A quick flip post of thankyous and mentions. The fall and winter fell into a mix of normal (happy but busy) return to work, chaotic family schedules, a tiny bit of travel, general tired, and a few readings. I both welcome and regret spring. The quiet of late fall and deep winter lets me hide and look out windows. It affords more grace for quiet. I think I sometimes pretend that I don’t need that or that my energy is better than it is but it’s an illusion. Rest is required.
I’ve been grateful for:
A warm reading and discussion at Octopus Books with Shannon Arntfield who was launching her debut poetry book Python Love. Thank you to Octopus Books for being such gracious hosts as well as the League of Canadian Poets and the Canada Council for their event through a National Poetry Month event.
This review by melanie brannagan frederiksen in the Winnipeg Free Press:
“In Toxemia (Book*hug, 176 pages, $23), Christine McNair uses medical and cultural histories, folklore and memoir to consider, specifically, preeclampsia — and more generally, the way pregnancy, chronic and acute illnesses are treated in women. McNair’s use of a prose line throughout the text seamlessly blends moves from critique and analysis to memoir to the immediacy of lived memory.
“I am now more afraid of telling doctors my history,” she writes, after struggling to get adequate care for depression while she is breastfeeding. In the penultimate poem, McNair opens with the disorienting truth: “I’ve been told my memories are not my own.””
This review by Andreina Romero, in Room magazine:
“A term describing the presence of toxins in the blood, toxemia is also an old name for pre-eclampsia. Moving between memories of her pregnancies, emergency hospital visits, and her struggles with insomnia and depression as a bookbinding apprentice, McNair weaves a narrative history as lived through her body. At its heart, her investigation is about the ways the body rebels against the violence of pregnancy, as well as the intractability of illnesses that disproportionately affect women due to underfunding and under-research.
McNair tries to make sense of the condition in different ways: lyrically through vivid descriptions of symptoms and diagnoses, and genealogically by tracing the medical history of the women in her family—a great-grandmother who died at thirty-six, and her mother, who suffered a miscarriage before McNair was born. The most striking way, however, is analytical: one table lists the overlapping symptoms of a heart attack, depression, and the third trimester of pregnancy. Another compares the symptoms of pre-eclampsia and anxiety. Through these stark juxtapositions, McNair highlights the dangers and sacrifices implicit in the bringing of life into the world.”
This upcoming event through the Speaking Crow series (via plume) in Winnipeg! Both my parents grew up in Winnipeg so it’s a chance to connect with some family when I’m there next week. Thank you to the Speaking Crow series and to the Writers Union of Canada for their support of this event through the National Public Readings Program.
Also grateful for another upcoming event in Ottawa with rob mclennan and Amanda Earl at the Lieutenant’s Pump in early June! More details soon but it will be good to have a chance to read again in YOW.
I’m hoping to add a few more readings in 2025. More to come. We’re travelling to Ireland in July to follow our daughter’s choir and we’re hoping to read there too if we can. I know I’ll be in Nova Scotia in the fall (dates to be finalized) and I’m hoping to have a few readings there.
In the meantime, I’m watching the garlic and rhubarb come up in the garden. I’m titrating my energy in a beaker. I’m frustrated by the soreness in my right hip. I’m trying to hold a thought. The kids are outgrowing their shoes. I can’t keep track of all the school events. I’m planning the summer. I’m fretting the books in our house. I have the normal flow of annual specialist appointments and endless med managements. I’m fretting the loss of our family doctor for myself/kids and how we’ll replace her. I fret budgets. I’m wishing I could justify buying the garden beds that I want. I’m alternating hot/cold in the constant flow of dread news. I’m looking forward to buying seedlings as the dire winter news ate my capacity for seedlings. I blank out with cozy mysteries and games full of perpetual crops. I can’t wait for all the actual perennial herbs and foods in our garden. I plan the arrival of dirt. The damn blossoms. Can’t wait.
CHRISTINE MCNAIR 