Contemplating Plato

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

“The life which is not examined is not worth living” – Plato

Plato has a point.

But examining your life can be a difficult thing. I know it is for me.

Self-examination, of the physical sense is especially traumatizing. I’ve found a grey hair. Ok I’ve found a multitude of grey hairs. And a couple of hairs in my eyebrows are doing some REALLY “interesting” things. Once in awhile, all of a sudden one hair will flip up, and I’ll catch a glimpse of myself looking something like my dad, or my Uncle Johnny. Also, I chipped my front tooth and didn’t realize it until one little grade four student I’m working with pointed it out to me. So I’ve been going around, living life unaware of a renegade LONG eyebrow hair that bizarrely springs outward and up, and a chipped tooth.

Oh, and a pimple.

On my chin.

That I will name if it sticks around longer than the three day’s it’s already been with me.

Note to self; check self out in the mirror a little more closely in the morning before leaving the house.

Now, if you can emotionally get through the physical examination, life is indeed worth living.

However, a mental examination of self is slightly more difficult.

Especially if you’re slightly neurotic

like me.

I can mull and stew and over think a minute scenario, a casual interaction, and a miniscule glance for hours and evenings and days. And 100% of the time I’ve over-reacted. I’m learning not to do this as much. Telling myself that worry is a useless emotion. This self talk helps. I’m a master worrier. Experts have told me so. Not that I take pride in the fact, but just knowing that this is indeed part of who I am makes it less scary. I own this trait. I’m beginning to control it and shape it and chip it away.

Doing so has definitely made life worth living.

Examining the goodness specific to my life is also worthwhile. I have the best of families. Loving and devoted parents, sisters who are the best of friends, nieces I love more than life itself and brother-in-laws that are supportive and have adopted me as a sister of their own (or so it seems to me). I am a teacher. I have taught the most amazing people. People who will indeed make the world a better place not just for the cliché of “being in it” but because they are students of CHANGE. They are smart and sensitive and innovative. It is comforting to know how wonderful our future leaders will be. Over all the years they have proven to be GOOD people who will do GOOD in the world. Simply and succinctly.

In examining all of these people in my life, they indeed make life worth living.

Little accessible things in life, that on the surface appear insignificant, but in reality absolutely contribute to a life worth living: the smell and taste of fresh coffee in the morning (bonus for the Baileys). Saturday’s Globe and Mail. A good, NEW, screams to be read, latest novel from my favourite writer. A DVD box set release of my favourite show. Fresh flowers. A glass of an amazing Cabernet Sauvignon. Belly laughs.

And to en-capture and embrace all of this worthiness , I live in one of the most beautiful countries in the world. I fall asleep to blazing red sunsets and wake up to the sound of chickadees. I can witness the northern lights and an intimidating lightning storm over the course of the same evening. I live a year with four distinct seasons. Spring is quintessentially spring with pussywillows and the hatching of mallard eggs. Summer has the smell of cut lawns and the greenery of trees and the swell of mosquitoes. Fall, glorious colours, the haunting cry of geese flying south and the emergence of deer and moose (sometime bear) out of the bush. And winter. Snow. Sub zero temperatures. Hoar Frost. All coming together in Christmas card charm.

Definitely a wonderful setting for the gradual unveiling of my life.

A life worth living.

The Continuing Adventures of Antonia Gigglegoose….

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

Antonia Gets a Job

Once there was a young girl named Antonia Gigglegoose. Antonia came from a very large family. There were Gigglegoose brothers in the first and second grade, and Gigglegoose sisters in the fourth and fifth grade, and there were even Gigglegoose triplets in kindergarten! Antonia herself had just finished the third grade. 

That summer Antonia’s older sisters got jobs. Anastasia Gigglegoose (who was just about to start the sixth grade) was getting paid for babysitting the Gigglegoose triplets when mother and father were busy. You see the Gigglegoose triplets were MONSTERS wrecking everything and making all sorts of sticky, gooey messes in their wake. Antonia did NOT want a job taking care of the monsters. Antonia’s other sister Arabella Gigglegoose (who was about to go into in the 5th grade) got paid five cents every time she washed and dried the supper dishes and kept track of her pay in a little orange notebook she had gotten for Christmas.

“I want a job”, Antonia demanded to her mother.

“When you are in 5th grade, you can have your sister’s dishwashing job. For now, you are going to have to make do with your allowance, “Mrs Gigglegoose quipped as she was changing the light bulb above the bathroom sink. 

