What Should You Do With Your Days? / January 21, 2019 by Lena Scholman

I’m not sure what you should do with all your days, but today, this Monday morning that announces itself sunny and frigid, I’m going to recommend a few minutes alone with words.

https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/wild-geese

Withstanding Storms / January 7, 2019 by Lena Scholman

In 1954, my soon-to-be-married grandparents went out in search of an apartment, their first home together, and were daunted by the prohibitive twenty-one dollar a month going rate. The landlord, sympathetic to their plight, suggested instead a few rooms in the upstairs of his own home, and they accepted. A Murphy bed was quickly built so they could have a living room (we had to have a living room, my grandmother said, which tells you something of immigrant priorities – you don’t lounge around with your coffee in bed !) and therein they installed a tiny chesterfield, two chairs and a brand new coffee table. It all seemed an auspicious start until early October when their little abode shook and rain came pouring in through the rafters, dousing their precious few belongings. My grandfather, not a mild-mannered guy, went straight downstairs to see what kind of a second rate apartment he’d just signed onto. The poor landlord was beside himself, earnestly promising “we’ve never seen anything like this!” And the man was no liar. Adjusting for inflation, Hurricane Hazel caused over 1.2 billion dollars in damage in Canada, and billions more in the U.S and Caribbean. My grandparents, undaunted, helped clean up the wreckage and went on to experience sixty years of shelter and security together. This little anecdote came to mind this week as I savoured Barbara Kingsolver’s newest novel, “Unsheltered”, and reflected on what it means to seek safety and shelter in troubled times.

Fifty Random Things... / January 4, 2019 by Lena Scholman

There are many things I could tell you about myself, my professional background, where I live, how I engage in the community etc.… but just for fun, here are some random facts you won’t find on a résumé that give a wider picture of who I am, where I been, what I love and what I live for.

1. I’m the oldest of four kids with three younger brothers. This also makes me the oldest grandchild on my Dad’s side.

2. I grew up in a small town on Georgian Bay.

3. I studied in four different universities.

4. I speak English, French and Spanish.

5. I lived in Veracruz, Mexico for a year in the late nineties.

6. I drink white wine in the summer, red in the winter.

7. I wear the same clothes almost daily from October-April: Buffalo jeans and a black cashmere sweater.

8. I stopped dyeing my hair three years ago and suddenly it began to curl.

9. Engaged at la Basilique de Fourvière, still going with the same better half 18 years +

10. I once won an investment contest by buying stock in all my favourite cosmetic companies.

11. I’m secretly jealous of all the people with the willpower to do the Keto diet.

Carpe Diem - A Thanksgiving Post / October 5, 2018 by Lena Scholman

THE HOUSE was Mom’s idea.

My childhood Sunday afternoons were spent driving the back roads of apple country, looking for land to buy amongst the seven thousand acres of orchard that filled a valley on the shores of Georgian Bay. Dad worked as a foreman in a local apple packing plant, a job with too much responsibility and too little money, and Mom looked after the four of us kids and, at harvest time, helped my grandfather pick apples. Dad yearned for an orchard of his own, and finally one day, Mom found it.

With a sagging roof and dark windows, the white farmhouse looked abandoned. The front porch hadn’t seen a coat of paint in decades and the yard was covered in brambles. Though there was no “For Sale” sign, she knocked on the door. An elderly bachelor greeted her with apprehension, and later, appraised of her desire, sent her away.

Undeterred, she returned a few days later, this time with some baking and her youngest son in tow. The man’s fear of my mother diminished at the sight of my brother’s cherubic face. He accepted her boterkoek peace offering and let them in.

You've Got a Season Ticket to My Heart / September 25, 2018 by Lena Scholman

When I was about sixteen or so, my friend’s mother told me she had an inkling I’d marry young. I felt as though she were testing me, to see how I’d respond. Was that a good thing or was she warning me away from foolish commitment? The truth was, I’d been passionately loyal to a handful of girls, her daughter included, and they’d all eventually tired of my friendship and moved on. If I could find someone willing to lock in, I figured I’d probably sign on for the long haul. Five years after her prediction, I did just that. I haven’t looked back on the rollercoaster of angst that was female friendship from those days, but it’s a puzzle that continues to fascinate me.

#BFF

When women tag other women online with words like “bestie” I feel simultaneously jealous and relieved. I wonder if they’re compensating for some kind of relational deficit elsewhere that they need to show off online. Acute FOMO strikes, along with a nagging suspicion about sisterhood. There’s a sorority I’m excluded from while I’m uncertain I really want the secret handshake. I need female friends, but I crave reliability most of all. I like having fun, but it’s not my number one priority. Show me loyalty and I’m yours for life.

All of this to say that despite my wariness about leaning deeply into female friendship as an adult, along came Frankie.*

On Setting: Amsterdam, Westerbork & a Storybook Castle (Moat Included) / July 5, 2018 by Lena Scholman

In Amsterdam, we were so fortunate to have the best tour guides, remember I mentioned the Jewish girls who lived on my grandmother’s farm during the war? Now 85 and 80 years old, spending time with them was a huge privilege. I explained that I wanted to make my setting ring true, and they were happy to give me the local’s tour. I’d written a scene where two of my characters take the train from the Centraal Station towards the Waterlooplein (a.k.a the old Jewish quarter) and I wanted to retrace those steps to see how far it was, to imagine the barriers, the smells, the vendors. Today it’s impossible to compare the black and white photographs to the current neighbourhood as much of the area has been torn down and rebuilt, but the Jewish Historical Museum helped to fill many of the gaps.

My Story Begins May 10th, 1940 (Or, At Least, That's What it Feels Like) / July 4, 2018 by Lena Scholman

As a kid, when I used to get sick, I was sent to my grandmother’s home to lie on a brown and orange velour couch. My parents were working in the orchard, and even if they weren’t, my grandmother was the best nurse around. She brought me stale ginger ale, dry toast and let me watch the Andy Griffith Show and Leave it to Beaver. After lunch there were only soap operas on television, so she turned to her bookshelves to find me something to read. Though I loved Anne of Green Gables, Little Women and Charlotte’s Web, none of those (WASP) classics touched me like Anne DeVries’ novel Journey Through the Night. This slim series of stories, commissioned to capture the war years, were popular in the Netherlands and in Canada in English translation. The story of one family’s heroism captured my imagination, but also perhaps coloured my imagination, and my self-perception. After devouring the harrowing survival tale of war, I concluded that I belonged to a salt-of-the earth tribe. My people were oppressed, resisted and survived to tell the story. If anyone (like say, Queen Wilhelmina) were looking to boost the self-esteem of a generation using the novel as a propaganda vehicle, it worked. I grew up believing that basically every Dutch citizen had tried to save Anne Frank. It wasn’t until I began interviewing my own family about the realities of the war that I realized life wasn’t, isn’t, so black and white.