Lögberg-Heimskringla - 01.02.2019, Qupperneq 14

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14 • Lögberg-Heimskringla • February 1 2019
Ian Johnson
The Pas, MB
Frozen river ice, so crisp and almost clear, gulps of air,
Solid breaths of crystal steam, like a glass tabletop.
Lace them up, pick the teams,
“Hjalmar join the others, Erik is with me.”
The Riverton Maple Leafs, a fine bunch, no dogs allowed,
Wind whipping now, hands tight and raw, growling players,
Ready for action, tap the ice, get a goal,
A greaser, a slapshot, backhand, through the legs,
Doesn’t matter, just score, flukes too.
It’s bloody cold outside!
Scrape the ice lads, no bumps, sharp blades,
Goal posts of corn syrup pails, spruce bough boundaries,
Battered hockey sticks, tape them tight, no curved blades,
“Prince don’t touch the puck, hit him with a snowball”
Shin pads, try the Eaton’s catalogue, woolen toques,
Scarves tucked in, “Erik pass me the tape,” make it tight,
Good grip, feel the shaft, a goal will come.
Pancake hats, earmuffs pulled down tight, clouds of heavy air –
It’s bloody cold outside.
Centre ice, tap your sticks, snarl, missing teeth, crooked smiles
Crack, blades snap together, Palmi rounds the net,
Slipping, knees grind, reverse back, a solid hit, an ankle slashing,
Elbows up, drop the gloves, fast, solid punches,
Blood dripping, hold the nose, no harm done,
It’s bloody cold outside!
An old man and his dog, watching, waiting, ready to cheer.
Years ago, the Winnipeg Falcons, best hockey team in the world,
Clapping mitts, the crowd goes wild,
“I played then, ice was the same, smiling girls watching.”
Careful now, Erik has the puck, shoots, a fine save,
A breakaway, stumbles, that is a trip, come on ref, Jesus, blind,
Back and forth, crisp passing, now we go,
The Riverton Maple Leafs, we are the best!
Take a break, my feet are numb, feeling is gone, end of the period.
It’s bloody cold outside!
Ice shack is warm, a rusty wood stove, this is better lads.
Hang your socks, air is warm, dry them out.
“Pass the juice, Gudni, have you a smoke, come on,”
“Try a little hard fish, goldeye too, snuff anyone,”
Thawing feet, Jesus that is painful, wiggle around, feelings coming,
“Tell us a story Erik, you lived in the city, must be posh”
“Come on men, one more period, same teams, Prince, go away,”
Outdoors, that is real hockey you say, game on, no raising,
Girls, only in goal, Skuli the referee, a white jersey,
Never sober, never gives an inch, whistle at the ready,
Wrong call, too bad, find someone else.
Grip, tighten the stick, flick your wrists, a rising shot, far corner,
Nice goal, cheers all around, regroup men.
It’s bloody cold outside!
Prince has the puck, a game stopper, get him, bugger he is,
Overtime now, sudden death, one shot it takes,
‘Skuli wake up, no foolish penalties, we know you.”
Game is on the line, flood the zone, all or nothing.
The old man yells, waves his arms, hockey forever.
“Goolie, goolie …”
Já, já, I had a goal in the Olympics, Winnipeg Falcons, gold medal,
Perched on the mantle at home it sits, black rubber memory,
A distant snap, smiling pals, hunched over, eyes on the puck,
Nobody would stop us,
Gold medal, a faded coloured ribbon, the Dutch beauties kiss,
Winnipeg Falcons, won’t forget that team,
Did battle in the war and then on the ice,
A team not wanted, a proud team.
“Skuli blow the whistle, game is over.”
The Riverton Maple Leafs win again, Prince has the puck.
It’s bloody cold outside!
It’s Bloody Cold Outside
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It may seem unusual for
a man of my age to read
a novel that’s targeted
primarily towards an adolescent
audience, especially when I’m
neither a schoolteacher nor a
parent of teenaged children, but
after I heard Anita Daher read
from her novel Forgetting How
to Breathe last summer, at an
evening of authors sponsored
by H.P. Tergesen and Sons, I
bought a copy – for myself.
