The Canadian Motor City Gets My Vote. Take Note, Toronto.

My trip to Windsor was almost everything I hoped it would be and I'm very glad I went back to my old home town.

Once upon a time, long, long, ago, local radio stations referred to Windsor and Detroit as the Motor Cities. I can't vouch for the condition of Detroit, but Windsor still retains the Canadian title. It's tied to the auto industry, much as it was in the past. Everyone should have a car, or a truck or a van, and preferably a Canadian-made one. In the less wealthy neighbourhoods, nearly everyone does. But in parts of Walkerville, one of the upscale neighbourhoods, I saw some expensive foreign cars. Oh, the shame of it!

I was most impressed by what Windsor has done with its waterfront. The city has gorgeous waterfront parks that stretch for kilometres. Riverside Drive hugs the shoreline of the Detroit river and absolutely no development is allowed on the side of the road closest to the river. The city also reclaimed the railway lands (the tracks used to run along beside the river). It's truly amazing that a city of 200,000 has the ability to resist the type of hideous but extremely profitable condominium development that ruined the central waterfront in Toronto. My old and still very politically active friend, Patsy, is one the people responsible for fending off the developers. Every five years or so, the no-development policy is challenged at City Council, and Patsy rallies the troops.

On the downside, Windsor is still a city that isn't much into the idea of public transit. There were about 7 bus routes 10 years ago and now, I think there are 10. The bus terminal is exactly the same as it was in my youth. If I'd ever taken psychedelic drugs, I'd have assumed I was having a flash-back when I saw it. At least the city has some newer buses, and yes I was on one.

Most of my exploration of the city took place on foot and, as my grandmother might say, my feet is plumb wore off at the knees. It was the best way to get a feel for the neighbourhoods I wanted to see. I walked all around the downtown area, the Wyandotte street strip, the Erie street area, Willistead and the street I grew up on and other areas. I spoke with several business owners, they were all friendly and took the time to give me their impressions of the city. The Casino is undergoing renovation but it was well-patronized. I couldn't get over the number of different slot machines. Did you know there are some that take $500 for a single chance? Egad! No one was trying their luck at one while I was there. No bloomin' wonder. I wasn't tempted to try anything, not even the nickel slot machines. And anyway, most of them were being used by seniors. I visited the poker rooms. One is not allowed to make casual conversation with the dealers, I discovered. The man who sold chips was not inclined to answer my questions. Maybe I started with the wrong question though. When I asked if seven card stud poker was available, he marked me down as a complete innocent, or an idiot.

On the "our girl makes good" side, that's how Patsy refers to it, another friend of mine from way back when I worked at the Windsor Women's Centre is now the head of the United Way. Patsy, who seems to know every other person in town decided we would drop in on Sheila and we did. A wave at the receptionist and off we went to the head honcho's office. She was glad to see us and we didn't over-stay our welcome.

The funniest thing that happened to me was an encounter with a memorable woman. There's a famous, or maybe infamous, jewellery store in downtown Windsor. It's one of those institutions you have to see to believe. It's been on the same corner for thirty years, or more. Not a thing has changed. The store sells a lot of figurines, plates and miscellaneous chochka's as well as jewellery and fine china. It has display cases so close together that even a thin person must be wary and the carpets are almost see-through. On one counter-top near the door, there is a picture of Mr and Mrs. S., the founders of the store. I naturally assumed that both of them had retired. They were 'old' when I was a young sprat. But I was wrong. The inimitable voice of Mrs. S. accosted me. Mrs. S. knows nothing about subtle sales tactics.

I said, "it's nice to see the store still looks the same after twenty years."
She said, "Where have you been? "
"Toronto," I replied.
"So," she said, "why haven't you come here? Lots of people come here from Toronto."

Oy vey! The conversation went on in this vein for a while. I agreed to look around and asked about Mr. S. He was away on a buying trip. Fortunately for me, Mrs. S. was distracted by the arrival of some Americans. I managed to get out without buying anything and without laughing until I was around the corner. Those Americans would not escape without buying something, or her name isn't Mrs. S. She was once famous for going into the street, stopping tourists and dragging them into her store. After seeing her in action, I suspect that when she is having a good day, she probably still does.

I have pages of notes from my trip and they may be useful, but the most important thing was renewing my acquaintance with the city.

It's still got a great heart and I'll miss it

Checking out The Ambassador Bridge and Other Adventures

On Thursday, I'm going to Windsor. I'ts been years since I visited my home town and I need to soak up its ambience, its flavours. I plan to take lots of notes and maybe some pictures, though a lot of places won't look the same as they did ten years ago. Maybe I'll met an old friend for coffee, if she isn't out protesting something. Patsy must be at least seventy, but she still has a radical heart that leads her in some interesting directions.

What's the first thing a travelling writer packs? Lined note pads, of the right size and shape to fit into a small purse. I found some and I've already stashed them in my suitcase. The other packing won't happen until the last minute.

I plan to visit some of my old haunts - the park under the Ambassador bridge (the best place to watch the submarine races) and a couple of other parks too, the Casino (for research purposes only), the Tunnel Barbeque, if it still exists, and the street where I lived as a child.

I really don't know if I can capture what I need, but I'm going to try.

Sometimes I have lucky days. Saturday was one. The man in my life had suggested earlier in the week that if the weather cooperated we would go to the Mill Race Folk Festival in Galt, if I was interested. I was delighted by the idea and I had the chance to mention I was going to the festival to a friend who lives in the big smoke. It turned out that she was going to be at the festival too. The day was clear with wispy clouds, little humidity or pollution and not too hot. We found a shady spot close to the main Mill Race stage and the river and enjoyed the singers. We weren't easy to see in the crowd, since we were tucked way in a corner, but my friend Dorothy, who can actually see people from more than 500 feet away, spotted us. So, Dorothy and I had a chance to talk between performances. I also enjoyed the music and singing along on the choruses. It was a perfect afternoon.

Maybe my trip will contain some unexpected delights too.

An Encouraging Rejection

As all three or four, or maybe, sometimes five, reasonably regular readers of my blog know, I wrote a story about a man named Jesse. The story, Jesse's Gift, had been revised to a fare-thee-well. I sent it to PRISM International in April and hoped it would fare well.

Today, my SASE to PRISM came back to me. I could see that the piece of paper in the envelope wasn't even a letter size reply. Oh great, I thought, just one of those notes that says sorry and they've conserved paper by giving me toilet-tissue size response. Well, the editor does say no. But, below the - We receive many excellent submissions but due to space constraints we're unable to publish them all, etc. Please try us again in the future - he added a hand-written note.

"This story of full of detail. It is visceral and sensual and beautifully depicted. I like how this depiction relates to the characters and the worlds that they live in. Thanks so much for the strong submission."

According to other writers, getting a personal note from an editor of a first rank magazine like PRISM is a very good sign. So, I'll have to put on my market research hat and find another place to send it.

Wal-Mart and the movie, The Producers

The last full week of July is upon us. Summer is half-over. Okay, maybe not officially, but in other ways, it is. So many things start again in September. For now though, I'm in lazy summer mode and maybe the weather can be my excuse.

On the weekend, our plans changed due to rain and we saw another movie, The Producers. It's very funny, thanks mostly to Mr. Lane who is consistently hilarious. Before watching the movie, I had the opportunity to visit the local Cambridge Chapters/Indigo bookstore. Of course they didn't have the book I was thinking of purchasing, but I did buy the July issue of Harper's magazine because the cover listed this article: Breaking the Chain, The Antitrust Case Against Wal-Mart. The article is long and informative. It discusses the deleterious effects of the unchecked power of W**^***t including monopsony, my new word of the week. "Monopsony arises when a firm captures the ability to dictate price to its suppliers because the suppliers have no real choice other than to deal with that buyer." Many firms have been affected adversely after chaining themselves to the Wal-Mart star in the hope of soaring. But that is only part of the problem. And you probably wonder why I'm linking The Producers and W-place in my subject line.