“Fine. I’ll get a job on my own,” Antonia huffed and marched out of the bathroom.

“Let me know how it goes! I’ll need to know how much to charge you rent!” Teased Mrs Gigglegoose.

Antonia went off to her Breadbox home to contemplate her job opportunities. Antonia’s breadbox home was indeed just that, an old bread crate she had converted into a little “home of her own”.

“I could be a snow shoveller,” Antonia mused, but snow only existed a few months of the year, and Antonia figured she would need to work more than that if she were ever going to be considered a career woman.

“A shoe tier?” Possible. But most of the Gigglegoose children had Velcro on their shoes and therefore didn’t need anyone to help them put on their shoes. However, they usually frolicked about in bare feet, paying no attention to footwear.

“I’ve always wanted to be a bus driver,” thought Antonia. “The only thing is that I don’t know how to drive. I guess Oh well, I guess I’ll have to practice.”

So, Antonia went to retrieve her bike from under the patio and proceeded to pedal her bike up and down the driveway until she felt she was skilled enough to responsibly transport children to and from school.

“Hmmm. Now I’ll need to find some kids to pick up”. To solve this problem, Antonia went into the house and came back with her Winnie Walker doll.

Skipping rope in hand, Antonia proceeded to tie Winne to the back of her bike. Then, after Winnie was secure, Antonia neatly got on her seat and peddled away down the driveway. 

“Why hello Hammersmith children. Welcome to my bus” Antonia had stopped and pretended to open the door of the bus. “Be sure to keep your feet off the back of the seat in front of you. I don’t want to kick you off my bus and have you walk to school”.

Antonia peddled a bit further down the road. “Nice to see you made it on time to catch the bus this fine morning Yoloyellows. Make sure you remember to take your lunch with you into school this morning Yanny Yoloyellow. You don’t want to leave it on the bus like you did yesterday and then feel hungry all day”.

Her final stop was the Barterbertals. “Wade Barterbertal, I want NO more farts from you today. You almost exterminated the entire bus yesterday. Be sure to open your seat window so that we don’t faint if you do let one go and I unconsciously drive the bus into the ditch”. 

Antonia drove up and down the driveway making her way to “school”. Making sure to be safety conscious, every once in a while Antonia would stop at imaginary traffic lights and crosswalks.. Antonia was almost all the way to school when there was an awful crunching noise, and her bike came to a standstill. She could no longer pedal. Something was caught in the spokes of her back tire. “Oh, no!” Antonia thought to herself, “I hope that isn’t a flat tire”.

Antonia stopped, stepped off of her bike carefully, put the kickstand down and turned to look to see what the problem was.

To her horror, Antonia noticed that Winnie’s leg had gotten caught in the spokes. Big tire scrape marks could be seen crisscrossing down Winnie’s leg. “Oh, no! Winnie. Noooooo!” Antonia quickly untied the skipping rope that had been holding Winne to her banana seat then grabbed Winnie by the hair and ran to the house sobbing uncontrollably. “Winnnnnnnnnnnnnnnieeeeeeeee is dying.” She cried.

Antonia’s mother came running from the garage to see what all the bellowing was about. “Antonia! What is the matter? What is wrong?” 

“It’s Winnie! She got caught in my school bus!” Antonia wailed an buried her face into her mother’s shoulder.

“Caught where?”

“In my school bus. I was practicing being a school bus driver with my bike, and Winne’s leg got caught in the wheel.” Antonia howled.

“Antonia calm down, calm down. Let’s take a look”. Antonia’s mother gently took Winnie from Antonia’s arms. Well. I don’t think she’ll lose her leg, but she will have a scar. Come with me, and we will patch her up”. 

Antonio followed her mother and Winnie to the bathroom. Antonia’s mother placed Winnie on the clothes hamper then opened one of the drawers and pulled out the toothpaste.

“Why, toothpaste? Winnie’s teeth aren’t broken.” Antonia asked her voice, muffled by her hanky. 

“Well”, her mother said, “Let’s pretend its antibiotic ointment that will help keep the germs away from Winnies wound”. Then Antonia’s mother put a little bit of toothpaste on her finger and gently wiped it all over the tire marks imprinted on Winnie’s let. She then squirted a tiny bit of toothpaste on Antonia’s finger and had her wipe it all over Winnie’s wound as well.

Next, Antonia’s mom took out the Band-Aids. Gave two to Antonia and instructed, “I think two of these will work. Leave them on for two days and then wipe off the ointment. Winnie should be fully recovered by then.”

