So, what would you call this item?

Looking it up, I find several choices: singlet, tank top, sleeveless undershirt. And sadly, I also still find the unacceptable 'wife-beater'. 

The term apparently came about as the result of a case of domestic violence that dates back to 1947, which means it has been around far too long. Last I heard (though I don't patronize them) Amazon was still using this ugly terminology to describe sleeveless undershirts. 

Especially today, the first day of an extended observance that seeks the Elimination of Violence Against Women seems like a day to call a singlet a singlet (or one of the other terms that don't seem to extol violence).  

We here in Canada will also be observing this theme on December 6th, the date we remember the mass murder of 14 brilliant women at the Ecole Polytechnique. 

It's not even four o'clock and it's just about dark here. Dark times indeed when women are harmed -- or even killed -- pretty much simply because they're women. 

Rights. Equality. Empowerment.

It was nearly a hundred years ago that my grandmother got a job as an assistant to the sheriff in the city where she lived. No doubt--besides her brain--the tool she relied on the most was a typewriter, not unlike the one above which remains in a place of honour in my office. 

Not a lot of women worked outside the home back then, but she was a single parent--and heck, with four kids to feed, she needed an income. 

Oddly, for that era when women mostly stayed at home, my other gramma had a paying job as well. She worked in a bakery which, lucky for me, meant I was privileged to get fancily decorated cakes for birthdays and other special occasions. She also had four kids, along with a husband who was unable to work. 

On this day, International Women's Day, when we celebrate women and our many accomplishments, it seemed important for me to remember these two brave women from my family who preceded me, with a legacy I am proud to claim. As for those words in the subject header, they constitute the theme of this year's IWD, and I can only hope that soon they will actually be true for all of us who identify as women. 

It's a sign!

Yep. That's exactly what it is, and I'm not the person who made it. 

I discovered it the other day when I was going up our laneway--probably the single day in a long while that I didn't have my camera on hand. 

But the sign was just toooo good, especially with International Women's Day on the horizon, so home I went and got the shot. A lucky thing, as only a few hours later, it was gone. 

With all the horrors that have been going on in the world, I can only hope that it's a sign of good things to come. 

Sisters in Spirit

Last week was a day that's familiarly called 'Orange Shirt Day' -- and while 'Red Dress Day' is officially observed in May, today is also a day when I am wearing my little 'red dress' pin. Like my orange shirt pin, this one, complete with its jewels and ladybugs, was also a gift from a friend who is dear to me. 

This is a day to think about the many -- mostly Indigenous -- women and girls who have gone missing, and who too often, when they're found, are dead. One such was Tina Fontaine, who was killed in Winnipeg and whose body was dumped into the river. When I was in Winnipeg, I tossed a special rock into that river, a sad little farewell to her, that went with hopes that no more women would meet such a fate. 

Sadly, the situation in Vancouver's Downtown Eastside has recently escalated with stabbings and rapes occurring with increasing frequency. 

All women everywhere must do all we can to look out for each other -- wherever we may live, as Sisters in Spirit. In the meantime, I suggest you consider watching the NFB film called The Red Dress. Even though it's less than half-an-hour long, it's not an easy film to watch. Despite that, I think it's an important one to view. 

Dark days indeed

I remember a book cover that looked a lot like this photo. It may well have been an old edition of Darkness at Noon, a grim tale by Arthur Koestler, one that may be worth looking at again, with Putin now in place of the Stalinesque character, Number One, in that book. 

Besides the horrors going on in Ukraine, North America has had its own share of dark days, with mass shootings spanning the US from Buffalo to California and Texas. 

Today comes yet another body-blow, though no guns were used. 

This time the weapon at hand was the mind-blowing decision by the US Supreme Court to overturn the longstanding Roe v. Wade, which granted women the right to make decisions about our bodies. 

I can only share the concerns of many others when I ask, What's next? The cancellation of same-sex marriage (would all those couples find their marriages have been annulled?)? 

