Marion Agnew

It’s tax season, which means piles of paper with numbers on them, on various horizontal surfaces. One measure of abundance and joy And January is also a time for end-of-year reflection and beginning-of-the-year inspiration energy.  "It's February," you say, and I say, "Okay, yes, I see what you mean." January's possibilities might have evaporated by now, this February. But have others appeared? Also: as I am trying to remember, what even is pandemic time? Regardless, the juxtaposition of the two energies (numbers and inspiration) is weird—helpful in some ways, not so much in others. Here’s the thing about numbers: they measure some things really well. Money coming in and going out, for example. The number of words written, the number of pitches/pieces/novels/poems/whatever you wrote. But they don’t measure everything.  We all know about smart goals: specific/measurable, or is it meaningful?/attainable/r-something/t-something. (I "did my own research,...

Content warning: The Unravelling is a powerful book. It deals with sexual and physical abuse, incest, and emotional trauma, and may be disturbing to readers. I also mention those subjects in my brief discussion of the book, below, which may also be disturbing.  “Violation is violation is violation.” “What did I want? To tell and be believed; to see remorse and change. Was this realistic?” The Unravelling, by Winnipeg writer Donna Besel, is courageous, insightful, eye-opening, consequential, sobering—this list could continue. Donna writes in stark prose, often poetic, about her family’s experience of reporting the sexual abuse her father perpetrated on her sisters and herself. Her story has so much to offer, not the least of which is the unrelenting presence of abuse in the lives of its victims. Attorneys go home, neighbours exchange gossip then change the subject, family alliances shift and shatter, but always, ALWAYS, the memory of the abuse is there for those who experienced it...

We’re upgrading our internet service, and to do this, a crew had to come out to drop a line.  When I told my sister that she looked dubious and said, “What does that mean, ‘drop a line'?“ (I get it; that’s phrase sounds like something that might happen in a bathroom, a bed, or a party.) Reflections and reality. Not a February photo. I was excited to describe it. It was so interesting to watch! The crew had a literal cable—the “line,” I’m guessing—that they had to physically connect in the real world. The line runs from the outside of our house to “our” hydro pole (we can see it from the front porch so that makes it “ours”?) and connects to other things on the pole. Then the line then runs to the next pole, and another one or two, and eventually the line connects to the poles along the street at the end of our driveway. Those poles and their lines somewhere connect to towers, which connect to other stuff. Somewhere, there’s an electrical source, a telephone connection, light, and ot...

Treats and fun things to do.  I make a list and pick from it. Does it feel fake, to rely on a list instead of some sense of joyful spontaneity? Sometimes. Is it worth it? Yes. Because sometimes it’s hard to remember, in a glum moment, what might cheer me up. What’s fun, when nothing sounds like fun. So the list is helpful. What’s on the list? Fun things to make in the kitchen (like the turkey breast roast we had in December or the banana bread loaves that might appear this afternoon). Ways to bring the outdoors indoors intentionally (not like tracking snow in) and beautifully (also not like tracking snow in, and harder in the winter than other seasons). Specifically, growing a bulb or buying flowers or a potted hyacinth. Also: specific movies (seasonal or nostalgic) to watch. Using special mugs for my morning coffee. Small things, but mighty. Until they're growing outdoors, I can grow some indoors. Or, you know, try. Music. For the past several years I’ve fallen out of the habit of...