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Literary Houses: Margaret Laurence
That house in Manawaka is the one which, more than any other, I carry with me. Known to the rest of the town as “the old Connor place” and to the family as the Brick House, it was plain as the winter turnips in its root cellar, sparsely windowed as some crusader’s embattled fortress in…
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Wild Treasure
We crossed the Vermillion River and pulled off onto the shoulder as instructed. “Look for sunny hills,” he told me. “Really, they’re everywhere. I’ve heard it’s a great season.” It was going to be women’s work – girl’s work too – crouched under the July sun, nestled in the shrubby groundcover, squinting for treasure. There were…
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Bethesda Terrace’s Magical Minton Ceiling
Like other great cities, New York is a museum unto itself. It is possible to visit and never set foot inside any building – save for your hotel – and come away filled to the aesthetic brim. It’s all eye candy: the people, the architecture, the street art, the signs of wear, seasonal changes, the movement of everything, the…
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Perennial Splendour
This is it. The day Bella and I cut the first bouquet is my hands-down, best-of-the-best, favourite day of the calendar year. Peonies. Catmint. Lilac. Chives. Lemon balm. Siberian Iris. Roses. False Blue Indigo. Spirea. So many perennials to choose from that decisions centre around what to leave out, rather than what to add in. There…
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Willie G. and the Street Poets of New York
Update: Wille G. passed away yesterday, 07 April 2015. May his poetic soul Rest in Peace. Before I met Willi G no one had ever tried to sell poetry to me on the street. Paintings, prints, photography, statuary and every manner of trinket, yes. Poetry, no. Willi approached me as I ascended out of Bethesda Terrace, introduced…
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Revelations of a Naked Teapot
Somewhere between their tenth and eleventh year, my two youngest got their prudishness on. They’re learning about human sexuality at school, in health class or whatever they call it these days. They’re well aware of what the mature human form looks like, and we’ve always spoken frankly about its function (and quirks), but now the naked…
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Bill Cunningham Facades
Unless you’re a regular reader of The New York Times or part of the city’s high society or fashion elite, it’s possible – even probable – that you’ve never heard of Bill Cunningham. Bill has been described as a “pixie on a bicycle,” riding around the streets of New York in his fail-safe uniform of khakis…
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But I Digress
Digress: To deviate. Go off on a tangent. Get off the subject. Get sidetracked. Stray. Wander. That’s me. Last week I caught myself apologizing for repeated digressions in a vivid conversation with some fascinating friends. Mid-sentence I stopped myself, realizing how ridiculous it is to apologize for an impulse that radiates from my heart and soul. I…
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I Want What I Want
I want what I want. This will be my epitaph when they lay me to rest. This is both a boon and the bane of my existence. I argue it’s not about stubbornness or pride, it’s about a never-ending curiosity that expands daily, tugging in all directions. The more I look, the more I see.…
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When Spring Comes
Stand here on the bridge with me And look down below See how high the river is From all the melting snow I think the river is laughing Like a thousand old ladies Like a thousand silver chimes in the wind ~ Jane Siberry, “When Spring Comes” It’s physically ugly, this…