It will be interesting to see what happens in this autumn's coming elections, whether people will stand up for these important human rights. Although who knows, the next move might be to again take the right to vote away from women. 

Looking for light...

Tomorrow

Tomorrow is International Women's Day, a day when I'll be celebrating with a reading from my book about Amelia Earhart, Flightpaths. 

Her accomplishments as an aviator would be enough to make her a worthy mentor, but I admire her as well for her courage, especially in the many ways she stood up for and spoke out for the rights of women.  

Even though she was speaking about opportunities (or rather, the lack thereof) for women in the field of aviation, this statement of hers from 1934, sadly remains somewhat relevant today: "If and when you knock at the door, it might be well to bring an ax along; you may have to chop your way through." [from Susan Butler's excellent book, East to the Dawn]

The photo above is one of the monuments to her in Atchison, Kansas, the town where she was born. They like to celebrate their most famous citizen by having a festival in her honour every summer (every summer except 2020, of course; fingers crossed for this July). 

This weekend's edition of the Globe and Mail offered an interesting idea for a way to celebrate Women's Day. The article made the suggestion to read a book by a woman author. While that doesn't sound too radical a thought, the article reminded me that men don't always read books by women writers. 

This is something I've wondered about before, as women and girls certainly aren't afraid to read the works of men. Is this just another of those double-standards we continue to live with?

Tomorrow -- and by that, I don't mean only tomorrow, March 8th -- but all the tomorrows on into the years when things can only continue (we hope) to improve for women around the world. Onward!

Artspeaks

International Women's Day. A day to celebrate the many women who persisted. This piece of art is by a woman named Dani. It's part of a show called Herstory, an exhibit that opened the other night in a local gallery. All that I need to say for today. 

Hard to balance

It's a balancing act. Life, that is. Still, it bothers me that so many aspects of life can feel so out of balance.

While it shouldn't have come as a surprise, last week's tree-cutting in White Rock, came as a shock to many. Apparently, it had been part of the ever-shifting Official Community Plan, a document that too often has seemed to have been amended behind closed doors. This time, there was some sense to the act, as it was meant primarily to address the unsafe interlock-block sidewalk that had been shifting and rising over the years. Nonetheless, seeing stumps the breadth of these takes my breath away. I know, silly tree-hugger me. And if it weren't that the city has already cleared so many other tracts of trees, it might not seem as harsh as it does. Somehow, replacing a tree with a high-rise isn't an equation that seems very balanced to me.

But trees aren't the only out-of-balance item of late. Sunday's Academy Awards were certainly another indication of that. Among comments made by Frances McDormand (brave soul that she is) was the observation that, of Oscars presented, 33 went to men while only 6 went to women. That stat becomes even grimmer when you remove the two that could only be awarded to women (Best Actress and Supporting Role) and the two given only to men (Best Actor and Supporting Role). Then the imbalance becomes even clearer: 4 to 31.

And no, I'm not going to go into detail about the ongoing matter of wage inequity or lack of representation in board rooms (the glaring exception here is the status of volunteer-based organizations -- if there's no pay, women are given the jobs).

Today, International Women's Day, is a day for awareness, yes. But I wonder, just how many years is it going to take for equality to be a fact, and not a dream.

Women vote, because we can

It was only 100 years ago today that women were granted the right to vote here in British Columbia. The only reason I know this is because Daphne Bramham, one of the excellent columnists for the Vancouver Sun, brought it to readers' attention. Weirdly, I'm not able to find the piece in question online, though many of her other columns show up in a search. I'll do my best to not be paranoid about this.

Something she mentioned in the piece (it does exist; photo is of the print version which appeared on Saturday) is the fact that it was only in 1964 that women were permitted to open a bank account without their husband's permission. Strange though it seems, I recall being asked for my husband's signature when I applied for my first credit card (if memory serves, it was called 'Chargex') in the early 1980s. The thing is, I wasn't even married. My partner was a common-law spouse and wasn't the primary breadwinner in our household. Somehow I worked around this -- or, who knows, maybe I caved.