Even if you don't wonder, here's why. "Every day Wal-Mart expands its share of the ... markets for magazines, recorded music, films on DVD and books (YIKES, even books). This means that every day its tastes ... weigh that much more on decisions made in Hollywood studios, in Manhattan publishing houses ... (and soon, maybe other publishers).

So, if the retail super-behemoth should decide that a film like The Producers, which features a musical number called Springtime for Hitler, and other possibly unacceptable shenanigans, shouldn't be distributed in DVD format, then it wouldn't be available to the 30 percent of American consumers who shop there. Would that be tragic? Well, no. But is this the thin edge of the Whale-Mart tells us what to view or to read wedge?

I wonder.

Hot and Cold

It's been miserably hot, but a storm blew in last night and cooled things off, temporarily. Good thing, because I was tired of being confined to my living room.

It was hot on Thursday when we celebrated Sam's birthday. He loves hot food, so he had pizza with hot peppers, and hot wings too. Friday I got a rejection letter for one of my short stories from NQ. I rather expected it, since NQ is a notoriously difficult magazine to conquer, but I have to try once a year. By Saturday, it was downright horrid outside. I went to the market early and bought a bouquet of flowers for myself. Why not?

Better things happened on the weekend. The man in my life took me to the movies. We saw Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean Part II. I didn't like all the dead critters, but at least there was Johnny to look at, and Orlando Bloom.

Yesterday, I got more birthday mail. It was more than somewhat late, but I don't mind having my birthday goodies spread out. My friend Sharon sent me a silly card, a generous gift certificate for the LCBO, and a copy of her brochure (one I did some work on). So, I can celebrate all over again, perhaps with a lovely single malt scotch, when I'm able to walk as far the LCBO. It may be a while before I can do that, though.

My knee is not speaking to me - it is yelling instead. So, I'm giving it the old cold treatment. I recall one of my many physiotherapists saying "Ice is Nice." That's a damned lie. But I have to use it anyway. And I guess kneeling is off my list of can-do things for now. Floor washing is boring and can be postponed.

I'm going to Windsor August 10 to 13th. Research, research and lots of note taking. Maybe a visit with an old friend, if she is in town, and a visit to the Casino. After all, I have to make the gambling scenes realistic. I won't spend as much as my character does though, she has a bigger budget.

Canada Post, or Pony Express

After my weekend in Port Ryerse, and after receiving excellent advice from my writer friend in Calgary and a friend here, I added the final grace notes to the story I'd been revising, and revising. Then, I prepared to send it out. I decided to be brave and choose two markets this time. I was feeling happy about this decision as I walked to the postal outlet in the card store in the old market building on King. When I handed the envelopes to the person behind the counter and paid the postage, he stamped them and put them in the outgoing first class bin. As I was turning away, the woman who had been waiting beside me "went postal" and began berating the clerk.

She claimed that this postal outlet had lost a package worth $4,000. And furthermore, nothing that she had mailed through this outlet since June 15 had been received. Someone has threatened to sue her, she claimed. Then she said she might sue Canada Post.

I was transfixed by this tale, not to mention worried. It was too late to get my envelopes back, so I'll just have to hope they get to their destinations. I considered that outlet my lucky place, but now I'm not so sure. Maybe I'll have to choose another.

There are plenty of horses in this area, perhaps someone could start a new version of the pony express.

Some Mild Patriotic Words

Tomorrow is Canada Day and while I'm not going to wave the flag about, I do want to say - Happy Birthday - eh!

A couple of nights ago, I answered a telephone opinion survey. It was a political survey and after the first three questions, there was no doubt in my mind. The survey was designed to find out whether Canadians agree with Harper's policies and his agenda. There were about 15 questions connected with the likelihood of a terrorist attack on Canada and how the government is handling this supposedly urgent matter. There were also a lot of questions about how much information the government should be able to access (in order to prevent terror attacks, naturally) and how further access to information, conversations, you name it, could be made legal. Finally, there were questions about Canada's role in Afghanistan and our role as peacekeepers.

Many of the questions started with "Are you afraid? - of terrorist attacks, of youth gangs, of criminals not being locked-up forever, of refugees who may be terrorists, of our inability to defend our arctic waters, of ill-equipped customs officers, or conversely, of not being able to enter the United States of... Well ... Everything.

How can anyone reasonably answer a question like - will there be a terror attack on Canada in the next year? Yes, no, maybe - all are equally correct. If terrorists are going to target us, they are not going to warn us about it.

The questions concerning Canada's peacekeeping role were equally unsuitable. Should we stick to our "traditional observe and help role;" or should we take a more "Military" role. In the first place, our traditional peacekeeping role has always included military "action" when necessary in a protective manner. In the second place, actively assisting the Americans in Afghanistan to attack and kill is not peacekeeping. And it will not stabilize anything.

The whole questionaire seemed designed to prod paranoia buttons. Well my button didn't function. Let's not try to become Americans. We are Canadians, and that is more than good enough.

Harper, smarten up. Don't make me smite ya.

Signs, signs, everywhere Signs - Open the Door!

My birthday weekend was replete with the kinds of people and events, I'd wish everyone I care about could have on their birthday. And yes, there were signs.

The front of my daughter's house was decorated with a Happy Birthday sign. Primarily, it was there for my grandson, who celebrated his fourteenth birthday on Saturday, but I choose to believe it was there for me as well.

This evening, Wayson Choy spoke about signs and symbols in a writer's life and I realized there have been quite a few signs pointing the way for me. However, it takes me quite a while to understand the portents.

New ones given to me on Sunday, when I visited my daughter. My youngest grandson made a card for me. The front of the card has a "door" that opens, and the card says
"Do you choose to open the door to life?" I am not impartial. I'm blown away by my soon-to-be twelve grandson's ability to cut to the heart of things. My daughter gave me a beautiful brick candle to light my way. And the man in my life gave me a book. And not just any book, but: Writing Life: Celebrated Canadian and International Authors on Writing and Life.

Over the years, there have been lots of other signs. Some of them seemed negative at the time. My eighth grade teacher insisted I couldn't possibly have written the story I submitted and tried to fail me. My tenth grade teacher said I should continue to write poems. Eventually, I did, but they came back from editors with notes that said - not these, but do you have more. I didn't send more. This could be an endless list. My mother kept every letter I ever sent to her until I insisted she get rid of them. One of my ex-lovers has a stash of my letters and will not give them back to me, nor will he destroy them. I've only written eight short stories that I feel are "finished" but two have been published. That should be considered a good average, but of course I don't consider that - I wonder what's wrong with the rest of them.

I've managed to ignore the fact that I wrote a two page letter that enabled the Veterans program to get half-a million dollars in expansion money, and every other grant proposal I wrote brought in money too. Then there was the condolence letter I wrote to a former client's son. It was a simple and direct letter about having known his father. I did it because I wanted to acknowledge a man's life, but the son was so moved by it that he made a very large donation to the agency, and a friend tells me that he continued to do that for two more years.

So, there have been lots of signs, I'm just a slow reader.

Older than them thar Hills But, Not Smarter, Yet.