Winnie seemed much improved with the toothpaste and band-aid treatment. Antonia hugged her mother “Thank-you. I thought I lost Winnie for good and I haven’t been a bus driver long enough to make enough money to pay for a funeral.”

“Good grief Antonia, getting hurt by a bike doesn’t cause sudden death.” Her mother said in exasperation. 

“It wasn’t a bike accident. It was a bus accident”, Antonia responded curtly, and with that, she took Winnie and went back outside to park her bus properly.

…..

The next day Antonia’s mother went to brush her teeth and noticed the toothpaste was missing. She looked everywhere, even in the clothes hamper and in the bath tub. But she could not find the toothpaste anywhere. “Gigglegoose children! Where is the toothpaste?” Mrs Gigglegoose bellowed from the bathroom.

“I dunno” yelled Anatasia Gigglegoose. “It was there this morning”.

As Mrs Gigglegoose was slamming a bathroom drawer, she happened to glance out the window. There she saw Antonia riding her bike up and down the driveway at full speed stopping to tend to the various dolls that happened to be scattered about the yard. 

“Weeeeoooooo, wheeeeeeoooooooo”, Antonia was yelling. “Out of the way people, the Ambulance is here. Weeeeeoooooooo, weeeeeeooooooo.”

“I guess Winnie has decided that driving a bus wasn’t for her. Mrs Gigglegoose smiled to herself then promptly went to the kitchen and wrote “t-o-o-t-h-p-a-s-t-e” on the shopping list that was stuck to the refrigerator. “Hmmm, I wonder how dollies will require medical attention this week? I better buy 10 tubes.”

It’s the Little Things. In Honour of Father’s Day

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

In honour of Father’s Day I thought I’d share some little things my father used to do that made my sisters and I feel loved:

1. He would sharpen our pencil crayons with his jack-knife.

2. When my sisters and I would come home off the school bus he’d leave us a little note on the counter telling us where he was working on the farm. He’d always include a little stick drawing of himself and the cat.

3. Every morning he’d wake us up for school and keep us company while we ate breakfast. He’d be the one to dollop porridge in our bowls.

4. He’d find where the mother cat had her kittens, or where the dog had her puppies and would crawl in prickly, cramped, claustrophobic places to pluck out the babies so we could hold them…even it if was only for a minute or two.

5. He’d make Cheez Whiz toast for us when we were sick, and cut the bread into four equal quarters.

6. He’d shovel off the dugout in the bush so we would have our own little skating rink.

7. He’d make sure the night-light was always lit.

8. Every morning during the school year he’d watch us toddle out to the end of the driveway and cross the road . He’d then patiently wait until we all safely got on the school bus.

9. He would be more gentle than my mother when taking out splinters.

10. He would discover baby mice or partridge eggs or newly hatched ducklings and would always find the time to share his discoveries with us.

Oh he did all the grandiose fatherly things too like put food on the table, teach us to drive and help pay for our education…

but it’s the little things that stick closest to the heart.

Artemisia: A Novel

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

I have read hundreds if not thousands of books over my lifetime. Loved several and dismissed just as many. Rarely has there been a book that’s subject matter I have thought of time and time, haunting me, over the last decade as the novel Artemisia a Novel by Alexandra LaPierre. I’ve always been interested in strong historical female characters because most often they’ve been deemed as heretics or witches or whores by the male-dominated society in which they lived. Artemisia was one of them. One of the first female painters of the seventeenth century she was lucky, at first, to be taught by her famous father, the artist Orazio Gentileschi who took pride in his daughter’s talent. But, as most fathers during the 1600’s Orazio grew protective of Artemisia and tried to marry her off to the best available male – her tutor Agostino Tassi. When Artemisia spurned Tassi’s advances and refused to marry him, he raped her to “teach her a lesson”. A trial ensued, and Artemisia was tortured by her jailors in an attempt to change her testimony. But because she never wavered Tassi was convicted which astoundingly caused outrage in Rome. A small victory for Artemisia because shortly thereafter this scandal and the fact she “ruined Tassi’s reputation” she had to leave her home, and the city Rome. The novel is one that interweaves fiction with historical accuracy, even including copies of authentic documents from the court case.
Lapierre has included several of Artemisia’s paintings. Interestingly enough some of the subjects “Judith beheading Holofernes” for example, has the male character looking suspiciously like her attacker Tassi. I find Artemisia’s use of painting as a catharsis for her pain fascinating in an existential kind of way. I also found her self portraits interesting in that she used strategies never before seen by the painters of her day. One strategy was to fasten mirrors at an angle high on the wall and the ceiling to view herself from a different perspective.
Artemisia was a woman in history who broke the stereotypical mould for women as set by society. Not only did she successfully pursue an occupation, almost exclusively made up of men, she also possessed the strength and courage to stand up for her convictions and never wavered from the truth even though it meant banishment from her home and being labelled a whore.
I’d like to possess the courage of Artemisia. One way of doing so is to venture out on my own to new and foreign places. Shortly after reading the novel, I decided to travel to London, England, on my own. Day upon day, I travelled and walked and visited places and attractions and historical locals on my own, getting lost on subways and down intricately woven streets. But one day I decided to visit Buckingham Palace. As I was meandering down staircases, and corridors, I peered over a velvet rope just to get a better view of a back room. There, to my delight and surprise, I found one of Artimesia’s paintings. Her original self-portrait and I felt as if I had personally met this incredible woman.