Today, on another errand, I needed to stop in at my Member of Parliament's office. While there, I mentioned the significance of the date, and I might as well have been looking at the deer in the headlights. Not a clue. And my MP is female.

We need to know more about our history, especially our history as women. And with an election coming up in our province on May 9th, it's important to support whichever party we most believe in.

It's simple: because we can vote, we must.

Not quite there yet

These daffodils serve as a good example of how I'm feeling ''not quite there yet" on a number of fronts. Even though I bought them a week ago, they've only barely begun to open -- and in truth, I'm not confident that all the buds will make it.

Oddly, the same thing occurred with quite a few of the bulbs I tried forcing this year. Specifically, it was members of the narcissus family, including the usually reliable 'paper white' variety' that disappointed. They formed what looked like normal buds, but they simply didn't open. And it wasn't just the set of bulbs I'd potted, but ones that came as a gift from a friend -- a friend who's a professional gardener.

But flowers aren't the only case of my feeling "not quite there."

Tomorrow is International Women's Day, and I'm seeing far too many instances of women being nowhere near "there" especially if 'there' can be defined as a place of equality.

I'm thinking specifically of recent court cases where sexual assault charges were not taken seriously, where the judge ruled that being passed out drunk could still signal 'consent'. If there can be any good news in this, it's the fact that the decision has raised an outcry and that today an appeal has been made.

As for wage inequity or glass ceilings, I'm not even going there. Sadly, that's not news.

And maybe I'd feel less edgy about all of this if it weren't for the fact that even spring seems to be on hold. Yep, instead of daffs outside, there's still more snow.

Celebrating Amelia in Atchison, Kansas

Well, I don't think she'd be flying, but if she were alive, today's the day Amelia Earhart would be celebrating her birthday, turning 119. If nothing else, she'd probably have a hard time getting her pilot's licence renewed. The gorgeous cake (yes, that's actually a cake!) represents the line of luggage sponsored by Earhart, one of the many products she endorsed to finance her flights.

But even though she isn't around, every year when her birthday approaches, the town where she was born throws quite the celebration in her honour. This year, for the 20th anniversary of the festival, I managed to be there in the midst of it.

The range of events soared from the lofty to the less-than-sublime, and I'm pleased to say that I sampled the full range.

An important part of the festival is its Pioneering Achievement Award, which recognizes outstanding women and their accomplishments. The women recognized at the Earhart Festival are kin of sorts to the famous pilot, as Amelia was all about women's rights and our ability to accomplish whatever we set our minds to. Much to admire, much to live up to.

Past recipients of the award include US Air Force Colonel Eileen Collins, first woman to pilot a space shuttle and athlete Lynette Woodard, the first woman to play for the Harlem Globetrotters. A number of other past recipients attended this year's festival and took part in a thought-provoking panel on Saturday morning. They included Tori Murden McClure (first woman to row solo across the Atlantic), Sophia Danenberg (first black woman to summit Mt Everest), Ngozi Eze (working on behalf of women in Africa, towards ending female circumcision and providing medical aid to victims of war rape) and the very special Ann Pellegreno who in 1967 completed the around-the-world at the Equator flight Amelia Earhart never finished. Yep, heady company, and I haven't named half of them.

But the weekend wasn't only about serious talk and accomplishments. Craziest event of the weekend had to be the demolition derby, just slightly up the road from town at the local dirt track. Among events was a first for me: a smash-up derby, but between school buses! Otto, you would have loved it.

After a lovely (and decidedly civilized, much in contrast to my afternoon at the track) reception at the Amelia Earhart Birthplace Museum, Saturday night gave us perfect weather, with just a breeze coming off the river while crowds gathered along the bank.