It's that time of year again. The time when I officially get older. It isn't a decade birthday, but today my grandson officially graduates from elementary school and on the weekend he will be fourteen. In two years, Frankie will be driving. I guess that makes me older than them thar hills. It's a good thing I became a mother at such an early age, because I'll have more than one generation to depend on as I enter my dotage.

I'm still too young to have any of the advantages of being older, like crankiness and forgetfulness, the flaws people ascribe to our elders. But I've decided some early practice wouldn't hurt. Maybe I can "forget" to pay some bills and use the extra money for a treat, and maybe I'll ask the mail carrier what he's done with all the acceptance letters that should be in my mailbox. I might even tell the superintendent of my building that I don't want to hear about every complaint she receives. Well, I might, if I have a personality change, but it's more likely that I'll continue to listen to her.

I'm not any smarter than I was last year. Probably that's just as well, though, because if I was too smart I'd give up the mug's game of writing fiction, since logic would say my chances of success are so low.

Fortunately, I'm not smart enough to accept that. Instead, I plan to celebrate being young enough to pursue my dreams.

Capri Pants Must Die.

I was at the mall today looking for a skirt, or a decent pair of dressy straight-legged slacks. Every other woman who passed me in the mall was wearing capri pants. Ick! They make women's legs look shorter and fatter. Unless you're a stick figure, they simply don't work. What really aggravates me is that next year, that fashion will be as dead as dead can be, and hundreds of thousands of women will put the Capri pants or cropped pants, or whatever you want to call them, (I just call them ugly) at the back of their closets.

And while I'm still in fashion rage mode. Why are there only ballerina, flouncy skirts on the racks, or skirts with weird zig zag hem-lines? And why is the only suitable cotton A-line skirt in the entire mall priced at $80 (including the taxes) and made in China? Maybe the pretty beaded filigree trim accounts for it, but I have my doubts.

I also doubt that I'll be able to add anything else to my wardrobe in the near future.

I am only a channel for "The Fashion Maven," side of my personality and take no responsibility at all for her crankiness.

The New Yorker, The Walrus, and Snidely Whiplash

The good folks who live in Toronto are recovering from the media frenzy that blared forth when suspected terrorists were arrested on Friday. I think it was Friday, time seems to waiver when news reports leave out details. Before this incident I'd been thinking about the media and humour in the media. Now, I wonder what The New Yorker magazine and The Walrus magazine would have to say about the incident. I know what Snidely Whiplash would say, he'd say "Curses! Foiled Again."

So why am I mentioning Snidely in the same sentence as those two magazines? It all began when I bought an April issue of the New Yorker and then the June issue of The Walrus. I like to buy Canadian magazines, and I wish that at least one could compare to The New Yorker. The Walrus tries hard, and the June issue has a very good article by Roy Romano on Canada, as well as an article by Mark Kingwell about the empire of the United States but it also has a pitiful attempt at humour by Marni Jackson. The New Yorker is still a weekly magazine, and it's the only weekly magazine that will print long detailed articles, fine fiction, and humour and there is always at least one cartoon in every issue that makes me laugh. Maybe someday there will be an equivalent Canadian magazine, maybe, but that's about as likely as the return of Snidely Whiplash. Snidely, the inept cartoon villain from The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle, might say - tie Ms. Jackson's computer to the tracks. Then, I'd have to stop him in order to preserve his reputation. But I'll give him another task, he can make a brief appearance or two in my novel, if he misbehaves in the appropriate manner.

Squabbleland and Brokeback Mountain

If there was a country called Squabbleland, then I have some people who should be sent there. In that land, they could carry on endless arguements about small issues and drive one another to the brink of insanity.

The United Nations has not agreed to the formation of Squabbleland, and even if it did, there would be an ongoing and of course fruitless struggle to define the borders of the new country. In the meantime, I guess I'm stuck with the folks who seem to enjoy constantly disagreeing with one another.

So, I'll talk about a movie instead. I saw Brokeback Mountain on the weekend and am not sure what kept me from going to sleep while I was watching it. Maybe it was the Alberta scenery. If the cowboy is laconic as well as iconic, then I suppose the two stars of the film did what fit the bill. They couldn't say what the screenwriter didn't provide, and he or she didn't provide much dialogue. If the film hadn't been about a same sex relationship between two men-of-the-range would it have caused a ripple? I'd say no.

Out of the Pop Culture Loop - Like - Way out.

Every so often, my status as a one of the people who is perennially "out of the loop" about pop culture is re-confirmed. Last night was one of those occasions. I couldn't sleep and so, instead of reading I turned on the television and watched a little of the David Letterman show. He was interviewing a young woman I didn't recognize. She is one of the stars of the television show Will and Grace. I've seen the show a couple of times but that's all, and when Rogers cable gets around to disconnecting me, I won't be catching any reruns.

When my grandson talks about the bands he listens to I'm perplexed. I only recognize the name of one band and I haven't heard their music. Apparently they are "like ... really cool." I'm amazed that the word "cool" is a staple in the vocabulary of a fourteen year old, and I certainly won't tell him that I used it way back in the dark ages when boys would be kicked out of school for having below-the-shoulder length multi-coloured hair and wearing jeans. and girls could be sent home for wearing skirts that didn't cover their knees, or for not wearing a brassiere. Dinosaur days.

When it comes to pop culture books, I'm also not up-to-date. Stephen King has a new book out, "Cell." My daughter read the first part of it and gave up. She won't allow my grandson to read it until he's older; although she has let him read other Stephen King novels. She's decided that if it's too graphic for her, then it's certainly not appropriate for her fourteen-year-old son.

Speaking of books, a couple of days ago, one of my neighbours gave me "Three Day Road" by Joseph Boyden. It's the One Book One Community selection for Kitchener Waterloo this year and I was excited to acquire it, even though I must return it to the library by February 28th. It is a much better choice than last year's book "Hominids." I'm only on page 60 because I'm savouring the writing, but already I'm extremely impressed. The book isn't a pop-culture novel - it's way too good to be given that label.

I can't say I'm completely un-exposed to pop culture though. Sunday I went to see the movie "RV" with the man in my life. It wouldn't have been my first choice, but since he's taken me to many of my first choice movies, I agreed. He found it hilarious, and I thought it was mildly funny although I could have done without the exploding trailer toilet episode. On the positive side, Robin Williams is very good at physical comedy and has a very expressive face. We went to the matinee and there were lots of children in the audience. They loved the movie.

I miss seeing free cartoons before a movie starts, but that just means I'm old.

Tha tha tha that's all folks!

Beware of the "Should" People. They're Multiplying.

I don't know how you feel when someone tells you should do something, or act in a certain manner, but I know how I feel. It annoys me.

Maybe it all started when I was at George Brown College and so many of the people in the Human Services Counsellor course were members of Alcoholics Anonymous. "Don't should on yourself" was one of their favourite expressions. And I still think it's good advice, but I'd like to amend it slightly to include don't 'should on other people either."

The word, or its intent has been popping up frequently. Harper implies that we should all be happy with the budget, since everyone gets a tax cut. Well, if everyone gets a tax cut (and that's not quite accurate) then revenues will fall. And he's got lots of spending plans. Next thing you know, he'll be telling us how necessary it is to raise more money, by cutting frills (read services here, if you are not a Conservative) and increasing private health care.

A few days ago, the latest issue of This Magazine arrived. There's an article in it by the writer, John Degen, titled "Suffering for One's Art is Romantic, But it's Still Suffering." I agree with much of what he says about arts funding, but here's what got my attention and got my goat, too. (Note the word too at the end of that sentence). He says, and I quote:

"A good novel should take five years from conception to launch."

