Marion Agnew

Have you ever gone on a walk with a three-year-old? I don't have a whole lot of experience with kids in general, but I do know that "unpredictable" might be the best descriptor of the time I spend with them. For example, if I want to spend some time outdoors as a way to give the kid a chance to "run the stink off," as an experienced grandmother expresses it, the kid just wants to be indoors (making noise or tearing up something, usually). Whereas if I want to get from Point A to Point B, the kid wants to examine every rock on the beach from all angles and otherwise experience all the glories of nature. So lately, I've been the second kind of kid. The one who may be on a path to a destination and all, but who keeps seeing shiny things on the ground that require intense inspection. Or an opening in the brush at the side of the road that absolutely must be investigated. Or a butterfly that requires chasing. You get the picture. There's this nonfic...

Thank you to the Alzheimer Association of Thunder Bay for hosting such a wonderful, supportive day for caregivers and allowing me to share a little about the value of keeping a journal. Here's a link to the handout I shared; it has the important information on it. At the workshop, a few caregivers shared their stories and thoughts about the process. One of the caregivers said that some days with her mother are basically okay, and some days she just wants her "real" mother back. I didn't get the chance to tell her this in person, but I will say it here: it's been my experience that after a sad and difficult journey, and perhaps a time of mourning, you can develop a new relationship with your loved one. The end of someone's life doesn't represent that person's entire life, and those circumstances don't have to define your relationship with that person forever. You may not have her "back," but you can re-connect with more of her than yo...

You know how you think your life is going to go one way, and then some stuff happens, and it goes a different way? Or maybe you thought some day you'd be "all grown up" and receive that Adult Handbook and know how to do everything. Either way, what a surprise to discover that you can--or must--continue to learn new skills and change directions in your 30s, 40s, and (dare I say it) 50s. The May 2013 issue of Discover magazine contains (among other fascinating insights into our world) an article about an ornithologist (birds), Richard Prum, whose theories about beauty and evolution are worth reading for themselves. The writer, Veronique Greenwood, did a great job with questions that get to important information and great quotes. So yes, go there and read this! A sort of "sidebar" element of the story that captured my attention relates to the reason why Dr. Prum started studying bird feathers and display in the first place: he had to punt. From childhoo...

I'm in a yoga class again. If I'd stopped to count how many YEARS since my last experience with yoga, I might have signed up for the beginner class again. However, I managed to keep up this week, and I enjoy a challenge, so I'm staying. Earlier I was talking about endings and beginnings. One of the new projects in my life has more or less come to me--it's taken hold of me and won't let go. A couple of experiences this summer inspired me to start researching and writing, and now I can't stop. It's creative nonfiction, which I have written before, but mostly in response to a death. Thankfully, no one had to die for me to write the essay cycle I'm working on now. Or rather, people have died, but their deaths are important only in that they signify the passage of time, which in turn has somehow made me one of the (ostensible) adults in the world, someone with responsibilities like an actual grown-up. Oh never mind. The point is, I'm stretching phys...

For some reason, I'm finding the change of season this year to be harder than usual. I'm really not sure why. I love autumn, even though I'm not technically on a school calendar and so have no real reason to buy notebooks and colored pencils (though I do anyway). I have a little end-of-summer ennui most years, but it dissipates as I recognize yet again that I never have to leave here. Forty-odd years of leaving what always felt like home to "go home" to a version of life that felt temporary apparently created a lingering unconscious sense of impending doom. But I know better: Yes, I don't have to leave here this year, either. Still, that "oh no, not yet" feeling lingers. Previously, I mentioned end-of-summer projects, both writing and other, and finding new goals. I've done a bunch of all of it. Of course, there's never enough time for all the summer projects, but we have managed some, in spite of too cold and wet, too hot and muggy, rai...

So, I'm done! I revised and revised and submitted and submitted. Whatever the results, I've done what I am able to do at this time, and I'm defining that as a victory. Woo-hoo, yippee. Okay, enough celebrating. And in the words of President Jed Barlet, "What's next?" I'll be finding/figuring that out in the next couple of weeks. Meanwhile, the boat needs to be rowed, the wood needs splitting, structures need rebuilding and mouseproofing (yech). I may even tackle a couple of other big cleaning/clearing projects. Lots of work to keep my hands and body busy while my mind "toils" with ideas. Happy late summer, everyone -- whether you're heading back to school or celebrating a different kind of new beginning!

Recently, I told my sister I was growing out my bangs. Her response: "And then what?" which is sister-code for "WHY??" The answer: my new hairstylist is persuasive. She thinks I could have curly hair if only I treated it correctly, which leads me to like her even as I recognize she might be daft (or trying to sell products for curly hair). And, as she expertly cut my hair, she suggested growing out my bangs. Another answer: because it's there. It's a goal. It's something I'm moving toward, at a time when I need a hair goal (can't believe I just admitted that I need hair goals). About two years ago I decided to let my natural color take over my head, in solidarity with my brother, who was losing his hair from chemotherapy. (At a hotel recently, the woman behind the registration desk described my hair as "brown and blonde," to which my sister replied, "If 'blonde' is what we're calling 'gray' these days."...