When Roses Smell as Raspberries and Foyers Smell as Boyfriends

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

The sense of smell is a peculiar thing.
The raspberry scent of a particular red rose sends me back to my childhood when my mother grew a beautiful rose-bush in a bucket painted white. It was SO beautiful she took pictures of her three daughters standing beside it.


New plastic binders smell like the Barbie camper I unwrapped Christmas morning when I was eight years old.


A peppermint/chocolate combination makes my stomach turn because, at ten, I ate 6 and promptly got sick to my stomach. I ended up in the hospital for two months…not from the peppermint but from something totally unrelated.
I still can’t help but associate mint with trauma.


But yesterday was unusual. The temperature must have been just right, the amount of humidity and dust in the air perfect, for conjuring up the memory of an emotional summer and an old boyfriend from (literally) the days of yore.


It was a hot summer, and I was in love. Seriously, I was. But things weren’t going as they were supposed to go as things tend not to do with matters concerning the heart.
Nothing was simple.
Nothing was consistent.
And I reeked of insecurity. Wore it like a thick oozing blanket actually. I would spend a lot of time with the boy trying to figure out exactly what the reality of our situation was.


But he was mostly blurred lines and abstract innuendo.


Late into the night, we’d talk, and I’d try to understand
and then I’d drive home in the dark into my parking lot and walk up into my condo.
And I remember the smell.
The dryness. The heat. The stale air that hadn’t been stirred in what seemed like a lifetime.
It was the smell of confusion.
The smell of disappointment.
And simply the smell of sadness.


Yesterday, when I smelled little twinges of that same smell in the foyer of my building, I was transported to that summer,
but this time without the heavy heart.

It was amusement I felt. A sense of how much emotional growth can occur over time. A recognition that I am wiser than I was (sometimes it’s really difficult to tell as my default setting to most emotional situations is “uber-melodramatic”).


And it really is wondrous, the interconnectedness of it all. The past visiting through smell,

triggering a memory,

recognizing a lesson,

acknowledging growth.


All we have to do is pay attention.

To Frustratingly Flail About With My Words

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

Some days

I believe I can be as articulate as the greatest of ancient Greek orators.

Sitting, surrounded by youth.

Using extended metaphor to enlighten.

Persuasive and entertaining with my words. Arguing a point that possesses a foregone conclusion just to uproot it 

and shake it free of narrow-mindedness. Then transplant it elsewhere.

Entertaining with anecdotes that seem outrageous yet familiar

to a captive audience.

Making others emotionally invest in the story being told.

Relating to the characters.

Relating to the storyteller.

Relating to me.

But then

there are those who don’t listen 

unless 

they, themselves, are the protagonist,

and it is their story being told. 

Because everything that is not about them

bores them. 

And they opt out that story even if it is not theirs 

and could be woven into their existence and used for strength.

Other days 

a big, thick, murky fog

clouds my brain,

and I’m distracted by trivialities or fatigue.

I try to cut through to get to the point that I know exists

just beyond the murkiness. 

Immediate but unreachable.

Like the sun behind the clouds.

And I frustratingly flail about with my words. 

“You know the thingy that what’s his face used for the whachmacallit? You know, the thingamabob?”

Plodding slowly towards a conclusion

that isn’t all that substantial 

let alone scintillating.

And I wonder

how the day determines creativity.