He goes on to talk about "writing, rewriting, self-editing, finding an agent, (if you are extremely lucky), finding a publisher (see finding an agent), editing again, copy editing, launching and touring."

Maybe he's right, and there are writers who have had to endure an even longer time line; but, that should sticks in my craw. It could be that I don't like his idea of how long it ought to take. because in five years and one month, I'll be sixty eight. That's awfully close to seventy, and I sure hope I finish my novel before I hit the next decade.

There are other people who are saying you should to me. A member of the e-editing circle I joined is quite fond of that little word. You should never end a sentence with 'too,' says he. And, you should never use strange descriptive words. He also listed quite a few, you should not's, but I'm not going to mention them.

I'll think I'll go and break a few writing rules. My errors, if indeed they are errors, can be corrected when I rewrite, and rewrite. But right now, I want to make some, and I need to, too.

When in Doubt, Move Furniture or Nudge Golf Balls

Last week I managed to completely avoid working on my fiction. It was WAW Writing Avoidance Week for me. Maybe it could become a national holiday.

I found a lot of other things to do, and in case you want to follow my shining example, I'll give you the short list.

First, I acquired a new internet service provider and then I filed my taxes online, before the deadline. That gives me bonus points because last year, I was a late filer.

Then I rearranged my living room (again) because the shelves I'd moved made me feel hemmed in and besides I needed to vacuum under some furniture, and its spring. That may be the last time I move the shelves for a while, since I'm not sure what's holding them together and I don't want to create ill will in them. I need their support since they hold my writing books and miscellaneous things like the stapler, the stack of evnvelopes and file folders, the paper clip supply,the phone books and my bus map Now they are backed with cork board so I can stick things on them.

My best avoidance activity of the week was mini-golf. I'm not good at it since my ability to judge distances, angles, and elevations is so poor. But blind luck and the ability to distract my worthy opponent led to victory. After 36 holes, I had taken one stroke less than my partner. The mini-golf course has a field behind it and it was receiving an application of manure. Mostly the wind was blowing away from us, but when it blew in the wrong direction my allergic opponent began to sneeze. Maybe I won because I sneezed less. A rematch is very likely, but the number of courses we can choose from is limited.

I also watched a bit of the hockey play-off games. It's time to say farewell to cable television and I've cancelled my Rogers account, but since they haven't yet disconnected me, I'm indulging in an advance bout of nostalgia; after all, why should I wait until the service stops.

I guess I'd better go and put one word after another.

Dark Screen, Dark kitchen, Bright Literary Light

Yesterday, I finally changed my internet service provider. Well, to be technically correct, I didn't accomplish this great leap forward by myself, the man in my life did most of the work. And, wonder of wonders, he actually followed the available step-by-step instructions. So, last night, I tried to send out notices to everyone in my email address book. But I couldn't. My Norton Antivirus kept saying it wouldn't send "encrypted" messages. Then the Norton site refused to open and give me more information, so I gave up temporarily. This morning I turned on my computer and the screen was dark. Yikes! Before cardiac arrest set in I thought I should check the easy things. It turned out that t.m.i.m.l. had turned off my monitor screen before he left.

One problem solved, but another darkness problem has occurred and I hope it will be just as easy to remedy. It's a rainy Sunday morning and when I turned on the kitchen lights, the last two fluorescent tubes flickered and went out. I think I'll live with a dark kitchen today since I'm feeling lazy and don't want to tackle taking out the ceiling panels and then walking to the hardware store in the rain.

In between my movie watching adventures, I have been doing some reading. I finished Zadie Smith's White Teeth but I wouldn't give it four stars since I think the last third of the book is very weak. I also think she's the queen of digressions, but maybe that is just sour grapes on my part. What I would recommend is "The Wreckage" by Michael Crummey. If I were a reviewer, I'd give it the maximum number of stars available because it's a very fine novel. I hadn't read anything by this writer before, but I'm certainly going to look for his "River Thieves" which was a finalist for the Giller Prize in 2001.

Maybe a quiet wet and somewhat dark Sunday will be just what I need.

More Movie Madness and Rama Lama Ding Dong Too

I've seen two more movies in the last couple of weeks and I'm happy to report that both Capote and Narnia are excellent.

The actor who played Capote gave an amazing performance and it's no wonder he captured the Oscar. He must have watched hundreds of clips of Capote, the strange man who pretty much invented a new genre when he wrote In Cold Blood. It's a chilling book. The movie also shows Capote's somewhat parasitic reliance on and attachment to the killers. I suppose though that many writers mine other peoples lives, or their own lives for the sake of their art.

I don't know a lot about C.S. Lewis's life or where his inspiration came from. But, while I haven't read the Narnia books, I do remember reading C.S. Lewis's Screwtape Letters when I was in my teens and being quite impressed with the wiliness of the older devil. I did see the movie about his wife Joy and their relationship some time ago and it seems that C.S. Lewis was fated to meet his love very late in life, and then she died before he did.

If you are wondering about 'Rama Lama Ding Dong' - its appearance is the result of my pecan pie intake. Monday night I was at a C.A.A. executive meeting, wearing my secretary hat, and I had the pie for dessert. When I came home, I went on-line and began chatting with my friend Dorothy. By then, all the sugar was giving me such a high that I entered the extreme silliness state. Dorothy and I began exchanging typed riffs of nonsensical and sometimes bawdy song lyrics. It's something we used to do when we worked together and stress and tension was high. I remember we started it after I'd dealt with a violent incident.

Who put the Ram in the Rama Lama Ding Dong
Who put the Bop in the Bop She Bop She Bop

Shoop Shoop Shoop

Duke Duke Duke, Duke of Earl, Duke Duke Duke of Earl

Mama's Got a Squeeze Box

Loui Loui

A Tisket A Tasket A Green and Yellow Basket

It kept us from becoming basket cases, or maybe it didn't, but now it's a 'tradition - tradition'.

I've decided to refer to my almost-daily walks that nearly always include a stop at Tim Hortons as my tradition. It sounds so much better than saying I have a habit.

Make it a double double, please.

Cheers!

A Circular Life

Many, many, many years ago, when circulars were sometimes printed using a Gestetner machine, I was an envelope stuffer. It was my first paying summer job. The company was trying to sell hearing aids and the owner was mailing an advertisement to everyone in the city. He obviously didn't know anything about marketing.. He also didn't pay much and I can't remember the hourly amount I received. I do remember coming home with navy blue fingers every afternoon.

Circulars have changed and so has the marketing approach. Last night I spent a little time stuffing envelopes at my daughter's office. It was a volunteer effort. I was there and had to wait for a ride so I offered to help. The advertising is targeted, as they say in marketing, and the gorgeous info flyer will be sent out with a newsletter and a fridge magnet. I hope it will be very successful.

I think my glasses are still at the office so this wee blog is in large print. Maybe marketers should consider printing most things in larger print since Canada has an aging population. Last week, I received a flyer from the real estate agent who sold me my apartment. It was printed in 8 point font, I just know it was because I've set up brochures and you just can't get so much print into the available space unless you are using 8 or less. I had to peer closely at it and after trying to struggle through the first paragraph, I put the flyer in the circular file.

Happy Easter and find an egg for me will you. I can't see a darn thing.

A Little Song, a Little Dance and No Seltzer

My life is rolling merrily along at the moment. It wouldn't be safe for me to do anything more than a slow dance, or some of the belly dance movements I remember that don't require too much bending of the knees, but I did sing in the shower.

