met some of the members of those groups, I could ask them if I could join in. But I think I would feel a bit like a distant relative who is taken in out of some misplaced familial obligation. (That’s only how I would feel, not how I expect I would be treated.)

It turns out that writing is indeed a solitary activity. To which the corollary can now be added that writing clubs, at least in my experience, tend towards solitariness. Which, I suppose, must contribute to more writing. Or at least I shall take that as my lesson and move on.

Our public library, which is great by the way, has a display of new, or newish but high demand, books which have the FastRead label on their spines. That label refers to the restricted time for a library loan on these books with no comment on the page-turning quality of their contents: 4 days with no renewal as opposed to 3 weeks with an indefinite number of renewals for fiction books without the FastRead label. The library will usually have multiple copies of such high demand books with only one or two placed in the FastRead category.

It’s always tempting to look through the books there, but I rarely sign one out. I often have multiple books on the go at any one time and setting everyone aside for a 4-day sprint read doesn’t always put one in the best reading frame of mind. It’s even more challenging if you end up spending two of those four days out of town in non-reading pursuits (dread phrase!). This past weekend I found myself engaged in just one of those intense reads that I try to avoid. Fortunately the book was worth it – William Gibson’s Zero History.

There is something about Gibson’s writing that catches and holds a pace, inundating the reader with a surfeit of brand-molested detail that feels as highly produced as the music his character, Inchmale, tends to be orchestrating for clients like The Bollards. The weave of fabric is no bad metaphor for Gibson’s Blue Ant trilogy as espionage (national and industrial), fashion, marketing, and addiction are carefully intermingled. He’s got good cloth and a superior cut with fine finishing. Is it any wonder that Zero History is as desirable as Pattern Recognition and the under-valued Spook Country?

But try not to get it out on a FastRead loan from the library. Take your time and enjoy it.

It’s a scheduling nightmare! The book club that I frequent is meeting at the same time this week as a free public reading by three well-regarded authors. How to decide?

The book in question is Alison Pick’s Far to Go, which I have very much enjoyed reading despite the heart-wrenching subject matter. I am keen to hear what the other readers in the club think about this book, not least a certain “discerning and widely read guy”. No doubt lively repartee shall ensue (I hope). The public reading involves Sandra Birdsell, Annabel Lyon, and Alissa York. I could learn more than a thing or two about writing from any one of these authors.

If only there were two of me. Not much chance of that. But I do have a secret plan. My secret plan is that I will go the book club and my partner will go to the public reading. Almost the best of both worlds.

Almost…

Tomorrow is polling day for our city and region. I am fairly certain that nearly everyone I intend to vote for (for city council, mayor, regional council, and regional chair) will not in fact get elected. I still intend to cast my ballot. I think that’s important.

It has been enlightening going through this election. After 3 years back in Canada, I sometimes forget that there are still many differences between here and the UK on which I have not yet had a chance to refresh myself. For example, municipal and regional politics here is not party political. In my ward, there are a large number of candidates for a single council seat. All I have to go on is what the candidates have said in their election materials or at the various of organised debates which have been well-reported in the local media.

There are also a couple of local plebiscites that will be on this ballot, both of which have been divisive in the campaign.

However, without party allegiances to fall back on I have found myself casting about in my own pool of thoughts, principles, and preferences.  That has been useful because it has given me a useful matrix against which to test the opinions of those who would seek my support. Some things stand out for me. It turns out I don’t really mind paying taxes, or even more taxes, so long as those funds are going to develop and enhance my community. So if your whole reason for being in politics is to ensure that I have an extra 50 cents in my pocket at the end of the year, you really need to look elsewhere. If the first thing you want to do once you get in office is to remove a piece of anodyne public site art, then look elsewhere. If you sign up to an aggressive campaign of fear-mongering pseudo-science, I’m sorry you’ll have to look elsewhere. If you confuse public health issues with personal rights issues, again elsewhere.

That’s just a sampling of what I’ve found in my personal selection criteria. It’s surprising that there is anyone at all I’m willing to vote for. But I found enough candidates to make the short walk over to the polling station worth the effort. Sure, none of the candidates that I’ll be voting for is likely to win. But they still need my vote. And I need it too.

Elections – they can be a useful tool for the personal as well as the political.