What alignment of stars

or perfect thickness of the ozone layer

 is needed for me to be bright and sharp

and compelling? 

Or if the gods could merely flip a coin,

and decide, 

“today’s the day” 

to make a change. 

Or 

“today’s the day” 

to take a nap.

At this moment, 

I write. 

But it’s a tough slog through the haziness 

of a mind that doesn’t cooperate.

So what is there to do 

but to write 

about how difficult it is

to write today. 

The Adventures of Antonia Gigglegoose

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

Antonia Gigglegoose and her Bread Box

Once there was a young girl whose name was Antonia Gigglegoose. Antonia lived in a breadbox. Actually, it wasn’t really the same as an ordinary breadbox that sits on your kitchen cupboard, it was really an old abandoned crate painted with the words “McGibbens Fresh Bread and other Baked Goods” on its side. These words were painted in what was once red paint but had now faded into a soft pink hue that was reminiscent of the faintest blush that bepaints a lady’s cheek when her hand is kissed by a handsome prince

Antonia liked her breadbox house. She didn’t like it because the gaps between the boards allowed water drops to come through when it rained and puddles to formed at the bottom of the crate. And she didn’t like it because in the evenings her mother, with a pin, would have to pick out slivers of wood she got under her skin when she moved against the wood. Afterwords her mom would put stinging medication on these sliver sores and Antonia did not like that very much at all. Nooooo Antonia liked her breadbox house because it belonged to her and her alone. You see, Antonia Gigglegoose came from a very large family. There were Gigglegoose brothers in the first and second grade, and Gigglegoose sisters in the fourth and fifth grades. There were even Gigglegoose triplets in kindergarten! Antonia herself was in the third grade and she didn’t very much want to admit to anyone that she was related to any of the other Gigglegooses. But as luck would have it, all Gigglegooses could be spotted from a mile away…because all Gigglegooses had green hair! Well, almost green. Gigglegoose hair was so black that when the lighting was juuuuuust right it sometimes looked as green and as glimmering as a big ol’ housefly. There seemed no escaping for Antonia, she would always be part of the swarm of children that made up the Gigglegoose family…that is until she found her breadbox home.

Antonia found her box purely by coincidence. One afternoon, while Antonia was slowly clumping off the bus after a long hot day at school, she spied something off in the distance. She untangled one of the triplet off her right shoulder, and another triplet off of her left shoulder and the third triplet clinging off her backpack (they were sticking to her like flies stick to fly paper) and while all her brothers and sisters made their way to the house, Antonia walked towards the object she spied in the distance. The closer Antonia got the more excited she became. It was the McGibbons breadbox crate! It must have always been sitting there in the middle of the filed, she just hadn’t noticed it before. Suddenly a wonderful idea made its way into Antonia’s brain…this crate would make a marvelous hiding place, some special spot she could go to get away from all her annoying brothers and sisters!

You see, with so many brothers and sisters Antonia had no space to call her own. She had to share EVERYTHING-her toys, her clothes, even her seat at the dinner table (where there were only so many chairs and Antoina had one of the smaller bums in the family). Finding this new breadbox space seemed, to Antonia, like a gift from the angels.

After discovering her new home, Antonia did several things to make her box more homey. First, she found some old craft paint and painted some lovely daises and curly cues on the sides of her crate. Then she found an old yellow bath mat that had somehow made its way into the basement. The old mat was being used as a plug for the broken window in the furnace room. “Oh well” Antonia sighed to herself, “no one will miss it” but as she pulled it from the window, Antonia discovered a little meadow mouse had made himself a home in the mat’s fuzz. “Come along little mouse. There is more room for you with me in my new home” said Antonia as she carefully scooped the little mouse onto her hands and into her pocket. 

At first Antonia spent hours and hours in her breadbox. She spent most of her time sweeping and dusting and mopping….and coughing (it was a very dusty and dirty box). The previous tenets of the box, who were probably some messy bugs and moles, were NOT very good housekeepers. While she was housecleaning, Antonia discovered she had another roommate besides the little mouse she brought with her. This new roommate was a big old hairy spider! But this big old spider was not much of a housekeeper either. He would constantly leave his half-eaten dinner wrapped up in his web- a sight that wasn’t all that appetizing to Antonia. But she didn’t mind sharing her space with a spider- he didn’t take up all that much room- not nearly as much room as all of Antonia’s brothers and sisters.