Even receiving a rejection letter didn't really dent me for too long because on the very same day I got a gorgeous mug from Kelley Armstrong. It was a perk for participating in NaNoWriMo. Kelley gave presents to her board members who completed the challenge.

As for the dance part of the headline, my daughter and her family went to see Tap Dogs Monday evening. Both Nancy and Sam are tap dancers and they reported that the performance was amazing, so maybe I'll help fund the same type of outing again next year, if the troupe returns to Kitchener.

Alice Munro will be interviewed on TVO this evening and I won't be home to see it. I only found out when the interview would be on after I agreed to attend a C.A.A. executive meeting tonight. Right about now, I wish I was a good liar in real life because I'd love to find an excuse to stay home, but ethics are prickly things and they get in the way of that kind of lie. Maybe it will be rebroadcast sometime when I'm home.

In between seeing movies with the new man in my life and reading books about writing and doing the necessary and tedious things, I've managed to get a little writing done. At the last possible moment, I submitted a story to the Ten Stories High contest and I've revised a bit more of my novel.

I've also been reading Elizabeth George's book about the novel writing process, "Write Away, One Novelist's Approach to Fiction and the Writing Life." My writer friend Arlene recommended the book and I found it was available at the library. Of course I don't agree with everything she suggests about the way to approach novel writing. I may be a bit too left-brained, or is it right-brained or maybe muddle-brained? to follow such thorough step-by-step processes for every aspect of the novel. I do, however, agree with some of her final words and here they are verbatim:

"You will be published if you possess three qualities - talent, passion and discipline.
You will probably be published if you possess two of the three qualities in either combination - either talent and discipline, or passion and discipline.
You will likely be published if you possess neither talent nor passion but still have discipline. Just go to the bookstore and pick up a few "notable" titles and you'll see what I mean.
But, if all you possess is talent or passion, if all you posses is talent and passion, you will not be published. The likelihood is you will never be published. And if by some miracle you are published, it will probably never happen again."

Tough words - where is that discipline switch again? Oh yeah, it's all in my head. Back to work.

Confessions of a Simple Prole

In the last few days, I've chosen entertainment over enlightenment about ninety percent of the time and I suppose that might re-confirm my membership in what Marx referred to as the proletariat. I've always been a member of the working classes, not what the Globe & Mail so archly refers to as the chattering classes. I confess, I'm just a simple prole

Last weekend I saw Ron James' two hour live stand-up comedy show and loved it. I was as impressed by his ability to remember all his jokes and stories as I was by the material itself. And on Saturday, I had my choice of two movies "Capote" or "The Legend of Zorro" and I chose the second one. I wasn't in the mood for enlightenment. I wanted to see great-looking men ride horses and brandish swords. --I wonder why must swords always be brandished, why can't they be flourished or waved? and why must hussies always be brazen? Maybe someone should brandish a brazen hussy sometime. --The movie was filled with impossible stunts (a horse on top of a train - oh sure), impossibly pushed up buxom bosoms (Zeta Jones must still have bruises), one impossibly good child actor and the requisite impossible plot. What more could an honest prole want?

The answer is ice cream, and I had some maple walnut.

All Johnny Depp - All The Time

Well, not quite all the time, but it makes an interesting headline.

I saw Depp's latest movie, The Libertine, on the weekend. It's a dark, and muddy movie, both literally and figuratively speaking. I don't think I'd see it again, but that's because I don't want to come out of a movie feeling depressed. Depp's character (a poet and a rake) is never redeemed and sinks slowly into the mire after acquiring syphilis. Meanwhile his co-star and lover, the main female character, goes on to greater things and never gets sick. I guess poets must always suffer in some way and rakes must definitely suffer. Depp's character is addicted to excess in every form and as my date said - the movie depicted the final result of those addictions quite vividly. I'd go one past that and say "too vividly" for me.

I also saw "Chocolat" again this weekend , more Depp on-screen and lots of lovely chocolate to admire.

Maybe I can see another Depp movie sometime this week and that will make three in a row. Something to strive for, I'm sure.

Meanwhile, all that chocolate has me thinking I may have to get a chocolate fix soon because I am an un-reformed, though mostly abstinent chocoholic and I'm jonesing for some really good stuff. Yesterday's healthy salad made me feel virtuous, but I've had enough of virtue for the moment.

Here's to temporary decadence!

The Runaway Slipper and Other Tales of Confusion

It simply won't do. It's not fair and I don't quite know how to punish the culprit. One of my favourite knitted slippers ran away. I didn't do anything to upset it. I even washed both slippers the other day and let them dry out peacefully on top of the electric baseboard heater. And then there was only one to be found. I was reduced to wearing two pairs of socks to keep my feet warm and I begin to wonder if, like Earl, I've failed to fulfill my karmic list. That's a possibility, because I don't keep a list.

There are lots of other things I keep though; including various versions of the short stories I've written. Maybe I keep too many versions, because now I can't find the version I want and it's possible I may have partially revised it and accidentally deleted it. Thank God I have a hard copy of a couple of versions and now I can try to "fix" an earlier stored version. And of course, all the versions I have are too long for the contest I have in mind. Are you confused by this? - if not - then you are more with-it than I am.

A few of days ago, in an attempt to be with-it on the technological front, I installed a new anti-virus system for extra protection. Well, I got more protection than I wanted. The new system was blocking all my e-mails and it took me ages to figure that out. At first I just thought everyone in the internet universe was ignoring me - but spam never ignores me. So, I had to tell the anti-virus thingie to ignore checking my e-mails and I was able to do that. But, every time I log off and then return, it has forgotten my previous instructions. I guess the K I S S (keep it simple stupid) principle still applies to my relations with the computer, and with my slippers too.

I found the missing slipper. It had migrated to a top shelf in my bedroom. Maybe it needed more rest than its partner. I don't know because I didn't put it there.

My computer has not run off yet so I guess I'd better put my confused mind back to work.

Are Those Eyelashes Real? Oscar night thoughts

I stayed up last night to watch the Oscar awards show. Usually, I just catch the results on the news the next morning, but since I'd seen a couple of the movies and was still awake I decided to watch the glitz and glam in all its live glory.

George Clooney is "the man" and when he's wearing a tuxedo, he looks as if he was born in one. Did you ever notice his eyelashes? They are so amazing I wonder if he augments them, but surely Mr. Cool would not do that. Lots of the female stars do, and a lot of them are so thin that I worry - if they add another layer of eyelashes the weight just might cause them to topple over. I know the camera is merciless, but please, eat something ladies, at least once a day.

As for the films that won - March of the Penguins won best documentary and if there's anyone who hasn't seen it yet - then do. It's a terrific film and I was glad to hear the French filmmakers mention the renewal of the Antarctica treaty too. Memoirs of a Geisha got some well-deserved technical awards and The Constant Gardener did not win anything much. It got a lot of attention, but I didn't think the movie was as marvellous as some declared, guess maybe a lot of Academy folk agreed with me. Now that Crash has the best picture award I hope I can find a way to see it, and maybe I'll see Brokeback Mountain, but that's just a maybe. I'd rather see Crash.

It was a year for weird movie theme songs and none of the ones that were nominated turned my crank, but I'm just an old crank when it comes to movie theme songs. For instance; "It's Hard Bein' a Pimp" - I could only understand the lyrics the female performer sang, so I'm not sure if the song is filled with irony, or not, though I hope it is. I like Dolly Parton, because she knows she is projecting a cartoonish personna and she enjoys herself, plus she has written some very good songs, but the one she performed last night wasn't one of her best.

