1 Dec 2014, 6:18pm

Train Trip

Was that the biggest interval on this blog ever?

Even travelling thru Europe for a few weeks I had skeleton posts.

It’s not for lack of thing to say or show but too much. Been writing and reading and doing and seeing. And blogging very little of it. Partly I don’t get boo. Twitter and Facebook and instagram have thumbs up or retweets or something. Perhaps I can install a plugin of thumbs up so y’all can acknowledge you were here without too much time investment. But platforms are moving on I know. I like to have my content on my own platform rather than creating content for advertizers not of my choosing. My data is scraped and catalogued and sold enough as is.

But que sera. Sometimes staring is the best use of time, as someone chided me by email when I emailed her from the train. Don’t read, don’t write just take the chance to stare. It is a wonderfully plotless space where you can’t do much. Especially on the train back that jiggled as if there’d been a frost heave since our trip out.

lake ontario with corn
After you travel it takes days to return.

Lake Ontario looks cold.

It could be the ocean.

The built environment makes the world look more true somehow.

And the tangle of unkempt too.

The shed passed with the roof metal blown in sheets across the yard while all the contents of the log shed stay inside the frame, broken 4-wheelers, wading pool on end, miscellaneous tools inside the honest decay, the marker of mine inside the fence.

The tonka truck on the wrong side of the chainlink and the whistle stop where the earring hung on the chainlink as if it would be retrieved. The backyards that try to impress no one. The industrial look of the world. The matchbox cars on the parallel road passing the church. The clutch of turkeys, more than I’ve ever seen wild and in a flash as gone as me. The wetland somewhere without name with a post in the water and a green toilet affixed to its top. Art? Nesting box?

The landscape you bypass goes without explanation. Gratifying in a way. The wire fence with snow stuck to it. The wire fence run thru the water immersed in ice up to its top wire. The glimpse of horses in blankets. I was once blamed as being more interested in questions than answers. I position myself as not knowing, as curious, observing and don’t mention when I find answers. I’m not looking for authorities or guidance or answers. I just structure verbally in questions. It doesn’t mean what you might think.


and fallow.

farm thru a partial break in trees

stark beauty
and fallow.

Something about the scrubland impresses me more than the mountain or prairie. Rock and swamp feel welcoming. I can be equal to that. Each patch seems unique as if I stayed in a squat I could name each sedge, not in terms of hairy wood sedge versus blue stem but as in, that seed sprouted Henrietta and that one Lentster, and that one Clive. It’s not patriarchal to name things. Perhaps if you believe Adam was permitted and Eve wasn’t but it’s not as if they existed. Forget the stories you have been told. Make new ones.


It’s not called grounding, for nothing. Ground helps with that. But it’s cold out there. Winter can get all abstracted and worried in the heated closet of home.

18 Nov 2014, 9:37pm
General Glad Game

Don’t Just Do Something, Sit There

The internet is visual Redbull. It’s easy to get overstimulated. It can be all heroes arc and villains all the time without nuance. Infinite options, news, some kind of informational black hole. The rate of reading is so much faster disclosure than conversations wending about.

Somewhere on twitter someone said it articulately. Something like: Say no to any things that aren’t a ‘heck yeah! I’m in.’

morning light
Morning light. HY.

making your own souvenir
Letterpress print a card. HY.

tray for the table
Cheesecake. HY.

Desirée Desirée
Desirée climbing about chewing my hair. HY.
(And circle of people unpictured to not harass people all the time. Their HY.)

To add to the glad game, migraine medd, Motrin and sympathy when I crash.

Phone connection and emails to check on those I love from far off.

An aunt being back out of the hospital.

Making time for a walk and a spontaneous date long enough to get thru debriefing and onto dreaming. HY.

sleepy kitten
Stop to watch the snoring cat whose fallen nose-first on the sheet. HY.

There is so much to do but balance means mixing it up. There’s no natural end to work. Boundaries are arbitrary and imposed.

I could keep on going headlong, or allow myself to be pulled up short by, “I’m not demanding that you work harder or faster. What I’m asking you is what your priority is.”


Lack of focus can be a good thing. The body kicks against it but still it’s a Heck Yeah.

Pearl reading Roland
Roadtrip reading with friends. HY.

Lingering conversations. HY.

Stop to watch a llama (or alpaca) kitted out for Christmas. HY.

While I don’t entirely approve of premature jubilation for Christmas, dozens of little kids shouting Merry Christmas kinda wavered me over the line.

PB150098 PB150011
Wave to any fireman dogs and antique truck fireman at the Kemptville Santa Claus parade.

Bagpiping Christmas carols. HY. Like jello wigglers.