A few weeks after Antonia had moved into her new house., she had an unexpected visitor- Six Toe Joe the family dog. Six Toe Joe was named Six Toe Joe because he had an extra toe on each of his back paws giving him…. well Six Toes on each paw. Six Toe was fairly excited to see Antonia, so he wagged his tail and slobbered all over her face. “Six Toe, what are you doing here?” Get back home and make sure none of my Gigglegoose brothers and sisters see you. I don’t want any of them following you here and invading my space!” Six Pack looked up at Antonia and blinked his big brown eyes. He seemed to understand Antonia’s pleas for privacy and proceeded to lay down on the old yellow bath mat and way his tail.

Eventually, Antonia was making a rather comfortable home for herself. Over the next several days she had collected more treasures to make her breadbox more comfortable; an old blue chipped sailor boy cookie jar, an old car seat (with only a few springs poking through the upholstery that pinched her bum whenever she bounded on it) and an old jam jar in which she put wildflowers…buttercups and honeysuckle to be exact. She also had her meadow mouse and spider friends, as well as Six Toe and all his toes. 

Eventually Antonia realized there was something missing from Antonia’s new home, and that something was people. Antonia was lonely. For all of her life, Antonia longed for her own space and maybe a little bit of privacy, she wished to fill it with people! She enjoyed having her critter friends around, but they weren’t very good conversationalists. The little meadow mouse would just wander around the crate looking for leftover crumbs from Antonia’s snacks. The spider would just hide in his web, coming out once in a while to wrap up a fly or some other squishy bug that he had captured. And Six Toe, well Six Toe Joe would just lie don’t on the yellow bath mat and wag his brown tail tipping over the jar of wild flowers and making a huge mess for Antonia to clean.

One day Antonia was sitting alone in her crate, as usual, with the mouse, the spider and with Six Toe. She had her chin in her hand and she was twirling her shiny black-green hair around and around with her fingers (Antonia always played with her hair when she was troubled and trying to figure out an answer to her problems). Antonia was wondering what she could do to make her breadbox home more interesting and less lonely. Suddenly Antonia sprang up her car seat couch and exclaimed, “I know what I’ll do. I’ll invite all of my brothers and sisters over to my box. They will love to invade my privacy and bug me by getting into my stuff!”

So that is what Antonia did. She climbed on top of her breadbox crate and stared shouting at the top of her lungs, “Yoo hoo, over here!  All you Gigglegoose brothers and sisters … look over here”! In order to catch the attention of all her brothers and sisters who were, by the way, milling and tumbling and wrestling all over the front yard, she waved her arms like a crazy windmill.

Eventually one of the Gigglegoose brothers spotted Antonia. “Look! There is a little girl yelling and and waving her arms over there in the middle of the field. Hey, it looks like Antonia.”

“It is Antonia, “exclaimed the oldest Gigglegoose, “that is where she has been hiding, in that ratty old bread crate. Six Toe has been sniffing around there for weeks…I thought he had cornered himself a skunk, but there is no skunk, it’s only Antonia!”

“What is she doing over there?” questioned the triplets all together.

“Let’s go find out!” all the Gigglegooses cried together and like a herd of migrating wildebeests they scampered over to the crate and to the frantically waving Antonia.

“Antonia, Antonia, what is this place? A playhouse” A fort”

“No”, replied Antonia, “it’s not a playhouse and it’s not a fort. It is a home and this spider, and this mouse and Six Toe all live here with me.”

“Why’d ya move out here for?” Asked one of the triplets wiping his nose with Antonia’s shirt sleeve.

“I moved out here because sometimes I need to get away from all of you. “ Antonia said pulling her sleeve and rubbing it on her pant leg in order to clean it.

“Well, if you wanted to get away from us, why’d you call us over here?” rationalized Antonia’s older sister.

“I’m beginning to wonder that myself,” Antonia said taking the sailor boy cookie jar away from the youngest Gigglegoose, who was wearing it as a hat. 

“This is so cool,” a Gigglegoose brother said shaking the side of the crate checking to see if it was sturdy. “We could make an awesome spaceship out of this”

“No. It’s not a spaceship, it’s a house.” Antonia said.

“It may be a house to you, but it is a spaceship to me.” 

“And a submarine to me”

“And a motor home to me”

At this, all the Gogglegoose children swarmed in and over and around the breadbox crate that Antonia had once called her home. At first Antonia enjoyed having all of her brothers and sisters with her, they were people to play with and talked to. But eventually Antonia began to get tired of all the noise and she ended up spending most of her time in her box with her hands over her ears. And if you looked closely enough you could see the meadow mouse, Six Toe and the spider, all had their paws and legs over their ears as well…the noise was unbearable! 