Sometime, I'd like to see Capote because the clips from it are amazing.

Well, this tired Oscar reporter better get some sleep, or she'll resemble Jack Nicholson. Eeek!

Harper Gives This Introvert Indigestion

The CBC national television news ran a feature on Stephen Harper last night. The experts have declared that his is an introvert-type personality. The piece also revealed that he is now on his third Communications Director, and that he doesn't like giving spontaneous interviews or quotes to the press. He's giving introverts a bad name, I mean, what if everyone who is an introvert, like me for instance, ends up being thought of as a Stephen Harper clone. The very thought of it makes me queasy. Of course Harper unsettled my stomach before I heard of his official personality type, but now it's worse.

I was curious about the exact definition of introvert, so I looked it up in my brand new dictionary and was mildly surprised to find this:
1. Psychology a person predominantly concerned with his or her own thoughts and feelings.
2. A shy quiet person. - Why is that the secondary definition? Is it because introverts haven't lobbied for a more prominent dictionary position?

I believe I fit the second definition, in spite of the fact that occasionally I make loud statements in public. I tend to be loud because its the only way I can make myself speak at all under those conditions. I think that Harper fits the first definition and if he is predominantly concerned with his own thoughts and feelings, how much care will he have for the people of this country, I wonder?

I still have my original Communications Director because I am unable to fire her. I guess I'm just too soft altogether.

Gold Medals and Bras

I watched the Canadian women's hockey team defeat Sweden and win Olympic Gold and cheered for them and shed a few tears too. If it was that time of the month, it would explain my tears, but I no longer have that excuse. Maybe now that I'm an 'old gal' I can be overtly emotional any time of the month. Why not?

Maybe I can rant away about the not-so-joyful process of finding a new bra too. Not that I was planning to buy one, but when I took my favourite comfortable bra out of the washer and hung it over the shower rod to dry, I happened to look at it closely. It was clear that the poor thing wouldn't survive more than one or two more washings. The last time I was in Toronto, a friend told me about a great bra store and I went there but I couldn't face paying about $70 for a bra so I decided I'd wait. Well the waiting time was up and since it was snowing madly this morning, I decided to make the trip to the Zellers store at Bridgeport. A big part of the strip mall is being renovated so I had the fun of navigating around the construction and avoiding drivers in the parking lot who didn't have a clue what they were doing. It was quiet in Zellers, it usually is, except on seniors days and I mosied through the lingerie department. I was intrigued by the very colourful selection of bras but did not think I wanted hot pink or lime green with blue stripes. And a lot of the very colourful bras are only available in smaller sizes. Talk about prejudice. Of course Jockey doesn't make the bra I used to like anymore and a couple of other models I might have chosen don't seem to exist either.

The whole process of choosing a bra is a crap shoot if you ask me. I measured myself, all three ways before leaving for the store, in case my breasts had grown overnight. They hadn't, but I'm sure my back has.

In the end, I found one that does not look like it was designed to hold up a whole bridge. It seems to fit - though who knows if it will fit tomorrow, and it turned out to be on sale. Lucky, lucky me.

Matinee Giggles

Most of the people I know don't celebrate Valentine's Day, and I didn't either, at least not on the day itself. However, on Sunday I had a movie-and-dinner date. We went to the Sunday matinee of The Pink Panther. I was sure there would be some children there, and I was right. One boy in particular made the movie-going experience more fun. He had the most infectious giggle I've ever heard. In fact, if the laugh-track people knew about him, he'd be signed up in no time. There's a lot of physical comedy in the current version of The Pink Panther, and the giggler helped the adults in the audience to let go and laugh at the extreme silliness we were seeing. So, I'm glad we went to the afternoon show, because the evening audience surely would have been more restrained.

These lines from the movie still make me chuckle.

"It was fatal."
"How fatal?"
"He's dead."

My daughter and son-in-law came over on Saturday and now the door to my utility room is installed, more shelves have been put up, and - most important of all - the doors to my fridge/freezer have finally been reversed. I no longer have to back up against the wall to open the fridge door. I don't understand why the previous owner of this place didn't have the doors put on the right way, but maybe she had the same problem I did. It's a two-person job, so I had to wait for help.

The opening ceremonies for the winter Olympics were so visually entrancing that I watched some parts twice. Later I found out that my daughter and family, who have Express-view watched parts of the ceremonies three times. I'm watching parts of the games, mostly figure skating and women's hockey, when I remember to check the schedule. I'm a big fan of the Canadian women's hockey team and I wish they'd get the kind of attention they deserve. Maybe when they win the gold medal, they will. The Canadian men's hockey team has a lot of old guys on it, so who knows, they might not win. I do feel somewhat sorry for Wayne Gretzky, because lately, he looks like he's getting an ulcer from the stress of the gambling accusations. Yeah, I know, he's rich and all, but he's never been pretentious and I'm willing to "bet" he had no involvement in the so-called scandal. Maybe I'm biased because I spent some years in the great one's home town. Brantford's the kind of place you'd choose to leave, if you could.

I wonder if our postal carrier is on a one-man strike or something. My mail box has been almost empty for over a week, only one piece of junk mail has arrived, and that's it. I'm waiting for T4P's and hoping for replies to my fiction submissions. Maybe this afternoon, or tomorrow, or the next day, there will be real mail for me. Meanwhile, I suppose I should get to work.

No Law Against Love

Two members of the Grand River Three, our small independent writing group, submitted short stories for No Law Against Love, a romance anthology published by Highland Press. Both stories were accepted for publication, so congratulations to Jennifer Ross and Susan Barclay. Well done, guys!

Proceeds from the anthology support breast cancer research and I hope that sales will be brisk.
Every story in the anthology features a silly law which might interrupt a romance. Since I've had the opportunity to read and make editing suggestions for both stories, I can tell you that if every story in the anthology reaches the quality of Susan and Jenn's stories, then the book should become a big hit.

The book will be available from Barnes & Noble. Their first order has sold out!

Quilts in the Bathtub and Savoury Food, Elsewhere

Maybe we're close to the tail-end of winter. I seem to think we are because I've started to do some of the things I planned to do in the spring.

Yesterday, I took the top quilt from my bed and put it to soak in the bathtub. I'd be happy to put it in the washer, but it won't fit. So, I reverted to my traditional way of cleaning quilts. My knees didn't appreciate the exercise and they're growling at me, so I'm pacifying them by sitting.

It could be that my knees are also complaining about the furniture moving they had to participate in on Friday. No matter. The results are worth it. My writing area is more defined and I'm putting cork board on the back of a bookcase so I'll have somewhere to post all the little notes I keep making about my novel-in progress.

As for savoury food, I really enjoyed my son-in-law's cooking last weekend. His prime rib roast was delicious and so were all the other dishes that went with it. Food is on my mind more often these days - other people's food - not mine. I've been writing about food, for money, and when I write about food it makes me hungry, for other people's food. When someone else cooks it's just so much more fun. I've never been a great cook, because I've never focussed on being one. As I wrack my brain for new adjectives, or use old adjectives in a new way to describe ready-to-eat foods, I'm gaining a new appreciation for the people who write marketing copy.

I think someone ought to write marketing copy for my friend Dorothy, the ace social worker.
After painting her office (as I mentioned in a previous blog), she's had to deal with both fire and flood at her place of employment. I'm beginning to think she should be nominated as "social worker of the year" and she should find a new job. The whole adventure might make a good short story, if it wasn't a little too implausible for fiction.

Now that I have my latest business writing venture temporarily out of the way, I think I'll get back to my kitchen, or to my fiction.