Anita read from the
signature passage, which gave
the book its name: “Abandoning
people who love you was about
the worst thing a person could
ever do. That wasn’t Tia. And
it wasn’t Mama, either. It
couldn’t be. If she let herself
think that, even for a second,
she was afraid she’d forget how
to breathe.”
The story concerns thirteen-
year-old Tia, who, accompanied
by her eight-year-old brother,
Tag, is living in a foster home
near Gimli, Manitoba. Their
father died when Tag was tiny
and although their mother
looms large in the background,
we never meet her directly, nor
do we ever learn why she’s no
longer in the picture. Though
Tia romanticizes her missing
mother, her memories give
us glimpses of a woman who
was simply unable to keep
things together after the loss
of her children’s father. Anita’s
straightforward portrayal of
Mama allows both her finer
attributes and shortcomings
to emerge in the background
without judgment. She is who
she is.
When we first meet Tia and
Tag, they are running away
from their foster home, seeking
to hitchhike back to Winnipeg
in search of their mother, but
their journey is interrupted by a
spring snowstorm and a chance
encounter with a small herd of
runaway Icelandic horses. That
day, they meet Grandpa Bebe,
who emerges as the adult with
whom Tia best relates. (I found
myself drawn towards the
characters of Tag and Grandpa
Bebe, which had me moving
back and forth emotionally
across a 50-year age range.)
That encounter on the road
leads Tia to the Ice Pony Ranch
and Animal Rescue Centre,
where she comes to make
herself useful and discover
her essential humanity in the
company of the animals that
find shelter there.
Tia is hard on her foster
mother, Cathy, but even harder
on herself. She judges nearly
every kindness on Cathy’s
part with suspicion while
holding herself to impossible
standards of perfection. If
Mama is an example of free-
range parenting run amuck,
then Cathy’s obvious love and
attention seems intrusive to Tia,
even if Tag seems to thrive on
the attention he receives from
their foster parents.
During last summer’s
reading in Gimli, Anita revealed
that she had discovered her
Icelandic roots during the
course of writing Forgetting
How To Breathe and this
discovery is evident throughout
the pages of the book. The
story is peppered with Icelandic
references – Icelandic horses,
Icelandic baking, Icelandic
names, Icelandic jokes, and
just enough Icelandic history to
be interesting and informative
without being overbearing.
The most important dialogue
in the book is set in italics rather
than quotation marks because
it’s the things Tia says or thinks
to herself as she experiences life
and grows in character in this
unfamiliar place as it slowly
becomes her home.
In one flashback, Tia
remembers that she had been
to Gimli with her mother and
Tag three years earlier and
that she had stolen something
from Tergesen’s store, which
Mama had made her return to
the store and pay for. Later in
the story, after attempting to
steal something at the ranch,
she puts it back. “Because this
isn’t who I am,” she says. In
that moment, we realize the
positive impact that Mama had
before she disappeared as well
as Tia’s essential goodness and
robust conscience. It is also
then that we realize things are
likely going to turn out well in
the end.
As the story reaches its
climax, a wondrous event forces
Tia to muster her courage in
order to be helpful in a moment
of need – and she rises to the
occasion. The event proves to
be an epiphany for the young
woman and she is able to see
both her Mama and Cathy more
clearly than before. “Home was
more than where you hung your
hat,” she realizes. “It was where
people cared for you, and where
you wanted to be because you
cared for them too.” Reconciled
to the likelihood that Mama
isn’t coming back, and helped
to surrender her romanticized
view of her through the innocent
insight of her young brother, Tia
Forgetting How to Breathe: a review
Forgetting How to Breathe
Anita Daher
Winnipeg: Yellow Dog,
an imprint of Great Plains
Publications, 2018,
112 pages
Reviewed by
Stefan Jonasson