Time to Stop Reading

I read a lot.

Since Julian was born I've read 2 books, mostly while nursing.

First I read A Little History of the World by E. H. Gombrich. (It was a New York times Bestseller when it came out in 2005.) At almost 300 pages, it was not little. It covered all recorded history up to WWI and included all regions of the world during every era. So I read about what was happening in China while the Egyptians were building pyramids. And I read about what the Germanic people were doing while the British were colonizing. And I read about what the Mayans and Incas were doing while the Colosseum was built in Greece. It was very interesting. Although I took Canadian History and European History in university, I had never learned about any history from any other part of the world.


That lack of knowledge, I'm afraid, is pretty typical of a public school education. Even now, the curriculum in Ontario schools requires that Pioneers is taught in Grade 3, Medieval Times is taught in Grade 4 and Ancient Civilizations are taught in Grade 5. Explorers are taught in Grade 6 and then the meat of Canadian History is taught in Grades 7 and 8. None of these time periods are taught in such as way as to connect them to each other, and most kids have absolutely no interest in history. In fact, when I worked at a school where most of the students were immigrants or the children of immigrants I found that they were not even very interested in their own history. I think that there is no context established in which to teach history in public schools. It's approached as a subject with facts to be memorized. It should be approached as a fabulous story to be enjoyed and savoured. And it should help us to better understand the nature of being human.

The next book I read after Julian's birth is The Birth House by Ami McKay. It is a fabulous historical fiction about midwifery in Nova Scotia around the time of WWI. It was about 100 years ago that the medical establishment began to take over birth and women's bodies and to brainwash women into believing that all health-related decisions should be made by a doctor. This attitude continues to prevail, unfortunately. Just a few weeks ago Macleans magazine had an article on how people are starting to not trust doctors and it featured a woman who had gone to see a doctor because she couldn't get pregnant and he told her she would never conceive and needed to have a hysterectomy to prevent other complications. She followed his advice and had the surgery and later learned that there was nothing wrong with her uterus and that she probably could have had a successful pregnancy.


Anyway, that book was right up my alley. A perfect reinforcement of my belief in trusting ourselves and our bodies and using alternative therapies whenever possible. And of course, my strong support of natural birth certainly kept me turning page after page.

I started another book just last week that I can hardly put down. It's The Tiger by John Valliant. I read the review in Macleans magazine and I knew it would be perfect for me, so I ordered it from Amazon right away. It's the true story of a tiger hunt in South East Russia in 1997. You have to read it to understand why it so compelling. It includes a lot of history of Russia (no wonder people are trying to get out). But it's the vivid insight into human behaviour that has me trying to nurse Julian 20 times a day, just so I can enjoy another page or two.

In addition to usually having a book on the go, I also read Macleans magazine, cover to cover, every week. And I usually read The Toronto Star every day, focusing mostly on local events and cover stories.

But last week I read too much.

It wasn't the volume of words I read that was the problem. It was the content.

For 4 days in a row I read article after article in both Macleans and The Star about the sadistic monster who killed those women in Tweed. I wanted to stop but I couldn't. And then I'd lay awake all night thinking someone was breaking into the house. I couldn't even go into the basement unless Partner-Guy was home. I was so irrational that I once took the girls downstairs with me to get something out of the freezer.

By Saturday I knew I had to get a grip. I told Partner-Guy how freaked out I was and I asked him to bar all the basement windows so that they can't be opened from the outside. I also insisted that the doors to the deck have a second lock put on them, since they are in my bedroom. I expected him to laugh at my fears but he took me completely seriously and went directly to Home Depot to buy the supplies. (Note to self: you know you've got a good guy when he takes your completely irrational fears seriously.)