First, there was the excitement of the aerobatics show, with lots of people snapping photos. On the right you can just see the Amelia Earhart Bridge over the Missouri River. Later in the evening, its lights flashed like a rainbow.

And really, what July event in the US would be complete without the finale of a magnificent fireworks display. Just one warning with these: unless you turn your volume down, you're bound to hear me laughing.

Down by the river

Winnipeg. That's where I spent this past weekend. Aside from hurriedly changing planes at the Winnipeg airport, I'd never been there before. What a place, a city that reached into my soul.

In between meetings and sessions for The Writers' Union of Canada and the League of Canadian Poets, I made it to the Winnipeg Art Gallery, the Legislature Buildings and the Canadian Museum of Human Rights. All of these visits were well worthwhile, but even more important to me was the visit I paid to the banks of the Red River.

The reason for visiting the river was so I could place a 'memory rock' there.

The memory rock was a shiny stone I'd found, in of all places, on the floor of a downtown dollar store.

The store was crowded, mostly with First Nations people -- singles, women, families with beautiful kids. It was a messy shop, with more security guards than ordinary staff, and I suppose the security guys weren't into tidying the shelves.

It made me sad that the food choices there consisted of nothing but chemmy-flavoured junk. I could only hope that there was another grocery store in the neighbourhood, one with at least milk, bread and some kind of produce selection.

But then, at my feet, was the perfect shiny stone. I knew it didn't belong there and rescued it.

It was later that the idea came to mind: I knew I wanted to take it to the river and toss it into the water, my small way of remembering Tina Fontaine.

Yesterday, my last day in Winnipeg, was the day I made my way to the river. But the River Walk was closed, owing to the height of the water, almost in flood. I tried a couple of spots where I might access the river -- in a park, beside a playground -- and got close enough that I could have thrown it in. Even though I tossed in a few small stones (ones I picked from under trees on the bank), none of those spots felt like the right place to send out the special one.

Then, when I'd almost resigned myself to keeping the stone, I found the special place.

Here I'd spent the weekend with writers and what did I find but a park bench with a book on it -- a hardcover one at that.

The book's title confirmed that I'd found the right place and I said a kind of prayer/dedication and let the stone fly. For Tina.

Tomorrow the official Report on Truth and Reconciliation will be released -- the aftermath of the horror of the residential schools with their hideous agenda, to "..take the Indian out of the child."

I'm hoping that one of the steps our government will take towards true reconciliation will be initiating an official inquiry into the missing and murdered Aboriginal women. I hope the ripples of my special stone for Tina will radiate into something positive so we don't have any more women thrown into the river -- and not just in Winnipeg, but anywhere.

Inspiration: moving forward

One of these years I plan to figure out a way to go to every day of the Vancouver Writers' Festival. Once again, I have had to be satisfied with a single day's outing. Still, the time proved to be very well spent.

The afternoon session, A Long Walk to Truth, explored two very different takes on what might be called family stories. Deni Y. Bechard's book looks into the relationship he had with his very non-traditional father -- a man who was, among other things, a bank robber.

The other presenter, Carol Shaben, wrote a book that was a long time in coming -- about a plane crash in which her father was one of only four survivors. The two writers' work seemed to complement each other, but that may have had something to do with the skill of moderator Kirk LaPointe.

Walking in the rain and exploring Granville Island were also part of my day. But for me the real 'meat' of the festival was an evening presentation on Women and Literature. Not the usual festival presentation -- generally focused on an author's current book -- this was a discussion of a topic that's often ignored despite its being the proverbial elephant in the room: gender equality in the literary arts.

Anne Giardini, who hosted the event, had a world's worth of talented women on stage with her. They included Kate Mosse, founder of the prestigious Orange Prize (now transformed into the Women's Prize for Fiction), Australia's Gail Jones, noted Canadian author and activist Susan Swan, and Vancouverite Gillian Jerome.