Liberals Spanked and Conservatives Tolerated, For Now.

This morning I have a political hang-over. I didn't know that imbibing too much political coverage would give me a headache, but it did. And I didn't even have the pleasure of enjoying a drink before the hang-over arrived. I'll know better next time. Next time there's an election, I won't stay up so late, I'll have a glass of wine and go to bed instead.

The Liberals have been spanked, but not with a 2" by 4" and they haven't been locked in the shed, just banished to the back yard to sort things out. Paul Martin made the right decision when he chose to give up leadership now, and he did so with some humour, and a lot of grace. He's saving his party from a lot more grief and his father would have applauded his decision. Martin always says that his father was the major influence in his life and I believe that. I remember his father, Paul senior, who was the M.P. for Windsor Walkerville. He was often referred to as Oom Paul because he was like an uncle to his constituents. He knew how to work the locals and how to keep them happy, but he never achieved his desire, which was to become Prime Minister. His son has had his happy moments on the national stage and his far less than glorious ones too. Now he can anticipate going back to C.S.L. after the next election and can probably look forward to numerous offers to be on boards. Not a bad life

As for Mr. Harper, I'm quite sure he will find life on the government side to be more challenging than he expects. He hasn't got a majority (thank God for small mercies and for the ultimate wisdom of the Canadian voters) and he will have to keep to a middle course in order to keep power. Will he put Stockwell Day in the cabinet. Probably he'll be obliged to give him something, maybe it'll be something minor. Can he keep the hard right-wingers in his party from upsetting his apple-cart? If he can't he'll find out just how hard it really is to be Prime Minister.

So, we can all look forward to a GST cut. Wow! That'll save me about fifty cents every month. Gee, thanks eh! Meanwhile, once the Cons are in, they'll more than likely revoke the one percent cut in the income tax rate that the Liberals gave to people in the lowest taxable income bracket. It'll be easy to do that - they don't need to bring it to a vote, just make an Order in Council and poof - the tax rate cut is gone. Guess those of us who haven't quite made it to the middle class, or have fallen out of it for various reasons are not all that worthy of the Conservatives attention.

The New Democrats picked up some seats, not as many as I'd hoped they would but at least they will be a significant influence in Parliament. And, one third of their elected members are women so that could be a help. Smilin' Jack will be pleased and he'll have Olivia with him in Ottawa to keep him sorted out.

I suspect all the newly elected members are going to have to behave themselves and the members who have been re-elected will have to take some cooperation lessons.

Let there be peace in the valley, at least for a while.

Is That in Your Job description?

Last night, I chatted on-line with my friend Dorothy. I wanted to know if she had finished plastering the holes in the walls and then completed painting them. That might not appear to be an unusual question until I give you the context. Dorothy is a social worker for a small community service agency and I was referring to the work she did to make her office space at least marginally habitable.

Dorothy and I used to work together and one of our enduring, ironic catch phrases was, "Is that in your job description?" We laughed about all the things we had to do that had little or no connection to our 'real' jobs.

It reminded me of all the times I've done ridiculous and sometimes dangerous things, all for the sake of keeping my employment.

Once upon a time, I was the office manager for one of the Federal Law Reform Commissions. Remember those? A lot of lawyers spent a lot of time proposing changes to the law and they required reams and reams of typing, they also required numerous meetings to argue the changes. My boss, who was in charge of the project, was brilliant and very absent-minded. He was also almost entirely unaware of how he looked. However, he did notice when the sole of his shoe came adrift just before one of those endless meetings. He came to my desk, presented me with the shoe and demanded I fix it. Thank goodness for Elmer's glue and a heavy duty stapler!

I've carried long and heavy pieces of lumber down steep stairs into a hospital basement workshop. Why? Because the delivery was dropped off at the wrong place and the Veterans who used the workshop wanted to work. Or maybe the answer to why is - because I've always been more than a little crazy. I still have a scar from that episode because the person at the other end of the lumber let go too soon.

When I worked at the Community Centre, I often became the maintenance guy because the building Seniors' Services occupied did not have its own maintenance staff. I've bailed out grease traps, cleaned up messy toilets (frequently) mopped up floods, often moved furniture and so forth. And of course, there were risks attached to my 'real' job at the time - like the distinct possibility of bringing home bugs from the homes of the seniors I visited, or the possibility of being attacked in one of the most dangerous apartment buildings in Scarborough. But I loved what I was doing.

I guess that's why I did so many things that weren't in my job description.

My job description these days is simpler - write, revise, revise, revise, research as necessary, and send my work out. It's good thing I'm my own boss most of the time, because there are lots of days when I don't do any of those things.

I should start revising a short story now, but first I'll check the mail. Maybe there will be something in the mail that will help me procrastinate a bit longer. Perhaps I should add creative procrastination to my job description.

Is it in yours?

There are Strange things Done in the Midnight Sun

It's still not January 23rd, and now the men who moil for the gold of our votes are at it again. We are being subjected to very nasty attack ads from the LIberals and from the Conservatives. I'm beginning to think the NDP needs a giant sized boot. I was watching CBC Newsworld when they showed part of the Liberal attack ad that has now been pulled from the airwaves. I didn't see all of the ad because the cable signal died in the middle of it. I wonder if there is some way they (those cable guys) could make that happen whenever a noxious political ad starts. They should come with a warning - Caution! Negative ad pothole ahead, switch lane/channel now.

Maybe publisher's information should come with a warning too. My friend Lori, whose ms has been under consideration at a small non-profit Alberta publishing house for quite some time, wondered when the publisher would make a decision. When she got in touch with the publisher, she was told they were going to close up shop. That's a rum do if ever there was one, and if I'd been the one receiving the news I'd probably be out buying some rum.

I am sitting on, or rather in a lot of money according the people who decide on property tax ratess. The request for reconsideration of my tax rate failed. But hey, if I sold my apartment, I'd have tons of lovely lolly and could buy a really nice tent.

There is some good nows though, my GST tax credit finally made it to my bank account and I promptly went out and indulged in a haircut and a perm. The cost of my very slow dial-up internet service actually went down and I'm so grateful I may not change my service provider for a while. And, Nancy, my dear best and only daughter, has been asked by the Regional government to give a presentation on -How to Choose a Lawn Care Company - at the local library. She'll get an excellent honorarium for being a speaker.

I suppose I might as well get to work and stop being cranky.

Could We Skip January This Year?

Why couldn't we just skip January altogether and go straight into February? Then we would be a whole month closer to spring and certain obligations and political terrors would have passed.

I always find January to be a bit stressful because it's the beginning of a new year and somehow its arrival implies that I should change something, or even many things. But, it's a rainy miserable day and there will be more rain and probably ice tomorrow and instead of making my usual list of things to do in 2006, I've been thinking about things I've done in past Januarys.

One January, I was working in the basement of G-Wing at Sunnybrook hospital because that's where my desk was located, in one corner of the cement blocked Arts & Crafts room. The weather was much like today's weather and it had been that way for several days. The Veterans seemed to all want to stay upstairs, preferably in bed, and so the room was much quieter than usual.

I'm not good at drawing. In fact, I failed art in elementary school, back in the evil old days when one was given a pass or fail, even in a subject like art. But I had a small inspiration that day and since there were plenty of art supplies, I could put my idea on paper. I took a large piece of craft paper and drew a huge and rather misproportioned running shoe with a very thick sole and then I printed a saying under the sole of the shoe in squished letters - Help Stamp Out January. (There is no font available here to illustrate this, but perhaps my description is sufficient.)

