Back in May, I hosted a brunch at my place, and there was a German woman there on her way to rural BC who asked to borrow this book. I told her this one was a good read, and quite informative about the people of Canada. I said that she could keep it for as long as she took to read it, then I promptly forgot about it. That is, until I was on my way to New York a week ago and found it had worked its way back to me, accompanied by a letter! (It even travelled to New York and back in the back of my car.)

I bought Timbit Nation for peanuts at a charity book sale at my previous workplace. How fitting that it would travel across the country on its own! With the rare exception such as travel guides, I usually only buy used books because I’m a big fan of the public library system (it was the best part of my childhood) and sharing books rather than collecting them and having them gather dust on the shelf.

When I was constantly travelling, I would get my reading material from book exchanges at hostels: read a book, leave it behind for someone else, pick up a book that someone left behind, et cetera.

While in northern Australia I shared a tent for a while with a French guy from Brittany who could barely speak English. He’d given up entirely on the John Irving book A Prayer For Owen Meany, which he turned over to me and I completely devoured. Upon finishing, I made an attempt at translating the plot for him but my French was wholly inadequate for the bizarreness of Irving’s storytelling. We had a good laugh over it, anyway. When I remember the book I can’t help but think of Bruno and his mop of curly brown hair, big smile, and teeth that would only excite a dentist. I have lots of stories like this locked up in my memory vault — stories of books and people and the intersection of both. The only thing better than having your imagination stirred is to stir someone else’s!

Related posts:
August 30, 2007: On Patriotism and Being Canadian

What’s a county fair without cotton candy and ice cream?*

My LANDS, I have an electronic mound of terrific photos from the weekend but — at the risk of sounding boringly repetitive — there is little time for the workflow process to get them online. So I leave you with two of my favourites, featuring my favourite upstate New York munchkins, the super-cute kidlets of Toyfoto. Read her entry here.

And I must point you to several photos she took [1 2 3] which I absolutely adore: me reading a book called “Tub-Boo-Boo” that requires a solid pair of lungs and a BFA in Theatre. You don’t read this book, you perform it!

* A rhetorical question, because the answer would be really sad.

Alcan Dragon Boat Festival, Vancouver — June 22, 2005

My plan for this evening was to process last weekend’s photos, but alas, I had to face the fact that I don’t live in a self-cleaning apartment and my clothes aren’t of the self-laundering variety (when will the scientists get around to inventing these???). Oh well, there goes another evening, but at least it was productive.

I thought I would share a couple of passages from the book I mentioned recently, Timbit Nation, which I finished the other day. (I highly recommend this book, whether you’re Canadian or not, at the very least as an entertaining travelogue.)

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I scanned this first page of the 1992 Aussie road trip journal recently to email to Lachlan, and because my book is completely falling apart at the seams. I’ve been keeping it in a box because there are bits glued and taped in, and the adhesive isn’t working anymore! I flipped through the book for the first time in a very long time a couple of weeks ago and it made me laugh and cry, as these sorts of memory lane-ish activities tend to do.

This first page is actually the least interesting part of the road trip journal — I wrote long entries, doodled and pasted things on the following pages — but I wanted to show the post-it note glued into the book. Isn’t that how all modern-day road trips with strangers begin? With little square notes stuck or tacked to bulletin boards? I’m really glad I kept this one, though, it’s how I ended up in Scotland (and some other countries) in the first place.

I’m currently reading Timbit Nation, a book written by a Globe and Mail journalist who decided to hitchhike across Canada to experience his own country through the eyes of the locals — the locals who pick up hitchhikers, anyway. I’m thoroughly fascinated by this book, not just for the hitchhiking stories that bring back memories of my own crazy times spent with my thumb out on lonely roads in Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and Malaysia, but the political and cultural background information the author incorporates into his documented journey. It’s like a crash course in Canadian history mixed with travel journalism. Some parts are absolutely hilarious to me, because I can relate to some of the frustrations the author expresses about hitchhiking and some of the, erm, unusual characters he meets along the way.

Maybe one day I’ll think more seriously about putting some stories together — with a little more than weak tape and glue — but for now I’ll start with some here and there on my website before I get senile and not remember a thing… like about writing that bit from Day 4 of the road trip in Canberra: “…lost a treasured pair of yellow knickers…. where???” What??