Wave to Santa even if his beard doesn’t turn with his head.

outside library
Heed Voltaire’s advice. HY. Like no one cares. Because they do or they don’t. But only you can.

14 Nov 2014, 8:01pm
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Moving from Beauty to Beauty

pool cu(t)e
Cute overload risk.

pool cu(t)e
We played some pool with some sharks, including one with a fluffy dorsal fin.


frosted roof 4
Then first heavy frost.

And although I know I give too much information all clustered up at once, a lot goes on.

snow on the whatsit
I mean there was snow. Another toddler was asked “do you want to carry this in?” “No, I want to carry snowballs.”

snow on the rake
It’ll probably be gone by morning but for now, wow.

snow on the roses
I forgot winter’s beauty. I’m adapting. It was -7 and I was out in t-shirt and sandals.

All this a Cooper’s hawk landing on our porch railing then flying to a perch right outside our door.

all the readers
And the bonhomie of the Railroad reading Series last night with a warm room of poems by Yvonne Blomer, Paul Tyler Monty Reid, Claudia Radmore.

And tomorrow, Santa comes to town. Not this town. Kemptville.

And an hour later Roland and I read at the library at 1 Water Street, which is mid-way thru the route, which is probably done by then, right. How fast can 100 floats move?

Full life.

13 Nov 2014, 6:18pm

Autumn Beauties

We’re going to try to overwinter the littlest carrots but the big ones are ours now!

Tree full of its glory. Hard to believe one’s eyes at such glowing colour.

Golden hour on the kale and carrots.

PB130005 (2)
New from phafours press: doing & undoing by avonlea fotheringham.

1 Nov 2014, 2:05pm
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After Hallowe’en

My shoulder’s still bothering me. Those white lines of cross walks are slippery when wet and Tuesday I went down in the gutter, splash. Landed on my my previously bad shoulder which is still trying to be the Rice Crispies Elves for Halloween. Ah well, there’s motrin for that and it’s proven already it can improve. Besides, it’s hard to be grumpy with so much good going around, between parties of well-being and laughter, and that plooplie that was Hallowe’en. Besides, a book came in the mail. Yay.

On a Saturday? Urp. Because Canada Post seeks to bind communities into self reliance by flinging mail to somewhere in the right 3 block radius so people can meet people. I’m sure that’s it.

The kids were terribly cute. Kind of baffled. Mixing up their lines. Wondering why they are here and parents are way back there.

Every year we forget when they start and end. This time just about a quarter to six the first few knights and fairies stumbled thru the streets.

We bought 160 candies for Hallowe’en and have about 30 left. Er, except we bought too early, the sacrificial box to save the other box for the kiddies. That much sugar intake gives powerful cravings for raw broccoli and raw carrots. Suddenly grapefruit juice has huge appeal.

Groucho was at the door.

Pro-Hallowe’en tip: Little kids don’t know who Groucho Marx is. Some — polite-in-trainings who didn’t have to be asked to say thank you— called out nice costume. Some looked confused, maybe at who is supposed to be dressed up here. One asked who are you supposed to be? Why are you wearing a nose? We explained. He said, “huh. I’ve got to get one of those.”

A bunch of superheroes came by: Batman, Ironman, a couple Captain Americas. One little pumpkin toddler was wearing a superhero cape. Indecision days happen. To be fruitful, or heroic. I get it.

A few wore warm coats over their outfits so we could only hazard a guess at what they might have been from the wingtips of one. All together 11 angels, princesses and fairies, a banana, a monkey (not together), a leopard, a tiger, a chicken, a piggie, a hedgehog, and one little bee who came in from the cold and climbed over the doorstep and headed in. He was lured partly back for a picture for mommy then held onto my leg and wouldn’t go back to daddy. When daddy came after him he went deeper into the house and was retrieved.

And a few athletes including a small member of the Blackhawks. 3 knights, 1 hippie flower child, 4 LOTR Orcs, 1 minescraft, 1 girl ninja, a Hans Solo, and a robed one which might have been Star Wars as well.Coolest group outfit I was tempted to photograph but didn’t: Mary Poppins toddler collecting candy in her carpet bag with parents and baby sister being a chimney and chimney sweeps. 55 before it was all done.

At almost exactly 7:30 the streets were empty again and the good ship was ours alone again.

Meanwhile at the CKCU funding drive there’s $60,000 in the pot of the goal for $130,000. I’m not sure where Literary Landscape is since you have to go to the station to check numbers. Last I saw we were halfway to our $500 goal for the show. If you want to show that book lovers have some interest in radio, not just the music listeners, give it a dingle or click.

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