Marion Agnew

In the past few days, I've been writing notes. Some are actual notes, on paper. Most are emails.  However. They all "count." (Count to whom? Not sure.)  The notes have fallen into two loose categories: thank-you notes and "thinking of you" notes. Writing them has been a pleasure all its own. It's nice to spend time articulating exactly how grateful I am, and in what ways I'm grateful.  And, when I feel empathy for someone going through a difficult time, to say "I'm thinking of you." It's a small thing, and no solution to their difficulty. But when I've been in their shoes, I've appreciated knowing that others remembered me and recognized my situation. All of which got me thinking: have I written myself any gratitude notes lately? How about a "thinking of you"? Not "things I'm generally grateful for" or "things I'm thinking about that I'm messing up."  Instead, I could list specific actio

I didn't sleep well last night. Not uncommon, when one has things on her mind. And when do I not? Also, the top of my left foot itched, which (I learned from midnight online searches) is a common phenomenon. Not so much the specificity of my own itch, but the fact that we humans are bombarded with sensory stimuli all day and the brain frantically filters out what's less important. So sometimes when all that calms down and you're lying in a darkened room breathing regularly, the brain's like, "Oh yeah, and BTW, your foot's been itching."  Somehow I pictured that scenario as an assistant handing her boss a stack of those pink "While You Were Out" message slips. Recently, Canadians' sleep habits were in the news--someone released a report--and I caught a news item about it. Toward the end of the item, it listed what constitutes "good sleep," as a way to say "If you don't get this, maybe talk to someone about your sleep habits.

One of my favourite pastimes is reading. I read many books in a year. Not as many as some folks, more than other folks.  I try to read some every day, although I've been known to read a lot (words and hours) in a few short days, and I've gone for longer stretches of time without reading much at all .  I read in part because I like to. I also read because I write, and reading helps me learn. And I read because I enjoy stories, and people, and challenging ideas, and other peoples' expertise.  I do talk about books on social media. Twitter's #SundaySentence is a place where I both post sentences and learn a lot from others'. What I post on Instagram is usually an expanded version of my #SundaySentence. I don't read to award stars. I don't always like the books I post about. I love many books I don't post about.  And no, all of this explanation isn't an allusion to any of the books below. It's more to let you know where I'm coming from.  That sai

Nope, no open water around here. Yet. I just like to remember that it's coming. Maybe in another month?   Suddenly it's March, and, as I do at the ends and beginnings of months, I've been looking back and forward. Here's what I'm taking from February's experiences into March.  1. A renewed connection with the writer I was ten or more years ago, thanks to time at a retreat. It’s been incredibly freeing to revisit those past projects, cull what I no longer need, and honour the self who did that work.  2. New writing, which is nice. Building on themes that have long been important to me, which is also nice. And in new, challenging forms, triply nice. "Nice" is starting to feel like an understatement here. OK: It feels good and I'm grateful. 3. A lightness—almost optimism? Maybe?—that’s for sure related to the changing seasons, but not only about the changing seasons. It’s great to have the morning sun in my eyes as I run errands wearing my lightest c