Soon Antonia began to wish she could find some place quiet where she could just be alone. But where could she go? She had already given the secret of her breadbox home away to all of her Gigglegoose brothers and sisters. All at once Antonia saw the solution to her problem. Smiling to herself, Antonia carefully and quietly crept out of her breadbox without any of her brothers and sisters seeing her. Antonia then scampered across the small field between the breadbox and the Gigglegoose house. She opened the door and crept quickly to her bedroom There was no one in the house but her mother who was to busy concentrating on fixing the kitchen sink to notice her come in. The house was filled with peace and quiet. Her friends the mouse, the spider and Six Tow had all  followed her because they too were getting headaches from the screeching and hollering of the Gigglegoose children. 

Who would have thought she could find such quiet in the family house?

Antonia sat on her bed, pulled her checkered quilt over her legs and with Six Toe curled up at the edge of the bed and the meadow mouse and spider on the window ledge, she put her arms behind her head and smiled to herself in the stillness of her bedroom. She still had her breadbox home whenever she wanted to play with her brothers and sisters and make lots of noise, but if she ever needed some peace and quiet, well she could always come home.

…stay tuned for the next Antonia adventure “Antonia Gets a Job”

4 amazing novels by Black Canadian Authors and the one I want to read next.

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

I took this book (hardcover copy) to Japan with me on a school trip with students. It was so good I didn’t mind waiting for the slow pokes to get ready to board the bus to Kyoto. I was content to perch on my suitcase and read and read and read. It came out as a television miniseries a couple of years ago but I haven’t had a chance to watch it.

Loved loved LOVED this book. Science Fiction isn’t a genre I normally gravitate to but the premise of this novel was incredibly intriguing. Think “Westworld” but deeper, more profound and definitely more beautifully written.

This is a story about adventure and self-discovery. It has the potential to be a strong piece for literary study in High School. As I was reading I kept thinking “ooh I could discuss the use of symbolism here”, and “note the vivid imagery there”. Its themes are deep and meaningful and accessible to most people. 

Washington Black has been one of my favouite books of this year. It is academic without being intimidating and well worth a re-read in the future.

Sooooo good! Imagine the gods (Hermes and Apollo) giving dogs the gift (??) of human intelligence. The ability to understand human beings. Would they be happier than us? Or is it easier to be happy in ignorance. This one won the Giller Prize a few years back. READ IT! Profound and entertaining.

What I WANT to read (just ordered) is Daughters of Silence by Rebecca Fisseha. The Cover is absolutely beautiful and the premise sounds incredible.

The Big Giant Hand

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

The older I get, the more difficult it is to sleep in on weekends. I can understand that when you’re really young, the world is a new and astonishing place and you’re little neurons, and dendrites cry out to be developed and elongated (or whatever neurons and dendrites do when they’re being used). As babies, we stood in our cribs and shook the sides with impatience calling out to whatever parental unit will come and release us from the confines of our bumper-padded cell.
So that we can crawl and smell and touch and taste every and any new thing.
Then we get older. And the world calls out for us to use it as our canvas or our stage. And there doesn’t seem like enough daylight hours to build the best fort ever built, or paint enough empty milk cartons with mud (or our own bodies for that matter) and a stick that serves as a painter’s brush.
And we live as though our life was made up a thousand summers to be lived and tweaked and lived again.
Then we get even older, and there doesn’t seem like we can sleep in long enough. No amount can be stockpiled high enough to give us the energy to get out from beneath the covers and bounce into the day unrestrained and unfettered by insecurities and boredom. We want it dark and quiet and tomb-like. A room that is a refuge. We are made hostile by the sound of the vacuum or the clanking of pots and pans and therefore strike out with venomous words to the unsuspecting parent whose task it is to probe and prod the mass of blankets and quilts to see what, or if life exists underneath.
To sleep perchance to dream, of boys and clothes and songs. Imaginings far more enchanting than the teenage existence that exists.
As an adult, I wrestle with feelings of guilt. What won’t be accomplished throughout the day if I stay for long in a state of inertia. It is guilt and anxiety that serve as motivating forces that compel then propel me up and out of bed. I wish for a big giant hand to pin me down. Nothing quite so heavy as to suffocate me or contribute to claustrophobia, but exerting just enough pressure to serve as an excuse not to leave the confines of my quilts. “Well I WOULD get up, but this giant hand is keeping me here. Guess I’ll just have to stay cocooned in my covers…now if I could just reach the novel I” m reading.” But I feel as though I’m running out of time. I have things to do, places to go, and people to see. It no longer feels as though there are endless summers before me.
This Saturday I’m going to try to stay in bed AT LEAST until 8:00 am. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Memory as Metaphor

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

Memory is a funny thing.
Multi-metaphorical.


