WHAT DO WRITERS DO BESIDES WRITING? PART 3: FUN WITH FRIENDS

CELEBRATING CANADA DAY

"A good writer possesses not only his own spirit but also the spirit of his friends." Cecily James.

It's been a few weeks of holidays and celebrating. The best parts of it were some of the times I spent with my friends. On Canada Day several of us met in the park at Granville island and spent the afternoon listening to music. It was the end of the jazz festival (I missed most of those events) and a big day of celebrating Canada's 141st Birthday. The sun was hot and the crowds all enthusiastic as they waves flags and enjoyed the day. A real show of patriotism. And a fun day for me with my friends, beginning with lunch at an Indian restaurant, then the music in the park, then a late bite to eat at our favorite jazz venue on the Drive.

Mid week my pal Andrea and I went to see an art exhibit opening at the Yaletown Gallery (www.yaletowngallery.com) The paintings were by a well-known BC poet and a good crowd showed up. My friend Jabbar is the gallery curator so we always try to go to the exhibits. It's a small gallery in a prestigious part of the city (Yaletown). Now, here's the part of this story that connects with my writing. Jabbar asked me about Shadow of the Lion. When would I finish it? Then he suggested something that certainly served as a huge inspiration. He said that perhaps when it is finished, I can do a reading at the Gallery. He would invite Iraqi and perhaps Greek artists to display. And I said, "Yes, considering you are one of the characters in the novel!"

The story is this: I have a fictional character named Nabarzanes who is a Persian court advisor from Babylon. I had written a lot about Nabarzanes and had a vision of him in my mind. But one day when I was in the L.Q. where my friends and I hang out, I saw this man and immediately I did a double take because HE was Nabarzanes. Eventually I got to be introduced to this tall, dark stranger (who I was sure was from the Middle East) and it turned out he was a refugee from Iraq, a well-known artist from Baghdad who had to flee Sadaam's regime. He and I have become good friends and that's our little 'in' joke -- that he is the embodiment of Nabarzanes.

Whether or not this 'reading' ever happens time will tell. But it was certainly a jolt of inspiration that I needed. "Hurry up and finish it!" Jabbar said. And I will!

I went out to the suburbs on Friday to spend a lovely day with my sister and catch up on family news.

So then the weekend came and it was salsa dancing time again. Every weekend 'the gang' gets together at our favorite haunt, the Latin Quarter, to enjoy the excellent Latin music of a group called Sumalao. This Friday was one of those nights full of high energy and fun.
People showed up who we haven't seen in awhile and everyone was in a merry mood. I was even given a yellow rose, a very sweet gesture from one of the Latino men. My friend Anibal used to play percussion with this group and of course there are always moments during the evening when I really miss him and start to feel nostalgic. But this was a night for being happy. It was the weekend. And life is good.

Saturday a group of friends and I met at the Heritage Grill in New Westminster to hear my son's band play. Here's Steve singing the Blues. We always like to go and support him when the band is playing. You can hear some of his music if you check his website at
www.myspace.com/stevekozakswestcoastbluesrevue

Today, Sunday, I finished tidying up my apartment and cleaning up the balcony. Then I went to buy new plants and meet my good friend Astarte for coffee. We ended up hanging out together all afternoon, bought the plants, then went to her place to drink mojitos and eat some snacks. It's been a good week, and now it's time to start some serious writing again. I'm feeling much better in mind and body.
The acupuncture has really helped my painful back/foot problem; I have managed to quieten myself and feel I am more centred once again but I still intend to keep on the regime of diet, exercise and meditation. The weather is supposed to be great all week. And even though I'll be busy teaching two night school classes a week for the month of July, I will still enjoy my outings to the beach and my social get-togethers with the wonderful group of friends I have. Yes...and for sure...I'm going to be working on the novel again. You'll see another snippet posted soon! And oh yes...tomorrow I have an interview with a prestigious writers group of retired people who need a life writing instructor. And more writing-related events are happening in the next 3 weeks.

CHRISTMAS AT GRANDPA'S

Grandpa's house in Stratford Ontario.

Christmas in the ‘40’s was a time when all the relatives came to celebrate at Grandpa’s house. We would troop down to the train station and stand waiting on the wooden platform, our breaths puffing like the steam from the locomotive engine, the frosty winter air nipping our cheeks into roses. The train chugged into the station, the coach doors opened and travelers spilled out onto the platform. Happy greetings filled the air as merry as caroler's songs, families embraced and made their way down the snowy streets.

When my uncle, aunt and cousins arrived, we all went back to Grandpa’s house. How my grandparents found room for everyone, I can’t imagine. All the Aunts, Uncles and Cousins crowded into the small living room around the Christmas tree to chat, the crackling of the flames in the hearth sounding like pop-corn. After a few games of monopoly and Chinese checkers, my Uncle Frank would performed a comical rendition of “Herbert Burped”, tongue-in-cheek, about a little boy who gets swallowed by a lion. Then all of us children were tucked snugly into beds, often three in a bed, the middle one squished between the other two, warm in our flannel nighties, while the grownups sat up late eating Christmas cake and drinking ginger ale.

One particular Christmas stands out in my memory. That was the year I bought the best Christmas presents I’d ever bought before. Certainly, the most memorable!

I was nine years old, and I felt very grown up as I went off to town to do my own Christmas shopping. I headed straight for the Woolworths Five and Dime store where you could always get the best bargains. I looked over all the trinkets, trying to decide what would be the finest gifts. It was difficult to decide. I wanted something unforgettable. Something everyone would love.

Then I saw it. A little Chinese clay dragon on a bamboo stick. The head of the dragon was made of painted clay, and it had a red felt tongue that looked like fire shooting from its gaping mouth. The body was accordion-pleated tissue paper. When you waved the stick, the body expanded and the head shot out, tongue flickering, like a real fire-breathing dragon. The Chinese dragons would make the perfect Christmas gifts!

I bought one for each of my relatives and excitedly headed for home, proud of myself for making such an extraordinary purchase. But when I showed them to my Mom, she was not impressed. In fact, she
was upset with me for ‘wasting’ my money on such foolish toys as these instead of buying something more ‘practical’. I felt crushed, disappointed. However, it was too late to return the dragons to the store, so I wrapped them up and put them under the Christmas tree with the other gifts.

On Christmas morning I waited nervously for everyone to open their presents. I felt embarrassed thinking that my relatives would think the presents I’d bought were foolish and useless.

Instead, when the gifts were unwrapped, everyone was amused and delighted. especially my Uncle Frank. He played with his dragon all day. Of course, Uncle Frank always was the life of the party!

My little sister Jeanie and me.