Cecile Beaulieu's Blog

 

 Brother Broken
Photo taken at John's funeral May 1990: Front row l to r, Pauline (Pauly), Mom, Dad, me (Céc) , with John's photo between Mom and Dad.Back row l to r, Mitch, Gerard (Gus), Roger (Rod), Denis

Good morning Sunshine.I think it's time for you to meet the family.

Dad was a WWII vet. He had served inthe Royal Canadian Navy. After the war, he pedalled a bicycle four hundredmiles north of his parents’ home in Gravelbourg, Saskatchewan. He bought landand started a farm.

Dad caught the eye of my mom with his drop-dead good looks.She was the cute little farm girl whose family lived nearby. She stole hisheart, and they married in 1949.

Marguerite and Jean were their names, but most people calledthem Margaret and John, the Anglicized version of their French names. They wereFrench-Canadian Catholics, expected to populate with more French Catholics, sothey started une famille.

Their first-born was my sister, Pauly. After Pauly came Rod,Denis, John, me, Mitch, and Gus. Two parents, seven kids. My family calls me“Céc,” which sounds like “pace,” not “peace.”

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'Brother Broken’ is not a tale of woe. It’s not a romance novel, a how-to handbook, a travel guide, a pot-boiler, a sci-fi sequel or a fantasy adventure. It’s a Saskatchewan true story. A slice of history that’s not dark or depressing. A memoir of hope and gratitude, with a touch of ridiculous―though some parts are complicated, because there is nothing straightforward pertaining to ‘broken’.
Three of my brothers died.

I wish I could say they died of natural causes, but there is nothing natural about suicide. It’s the kind of loss that isn’t easily explained. Even so, I keep trying.

I remember my brothers by writing about them. I share the story of their lives. l tell of what decent boys they were, what they meant to me, how their lives were ordinary and sound before all the trouble started happening. I write so people will learn the goodness of my parents, the wholesomeness of my extended family, that my kin weren’t lowbrow hicks, who screwed-up raising kids.

I write about my brothers, so I don’t have to talk about them. Whenever I try, the words come out strange, like I am trying to pull a fast one. I get funny looks, because I don’t think anyone believes me―at first anyway.

How the heck am I supposed to start a conversation about three brothers who offed themselves? I can’t do it without emotion choking-me-up. The words get stuck, like in my dreams where the screams are silent. It took a long time to remember how to speak. But even now, it only comes out in tiny portions, as if the ordeal of talking too much will completely deflate me. I’m sure you can relate.

The process of writing became my most effective therapist. It allowed me to escape the reality of dealing with pain. Everyone deserves that kind of break and I utilized every morning for seven and one-half years―the length of time it took me to put the story into print.

The thing about writing memoirs is someone’s bound to get pissed-off. Not everyone is happy to hear their secrets might get exposed. The good news is, my surviving siblings are relieved to find out I’d found a way to work through the ordeal. Would I recommend writing as a way of coping? You bet I would.

During some of my darkest hours, I made a few promises to my late brothers. I wrote a letter to them and inside the letter I committed to write their stories. Here’s what else I promised them:

I’ll be your voice.

I’ll bring you back to life.

And maybe I watch too many movies, but I’m gonna quote Emilio Estevez’s line in Young Guns II . . . “Yoohoo. I’ll make you famous.”

Luv,

Your sister.

Written by: Cecile Beaulieu, author of Brother Broken

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Saw this on Amazon today . . .

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‘The White Tiger’ gives us a glimpse into the life of Balram,a young Hindu working his way out of poverty in India.

He serves a wealthyfamily as a chauffeur, a role considered prestigious for a man of his caste. Balram’semployers often mistreat him to the point of threatening harm to his family ifhe were to forget his station. But he is determined to break out of the trap ofpoverty and servitude, a condition he refers to as being stuck in a ‘chickencoop’. Watch the movie to see if he succeeds.

The story is beautifully crafted and it will stick with you along time after the movie credits have rolled off the screen. It’s well worththe watch. View it on Netflix or read the book of the same name.

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   Leon Uris wrote more than a dozen outstanding works of historicalfiction. His many stories are set in world-wide locations such as Ireland, the MiddleEast, Berlin, the Warsaw ghetto during WWII and in Greece. Uris delves into governmentcorruption that often fuels civil unrest. Every story depicts the culture, principlesand customs of its protagonists, as well as conflicts that arise.

   For a great read, I recommend Uris’s novels: ‘Trinity’ and ‘Mila18’

   I’ve yet to read many of his other works, like: ‘Exodus’, ‘QBVII’, ‘The Angry Hills’, ‘Mitla Pass’, ‘Battle Cry’, ‘The Haj’ and ‘Armageddon’…to name a few.