Thanks to Jerome's work with CWILA, some startling statistics revealed that although women publish more books than men, the state of reviewing doesn't reflect this. Mosse and Jones bore witness to the parallel (and dismal) situation in their countries.

The discussion, of course, was broader than mere statistics, ranging to the selection of judges for contests, marketing and cover art (with -- gasp -- the 'decapitated woman' too often depicted). It felt as if some of the old fires of early feminism were being re-ignited, with a conversation that was not only lively and entertaining, but pointed and stirring.

As for me, the first small step I plan to take is to sign on to the CBC's current Canada Reads invitation to nominate books for their annual contest -- and this year to ensure that the book I suggest is one that was written by a woman.

To note: If you plan to nominate a book for Canada Reads, the deadline for doing so is this Monday, October 22nd.

Let's not go back

This week our Members of Parliament take on the almighty task of determining the moment when life begins. If you think that sounds presumptive, maybe even Godlike, I’m with you.

Yet our mostly Conservative Parliamentarians seem to believe that they, unlike the rest of us, have a hotline to Truth.

The physicians of Canada have suggested that the would-be legislation opens a back door to the recriminalization of abortion, an action that would leave Canadian women amongst the only women in what we like to think of as the ‘free world’ without the right to a safe abortion.

Remember, current laws don’t make abortion a procedure a woman must choose. Still, if someone determines the need for one, she is assured the security of a medical facility and doesn’t need to risk the horrors of back-room hotel room scrapings so many women were forced to endure less than 50 years ago.

If you’re brave enough to watch our elected officials parade their arrogance, tune in to the ongoing broadcast.

And if you haven’t already, please write to your MP, suggesting they get off this current high-horse and come back to where there’s plenty of down-to-Earth work that needs doing. 

Oh, TED, I hardly knew ye...

Not long ago, a well-meaning friend sent me a link to video which he thought would inspire, or at least interest me.

It was part of the TED series, so I took the time to watch it.

About the only feeling the video inspired in me was disappointment – that, and complete puzzlement about what exactly the TED foundation stands for.

I guess I was mistaken in thinking that a TED presentation meant a well-researched, well presented, thought-provoking piece. Instead, the video I saw was one that contained errors and seemed full of emotion-laden language geared towards a particularly non-scientific set of conclusions.

Granted, the imagery is remarkable. The video in question consists of a series of electronic scans strung together to illustrate the development that occurs between conception and birth. Primarily, it’s the captioning that got me shuddering.

Worst of all was the just-fertilized egg, in process of its first division (a stage I’d thought was zygote). Here the caption cites that, at 24 hours, the “baby’s first division” occurs. Egg, yes. Zygote, I think so. Baby, not.

Part of this is the editor in me, bothered by vertebrae being spelled ‘vertAbrae’ the term yolk sac becoming ‘yolk sacK’.

But my bigger concern is over the emotional ‘baby’ language embedded throughout the piece. I’d thought embryo and fetus were the more specific terms for stages of pregnancy. Instead, this presentation is filled with the loaded sort of terminology I expect from the likes of Rick Santorum, not from a supposedly respected scientist.

Contraband?

Birth control pills as a banned substance?

This isn’t a prediction of some Rick Santorum-approved society. It’s simply what was dictated by law -- and not all that many years ago.

Listening to archival clips broadcast by CBC for International Women’s Day, I learned (among other, now equally absurd-seeming facts) that the birth control pill – even a prescription for oral contraceptives – was only made legal in Canada in 1969.

The slogan used to be, ‘You’ve come a long way, baby.’ I’ll say!

Especially when it comes to being able to decide: ‘No thank you, not a baby, not just now.’

100 years

Apparently, that's the anniversary we're celebrating this International Women's Day.

I'm prompted to write because I just saw a story element on tv that made me think of myself. A woman is remarking at the tragedy of a young woman (unmarried) having a baby, having that mean she'll not get a degree.