I guess I'm easily freaked out. It makes me wonder what other women think when they read such gruesome details of criminal behaviour. Does it not affect them? Do they just assume that random acts of violence could never happen to them? If I lived alone, I would have installed an alarm system this week, and it is only because I have a man who comes home to sleep every night that I don't have one. When I lived alone in condominiums, I used to put a piece of furniture in front of my door every night. And when my parents owned their house outside of Moorefield, I was terrified of being there at night alone. In fact, I would go out of my way to avoid ever being alone there after dark. When I was a teenager one of my girlfriends wanted to watch the movie Psycho. Even though I spent most of the movie in another room (I was too scared to watch it) I was totally jumpy and nervous about taking a shower for more than a year. I even went so far as to check inside the vanity in the bathroom every time I entered the room (as if there'd be someone hiding inside it).

What I read or see on TV stays with me in way that I don't think other people experience. So I think I'll stick to reading about birth and tigers. At least I already know I can handle natural child birth. And I'm not scared of tigers.

A Good Read

For Christmas Partner-Guy gave me True Compass, a memoir by Edward M. Kennedy. It was a surprisingly good choice for me as I had been very interested in watching his biography on TV shortly after his death last fall. In fact, beginning with the bibliography, I read all 514 pages between Christmas Day and New Year's Day.

I'm neither a fan nor a follower of American politics and I don't have any particular fascination with the Kennedy family, but what pulled me into the book immediately was the first 120 pages where Teddy describes what day-to-day life was like growing up in his family where he was the youngest of nine children. He says:

We depended on each other....We learned from and taught one another.
We worshipped with one another. We loved one another. We were
mutually loyal, even as we were mutually competitive, with an intensity that
owed more to joy than to an urge for dominance. These values flowed into
us [from our parents]....They helped us form bonds among one another, and to
develop personalities based on those bonds, to an extent that remains to this
day under-appreciated by the chroniclers of my family. They sustain me
still. They lie at the heart of the story I wish to tell. ( page 18)

Now of course when one writes a memoir, one can include, omit, embellish and gloss over events and relationships to suit the impression one wants to give the reader. But even if Teddy has embellished the nature of his family relationships, they are still fascinating to read about and ponder. Are larger families more likely to produce stronger bonds between siblings because there is simply less individual attention from parents? What makes older children feel the weight of being a (good) role model for the younger siblings?

In a further description of the role of his family of origin as the solid foundation of his life, Teddy says:

We knew that we could always come home, that we could make mistakes, get
defeated, but when all was said and done, we would be respected and appreciated
at home. Dad [Joseph P. Kennedy] himself had no fear because he knew in
his heart that he was working hard for the family; he was doing everything he
possibly could to show us how to lead constructive lives. But at the
end of the day, it was up to each of us to carry out what he'd taught us.
(page 31)

More to ponder. Am I doing anything to show my children how to lead constructive lives? Am I even doing anything constructive with my life?

A further passage that stuck in my mind is where Teddy describes the Christian principle which guided his personal and political lives.

My own center of belief, as I matured and grew curious about these things, moved
toward the great Gospel of Matthew, chapter 25 especially, in which [H]e calls
us to care for the least of these among us, and feed the hungry, clothe the
naked, give drink to the thirsty, welcome the stranger, visit the
imprisoned....To me, this perspective on my faith has almost literally been a
lifesaver. It has given me strength and purpose during the greatest
challenges I have faced,.... (pages 29-30)

My faith, and the love of following its rituals, has always been my foundation and my inspiration. those foundations have been shaken at times by tragedy and misfortune, but faith remains fixed in my heart, as it has been since my childhood days. It is the most positive force in my life and the cause of my eternal optimism. I have fallen short in my life, but my faith has always brought me home. (page 505)

And certainly it seems that during Senator Kennedy's long tenure in politics, the causes that he gave the most attention always involved civil rights, health care, the rights of workers and responsible economic development. I admire it. Is it easier or harder for a rich person to stand up for the rights of the poor and disenfranchised? And to say that his life was shaken by tragedy is such a massive understatement. Of 9 siblings, only 5 lived into their 40s. And yet through it all it seems that the Senator was able to maintain both his personal and professional visions of what is right and good and purposeful.

Ultimately, the book is very encouraging and leaves one with a positive sense that perseverance coupled with the setting of high standards of personal achievement will produce a fulfilling life. Perhaps even a life where one attains one's full potential.