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‘Maudie’ is the amazing true story of a Canadian artist.

Maudie is frustrated with her home situation, living with anaunt she can’t get along with. She moves out to become a live-in housekeeperfor a fish monger named Everett. Everett’s cantankerous nature, triggered byMaudie’s quick wit, often causes havoc in their living situation. But their testyinteractions slowly form into a bound and they learn to love and rely on one another.

   

Maudie’s physical challenges, amplified by severe arthritis,don’t slow her down. She maintains the household while pursuing her love ofpainting. Her unique creations are simplistic and endearing. She garners nationaland international recognition for her pieces.

Learn of Maudie’s tremendous tenacity and courage to succeedin spite of monumental obstacles. ‘Maudie’ can be found on Netflix.

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In the book ‘What is the What’, it is the voice of Valentino Achak Deng that youhear. Even though the autobiography was written by David Eggers, Valentino’svoice stands forefront as the narrator.

‘What is the What’ is the story of Valentino’sstruggle to escape atrocities occurring in Sudan. You quickly become immersedin his life as he orates his thoughts to the people in his story. Valentino’stone and dialect flow and one can’t help but tag along with him as he flees toEhtiopia, Kenya, then America in hope of finding refuge.

I was intrigued by how the authormade me part of his adventure. In one sense, by the realism of how the story istold and in another, how he specifically invites me, the reader, to become partof the story. 

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Brother Broken
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Alf Reads about Hockey Night in Canada...

Saturdays were packed with the usual order of events. It wasbath day, and we took turns griming up the bathwater for the next kid in line.Mom washed and waxed floors, and we stayed out of the way until she was done.We watched Bugs Bunny while she cooked chop suey or baked beans for supper. Dadtended to his tasks early in order to free up his evening. The whole day feltlike we were preparing for something important.

“Is that Mahovlich gonna give our team a hard run thisyear?” Talk around the supper table would naturally turn to hockey.

“They should sic the Pocket Rocket on ’em.”

“To do what? Bite him on the kneecap?”

“He’s tough for his size. Don’t be surprised.”

A kid would interrupt the discussion with a question: “Kin Ihave s’more beans?”

“Put some beans on Mitchy’s plate there.”

They opined about the new guy, Yvan Cournoyer. Perhaps hewas the ticket to getting the team into the playoffs. The fans were somewhatdivided on the topic. The season was only about halfway done.

“Think Montréal can take the Cup this year?”

“If they can slow down Keon and keep giving Bélliveau thepuck . . . maybe. Leafs are pretty cocky with the last twoCups under their belt.”

“I just like watching Eddie Shack play.”

“Whose turn to help with dishes?”

“Not me!”

Once cleanup was done, all the sports fans moved to theliving room to watch the game. Mitch and I got the run of the kitchen. We linedup chairs and draped blankets over top. We occupied inside the tent-fort whilethe hockey game on TV engaged the rest of our family. Sometimes, during ahockey game, we heard shrieks and cheers coming from the living room. Thecommotion tapped our curiosity and sometimes pulled us in. We watched as ascoring frenzy erupted or a particularly nasty fight broke out. We were carefulnot to get caught up in all the hype. Watching hockey was addictive, and wecould easily get hooked.

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Sometimes I choose to watch a movie that’s light and refreshinginstead of dramatic. Even better if the movie is based on a true story, like ‘ThePhantom of the Open’. If you’re a golf enthusiast, you’ll love this one.

British movie makers are the best at producing comedy, in myopinion. Their knack for delivering great humor goes way back to the days of MontyPython.

Mark Rylance plays the role of Maurice Flitcroft, a craneoperator turned golf enthusiast. Maurice doesn’t allow his shoddy golf game to deterhim from entering the British Open. The outcome is as you would expect ― hilarious.

Watch the movie on Netflix to find out how he qualified severaltimes to play in a major world golf tournament.

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It’s astonishing that one writer can produce such excellent prose in different dialects. I thought Sebastian Barry was top-notch, writing stories of Ireland with wonderful Irish rhythm on each page. And then I discovered ‘A Thousand Moons’. I hadn’t realized this was the second book in a series, so I missed reading the first book ‘Days Without End’. I’ll get on that right away.

I was a pleasantly surprised how he tells the story in a deep-south US dialect of the 18th century. Ireland comes to America and he effortlessly carries the story in his new natural melodic writing voice. You hardly know you are reading a story, it’s more like being audience to a marvelous symphony. Sebastian Barry’s prose will leave you humming.

My other favorite Sebastian Barry books:

The Secret Scripture

The Whereabouts of Eneas McNulty

The Temporary Gentleman.

Tell me your favorites.

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