But that was my story: having a baby, then another (!) and then deciding, as a single parent, to go back to school. Couldn't have done it without the example (going back to school at 50) of an important woman in my life, my mother, Carole.

A case of (too many) good intentions

Here it is, over halfway through the week, more than halfway through the month, and I'm feeling more than half-behind in things I've meant to do (and post!).

I’ve had Internet problems all day, making everything take nearly twice as long, not even accounting for the ff (frustration factor) of losing stuff -- and waiting, waiting, waiting.

But trying again, intent with good intentions.

I had a photo I'd taken and saved especially for Valentine's, even found an article about writing a love poem I intended to use. Oh, sigh.

And it seemed a natural follow-up from the last posting, on Walk Myself Home, to write about the Women's Memorial March held on Monday.

Then, getting fluffier in my thinking, this big blue machine by the name of Watson showed up on Jeopardy! At least at this point, here in the Pacific Time Zone, where we haven't yet seen tonight's show, Watson is beating the proverbial pants off his competitors, Ken Jennings and Brad Rutter.

While it's impressive to see Watson's comprehension of 'natural language' it's crummy seeing two such brainy humans getting slapped around so badly by a bank (okay, banks and banks) of microprocessors (or whatever they are). Both Ken Jennings and Brad Rutter have earned payouts in the millions, but it looks as though neither of them stands a chance against Watson. And I suspect it's largely a matter of who can buzz in the fastest. Hands down (as there are no ‘hands’ involved), when it comes to speedy reflexes, the winner is going to be Watson.

One thing Watson has made me think about is Robert J. Sawyer's www trilogy -- okay, only two are out so far, Wake and Watch -- but it's hard not to think Sawyer's vision (those who have read these will know what I mean) could indeed be soon to come true.

A time for change

Last night, a friend and I went in to Vancouver, to attend an event celebrating a remarkable new book, Walk Myself Home.

The venue, the Carnegie Community Centre, certainly felt right. It's a heritage building that, like the sign above says, serves as the heart of the community.

Early evening, and the building seemed packed. People were gathered around tables, playing cards or mah-jong; several quieter tables focused on chess. Moving to the library, nearly every seat was taken, heads bent to books or taking notes.

But back to the reading, that took place in the centre’s theatre.

Readers offered short memoirs, poems, even an account of a court challenge with long-lasting benefits to victims of abuse. Although the event was sponsored by the Vancouver Public Library, the setting was anything but library-like.

Hosted by Elee Kraljii Gardiner, who runs a Thursday afternoon creative writing program at the Centre, she spoke of how the book’s contributors have formed their own community – providing accommodation and meals for out-of-town contributors, supporting each other in many ways.

I’m sure I’m speaking for everyone who attended when I say that we felt included in the circle of communities this book has engendered.

I especially loved the fact that most of the questions at the end came from men. And that with the questions came thanks and other hopeful words.

As the book’s subtitle explains, Walk Myself Home is “an anthology to end violence against women.” I’d like to believe that the ‘end’ part of that phrase is correct and coming true.

Who says there's no such thing as a time machine?

Apparently they've got one in South Dakota. And it sounds like they're planning to use it so they can take South Dakotans back more than thirty years.

That state's legislators are working on a law that would challenge 1973's Roe v. Wade decision. That's the Supreme Court decision that made medically safe abortions possible.

Ironically, the bill's main sponsor is a woman, Senator Julie Bartling.

As might be expected, the bill has been presented to 'save lives.' Yet the current bill won't even allow abortions in instances that threaten the mother's health.

But shouldn't an already existing life be worthy of protection? Isn't this supposed to be a place that values Mom (and apple pie) right up there with their flag?

The capital of South Dakota is Pierre. But folks there don't pronounce it like the French name. They say 'peer.'

Or, as women facing unwanted pregnancies might be thinking, 'pier.' As in something to jump off of.