I have been a great fan of Alexander McCall Smith's writing since reading his work for the first time. The book of his that came to my attention (found in a book sale) and quickly won my heart was Tears of the Giraffe, from the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Series. Since then I have been able to obtain (through the local library) several of his other books and have thoroughly enjoyed each one of them. I have been unable to get my hands every book he has written, which is sad in some respects, because my longing to read them all is so great. Yet it's also a bit satisfying in that I haven't read them all yet--I still have something to look forward to. Several somethings, including all his latest books.
Anyway, several months ago I visited this author's website and was invited to sign up to receive newsletters from him, which I did. Every once in a while he takes time out of his busy schedule to write a newsy letter for his fans, describing his activities and progress in writing and publishing new works. Two days ago I received his latest newsletter, in which he mentioned that he had finished the last few episodes of his online serial novel Corduroy Mansions, which can be found in the Daily Telegraph in print or as an audio podcast (read by Andrew Sachs).
Yesterday I started reading the print version of Corduroy Mansions in the Daily Telegraph and was hooked from the first chapter. I spent the evening reading chapter after chapter, making my way through eighty of the one hundred chapters. Today I finished the remaining twenty chapters, and was left wanting to read more about the delightful characters and their lives. In his newsletter AMS notes that he hopes to continue this series. I hope that he does. While reading yesterday I was moved by this poignant passage in Chapter 42 that effectively describes reflections on life that I often think about, and have discussed with friends and family:
The pattern of one’s life could not be changed by a chance encounter in the parking place of the Mermaid Inn. And yet, it could – lives, even our own, could be changed by such apparently insignificant events, and Barbara knew it. An apparently throwaway remark by one person could send another in a direction that would have profound consequences for what they did. "Why don’t you write poetry?" one young schoolboy had said to another young schoolboy – the sort of thing that boys used to say to one another in more literate days, and the sort of remark that might have no effect on the world unless . . . unless the boy to whom the suggestion was made was none other than the young Wystan Auden. Perhaps a similar boy had said to another small boy called Horatio, "Why don’t you go to sea?", and the juvenile Nelson had replied, "Yes, why not?"
So, in less elevated circles, we might toss a coin as to whether or not to go to a party, decide to go, and there meet the person whom we are to marry and spend our lives with. And if that person came, say, from New Zealand, and wanted to return, then we might find ourselves spending our life in Christchurch. Not that spending one’s lifetime in Christchurch is anything less than very satisfactory – who among us would not be happy living in a city of well-behaved people, within reach of mountains, where the civic virtues ensure courtesy and comfort and where the major problems of the world are an ocean away? But had the coin fallen the other way – as coins occasionally do – then that wholly different prospect might never have opened up and one might spend the rest of one’s days in the place where one started out. Or one might pick up a newspaper abandoned in a train by a person not well trained in those same civic virtues, open it, and chance to see an advertisement for a job that one would not otherwise have seen. And that same job might take one into the path of risk, and that very risk may materialise and end one’s life prematurely. Again the act of picking up the paper has consequences unglimpsed at the time, but profound nonetheless.
Profound, indeed. I often reflect upon the whys and hows of my own life's pattern that has so far resulted in my being who I am and my living in northern Ontario with the Toad rather than living in totally different circumstances. Chance remarks and encounters have played a large role in my life, shaping my experiences and choices all along the way. My decision to go to university, my decision to major in biology rather than something more practical and lucrative, the way I met each of the men I married, the way I found the jobs I took...all these life-changing events were shaped by chance remarks and encounters. For example, I once met a pair of women sitting in front of me at a basketball game who overheard me talking to my boyfriend (my future first husband) about needing a job and turned around to offer me a job working for them. That job and the people associated with it is a story in itself.
The story of how Toad and I met in the first place also revolves around chance remarks and encounters...and look at us now. In 2004, while I was bemoaning some frustrating experiences with forced attendance at churches during the last few months of my son's Eagle Scout quest, a friend at work mentioned that I might be interested in attending the UU church, which she had done once or twice but had decided to not pursue. In addition to wanting to help my son through his 'religious' ordeal forced upon him by his scoutmaster, I was lonely and searching for stimulating connections with others. So my son and I visited the UU and discovered that we knew several members there already (UU members are very low-key and not at all evangelical, thank Dog). We attended two or three times together, enough for my son to complete his scoutmaster's dictatorial church attendance requirement (even though he was most unhappy that my son attended the UU), and I chose to continue going to the Sunday services.
One of the UU members, a joyful atheist with a bawdy sense of humor, was quite friendly and sat with me when I first attended the UU alone. We bandied jokes and puns and quickly became friends. After a few weeks there was an important event at the UU on a Sunday evening and my friend invited me to go to a local pub afterward with him and several of his UU friends. There I met two incredibly fascinating men, and we became fast friends. Three months or so later one of these men convinced me to become a member of an online discussion forum he was heavily involved with. I joined it in January 2005 and there I met my Toad. By March we were so emotionally involved that I wanted to meet him in person rather than stick with emails and phone calls only. In early May I drove to northern Ontario to meet him face to face. We were married in mid-August. And here I am.
Just as we follow links during our online activities, we can move from link to link to link in our lives, and in doing so we choose our own path. Some links break after we visit them and there is no going back. Others lead to a variety of choices that each, in turn, branch out into even more links to choose from. When we stray from the path we are on we create a new path for ourselves. My path has led me from Indiana to northern Ontario. Financial circumstances keep us here for the time being, but who knows what link will take me to another place. Perhaps I'll encounter a job opportunity that will link me to another location. Who knows?
Ginger
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