It’s like a tiny alligator. Lurking in shallow water leisurely swimming by moving its tail. You wade tentatively in life, feeling warmth and security. Going further out and away. When suddenly it grabs your ankle in its sharp pointy teeth reminding you it’s there. And then leaving little pointed pricks in your skin.
Prickly, pint points of blood. Distracting reminders.


Or it’s like a shroud that falls over you when you’re going about your business, in the middle of routine. And suddenly a smell or a taste or an image will act the trigger release of a safety catch. Letting drop a black and suffocating shroud. That settles on you for an hour, or a day, or sometimes a week.
Until you’re distracted by an occurrence or
a conversation or
a making-of another memory that will not take its place but rather act as a distraction. Strong enough to put shreds in that shroud.


At times it is like a Tuesday bruise on your knee on Thursday. Not as sore and tender to the touch as the day you received it, but now dark and purple and prominent when you lift your pant leg to view it. Only to cover it up again. Then have it glare at you in the face when you’re in the tub, knees popping up through the bubbles reminding you that you fell.
A small injustice or failure.


And every once in awhile it’s like a little spot of sunshine that moves about a room. You have to consciously see it. Move towards it. Plant yourself in it so that you can have it warm you. If even for a little while.
Like a cat.
Until it’s time to move on and out of the sunshine
and back into the momentum of life.
Only to experience new alligators, shrouds, bruises
and blessed patches of sunshine.

Sin Eater by Megan Campisi

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

I went down the Google rabbit hole after I read this novel. I simply had to find out if there were, in fact, Sin Eaters that existed in history. And you know what? There was!

“ A Sin Eater is a person who consumes a ritual meal in order to spiritually take on the sins of a deceased person. The food was believed to absorb the sins of a recently dead person, thus absolving the soul of a person. Sin Eaters as a consequence carried the sins of all the people whose sins they had eaten” (Wikipedia)

I was curious about the title of this book,

and I found the cover striking,

and I found the premise intriguing.

Can you imagine being given the sentence of “ eating in order to absolve others of their sins”?

Specific food for a specific sin.

Dried Raisins for adultery.

Crows meat with plum for slander.

Black pudding for revenge.

I won’t list the gag-inducing foods for the more serious sins.


As a Sin Eater, not only would you be privy to the transgressions of the poor, you would also possess the darkest secrets of the royal court….information that would most surely put your life in jeopardy. And above all else, a Sin Eater only speaks to those with whom she hears confession. Our protagonist May is caught stealing food and thus is sentenced to the life of a Sin Eater, and although she is traumatized by her sentence she does see a wee bit of a silver lining….

at least she won’t die hungry

I really enjoyed this book. This was the kind of book you could start reading on a Saturday morning and be finished by the end of the day and be thoroughly entertained throughout it all.

“It Will Just Be Us” by Jo Kaplan

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

It Will Just Be Us

By Jo Kaplan

Well, this book has all the trappings of a good gothic horror story: a creepy house, unsettled spirits, the ability to prophesize, and a madwoman (or is it mad women? You decide). 

Besides being creepy and downright unsettling, it also is a story about nature vs. nurture forcing us to ask ourselves “are we a product of our environment and learn evil, or are we born evil”?  This was a quick and easy read that left me with just the right amount of unsettledness to keep a light on at night. 

Thank you Netgalley for the ARC

The Heart and Other Monsters

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

The Heart and Other Monsters by Rose Anderson

In this non-fiction piece, Rose Anderson writes of the death of her younger sister due to a drug overdose. Her sister’s death serves as the focus of this memoir, and around it, Anderson shares her own personal history. The memoir seems to serve as a means of healing for the author. It is a very heart wrenching read as we hear of Anderson’s struggle with dealing with her grief and her attempt to understand why her sister lived such a tragic life.

I read this book in one evening. It was impossible to put down. It is raw and real and very very heart wrenching but at times possessive of poetic language and imagery.

Read it.
It is amazing.

Thank you Netgalley and Bloomsbury for the free ARC