From David’s aviation library:

How the World Goes Away

And now a strange thing happens. It is so delicate and ephemeral that even to recognize it and allow it to enter our consciousness may destroy it. It is that, while flying, the rest of the world disappears. We suddenly have no past or future. Our lives have been erased from our minds. We have only our flight. We are existing completely in the here and now. By increasing our concentration, through the paradox of not concentrating, the mind is empty of everything but the immediate moment of experience; it is open, clear, and fully alert, and at the same time free of everything but the present.

- Harry Bauer, The Flying Mystique

I had a pretty good day today, all things considered. This afternoon I even made some plans that I would normally anticipate; it’s the first time in ages when I’ve had something to look forward to. So why were there tears streaming down my cheeks on the way home, threatening to blind me?

In grief we often have a deep well of different emotions occurring at the same time, which is what makes grief confusing. We don’t have to choose which emotion is right or wrong. We can feel each emotion as it occurs and understand that relief is not disloyalty but rather a sign of deep love. Even as you are an unwilling character in your loss, you know that your loss will be easier for you to bear than the suffering was for your loved one. That is real love.

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(er, not hot, per se, but available for a low price… anyway, read on, will ya?)

My friend Steve Savage is off to Russia in two weeks, and is desperately trying to raise some funds by selling off his remaining stock of his recently published book. In a bit of an experiment, he has listed a couple of copies of “Everywhere but Missouri, mate!” on eBay. To find them, just log onto eBay, and search for the book by title, or just with the words ‘Missouri’ and ‘mate’. It’s your chance to pick up a last minute Christmas present for as little as ten bucks. If the books start attracting a few bids, he will list more copies so if you’re outbid on one, you stand a chance on the next one.

I hosted Stephen Savage when he began his most recent ’round-the-world tour in July 2003, and despite his crass Aussie humour* is an incredibly likeable bloke with an amazing work ethic and a gift for storytelling… tall tales**… For more about the book, Steve himself, or his remarkable journeys, check out his Book Preview Page:

Everything but Missouri, Mate! - The Savage Files Book

I bought a stack of copies meself, so if you’re a friend of mine, this is probably what’s under your tree, from me.

*Steve, are you reading this?
**Steve, are you still reading? Send me some horchata and I’ll lay off the jabs!

In the blogging backlog that’s accumulated in recent months, I have neglected to properly plug Steve Savage’s book of his travels of the past year. To get an idea of his writing, visit his travel site:

The Savage Files

(At the moment he’s in Spain, running with the bulls… or likely away from them, once they spot his rather loud shirts.)

I originally ordered 5 copies of his book, but I’m going to bump up the quantity… guess what you’re getting for Christmas from me?

Ramon’s book is finished, and it is due to be released in September, but it’s all in Dutch… my Dutch is so rusty… Truthfully, I don’t speak Dutch at all! So, I’m hoping some English publishers will take notice, so I can eventually read what Ramon’s been working on since he finished his travel-the-world trip late last year. I can’t imagine the tedium of trying to translate an entire book from Dutch to English, by any means. Yeah, I think I’ll wait.

Technorati tags: Ramon Stoppelenburg

I finally finished the dang thing. I don’t think I have EVER dragged out the reading of a book this long before. Eliza gave me a bunch of novels over Christmas, and I’d finished the Bridget Jones books in due course. I even wrote a rambling blog about them.

Memoirs of a Geisha, however, took some time. Rightly so, though, since there is a level of detail in the book — Japanese culture in a particular time period — that warrants a slower pace. Plus, I’d already started my coursework and work was taking more of my time. But I have to say: I was a bit disappointed. The book is a favourite of so many, yet I found myself somewhat let down with… I’m not sure what exactly. Some passages were quite moving, her emotions powerful, but overall I didn’t feel the book’s expected impact. Could’ve been the long period of time I took to read it. Maybe if I’d read it in a few sittings it would’ve had a different impression, although that’s purely hypothetical. I can’t exactly unread it to find out.

Now I’m onto the last of the books Eliza lent to me: Frank McCourt’s ‘Tis, a follow-up to his more famous work, Angela’s Ashes, which I read when it was released way back when. I can’t recall the story details, but I do recall enjoying the book immensely. We’ll see how Frank McCourt does this time. I must say, though, I do have a fondness for the Irish lilt and have a tendency to “read aloud” the accent in my head as the words jump off the page. My own simultaneous translation, if you will.