The drawing received howls of laughter, and that pleased me. It was my first and last attempt at visual art to date.

But who knows what the rain of this January will bring.

The Day after Christmas

Today is a quiet day and I'm glad that it is. The Christmas festivities were definitely joyful and noise-filled too. I generated some of the noise on Christmas eve when I played what's left of the piano on the second floor of the long-term care home where my daughter's mother-in-law lives. The poor piano was so far out of tune that it made me wince and I played only staccato notes and tried not to use too many of the keys at once It was a good thing the singers in the family are tolerant and reasonably loud. I'm Getting' Nuthin for Christmas and I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus and Rudolph didn't need a lot of piano accompaniment, and I tried to be a silent as possible during the rendition of Silent Night.

We went to an 8:00 p.m. Christmas eve mass and there was a good deal of music before and during the mass. I was quite taken aback to hear the lord's prayer sung to a tune by Gordon Lightfoot, (the lamp is burning low upon my table top etc.) and wondered if he gets any money for that. I rather suspect he doesn't.

Christmas day there were two bouts of present opening, one after brunch and one later in the afternoon, when the out-of-town family contingent arrived, and then of course we had "The Dinner" which deserves both it's capitals and it's quotation marks. It was an excellent family time and no one got cranky, that is a record of sorts and a good one too.

I have a new DVD player and have only to face the challenge of figuring out how to work the two remotes, since I think I've hooked it up correctly. I may require the services of someone under 14 to help me figure it out, but I'm sure Frankie can be persuaded to help me.

2006 will be here in a few days and I should reorganize my work area, and try to find places for all the paper I've accumulated in the last few months. But today, I'm going to enjoy doing a fair bit of nothing.

When Christmas is the "Real Thing"

It's less than a week before Christmas day and I'm as ready for the season as I can be.

The longest night is almost upon us, and it makes me think of what it must have been like in ancient times, before electricity, before candles, before almost everything except fire, and most of all, before people could be sure that the light would return. I wonder if northern people lit fires on every hill top to encourage the sun.

We will not be huddling around a fire and waiting for the return of the light, but we will enjoy that ancient symbol of life, the evergreen tree, and we will feast and talk and laugh and probably one of my grandsons will get over-excited and be banished, but only for a short while. And the day-of-days will be too long and it will be too short, and it will be too suddenly over.

While we celebrate the season of the return of the light and of the birth of Christ, we'll remember what the "real thing" is all about. We always give thanks for surviving the year and we remember those who have precious little to be thankful for, but are thankful nonetheless.

Our family struggles often, in fact almost constantly, but we are more fortunate than many, and yes, we are blessed. And because we are blessed, the end of the year is when we can, and do, give something to others. This year, I think my contributions will go to Doctors Without Borders and to the Stephen Lewis Foundation.

May the season of light and joy bring happiness and peace to you all.

Former Party-Girl Indulges in Nostalgia

It's the week before Christmas week, and I'm remembering my not-at-all sordid party-girl past. Every year, for six years, I was extremely involved in putting on major parties for the seniors who came to the Community Centre where I worked. We would prepare and serve Christmas dinners to three different large groups of seniors and their families in four days. Two of the parties were for the frail seniors and seniors with memory loss who came to the day program I coordinated, and the other party was for well seniors. After the feasts came the singing of carols and other seasonal songs. Their favourite song was not a Christmas carol- it was Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, although Silent Night was a close second. Since I was the piano player and the song leader as well as the chief organizer, I didn't dare eat too much dinner or I'd never be able to sing.

Five years have passed since the last time I was a party-girl, but I do have pictures of many of the people who took part in the celebrations, and sometimes I spend a little time looking at those pictures and remembering.

Christmas time isn't such a hectic time for me now. I don't come home too tired to bother with anything but a quick sandwich and a warm bed. There are definitely more opportunities to enjoy the season and yet, I miss seeing all those faces light up. But maybe I'll be doing a little playing on Christmas eve. I'll be going with Nancy and Gary and the boys to visit Gary's mother who is in a long-term care home and Nancy tells me there is a piano there so I should bring some music.

Perhaps I'll spend some time this evening practicing my Christmas music.

On The Promise Road

Or - Call me when we get to Oz.

There seem to be enough big political promise balloons floating down the yellow brick road to take us for a ride all the way to Oz, if only they were real enough to lasso.

Some of them look like real balloons but, probably they were created by the political wizard's union. They will vanish on January 24th, right after we choose the new P.M. who will promptly install himself behind the curtain and amaze us with his power to forget all about the balloons.

Seems like every morning the Conservatives promise something - lower the GST a tiny bit and take six years to do it, give a measly amount of money to parents for daycare of choice, a free vote on gay marriage. They're like the high school jock who tries to seduce the girl by swearing he'll pull out in time, I won't (let the hard right) come, baby, really, I promise. Probably there was another announcement today, but I missed it. I don't want to go all the way, and besides, I don't fancy any of their promises.

The Liberals are telling us to remember the good times we've had, much like the spouse who's been unfaithful but begs forgiveness. And they tell us where they will spend more money on us, might even buy us flowers and candy (raising the personal deduction amount) and just generally, well, do - um, more, if that's what it takes to get back in our good graces.

Meanwhile the NDP candidates are grinding away trying to raise their profile across the country and get their platform heard. They're like the guy girls wouldn't date because he was nice, but too nice and too serious. Me, I like the nice serious guys. There aren't enough of them to go around and while they don't have shiny balloons, they've got some good ideas.

I guess it's time to stop thinking about politics and start thinking about Christmas.

My Brief Career As a Traffic Cop In Pink Mittens - And an Update on the NaNoWriMo Saga

I had to use a long title for this post, so that you would know what to expect. Or did I? Maybe I'm still in my rather wordy NaNoWriMo mode.

Yesterday afternoon, I took a break from writing and walked over to one of the stores on Victoria street. The store is not far from the major intersection of Victoria and Edna. Victoria street is a major road with a speed limit of 60 kilometers per hour and Edna is the exit from one of the expressways. Those two roads are always filled with traffic. When I came out of the store, I noticed that Victoria street was completely blocked-off just to the west of me. There were fire trucks and ambulances and it appeared there had been a major car accident. As I walked back toward Victoria and Edna, I saw that a woman was standing in the middle of the road and directing west bound traffic to turn left off Victoria and onto Edna. I thought that was admirable and would help prevent a pile up. She could only be in one place though and cars were still turning right from Edna onto Victoria and toward the accident, because they couldn't see the blocked road until after they turned the corner.

So... since I was wearing bright pink gloves, I stood slightly inside the Edna right turn lane and began to be a traffic cop - making large hand gestures - go left, go left. I was not in any danger, since I stood close enough to the curb to get out of the way of the fools who ignored my directions, and there were some.

Our stint as traffic cops continued for at least twenty minutes. Then a police car stopped near the woman who was still directing traffic from the centre of Victoria avenue and the officer told her to stop now that police were on the scene. This upstanding citizen then came over and told me we were off duty.

I was soaked by this time, since it had been raining for a while and so I thanked the woman and walked home. The late local news reported the accident and the fact that one driver died.

After that excitement, I thought I wouldn't be able to settle down and write. But, fortunately, my assumption was wrong.

I finished the last chapter of the first draft of my novel at about one o'clock this morning, a little less than two whole days before the deadline. Then I was so wired I couldn't fall asleep so I was awake until about three o'clock this morning.

And how have I celebrated this accomplishment? - well I stayed in my nightie until noon. I guess that's one way to mark the occasion. But I'm going out now, to find another way.

And maybe I'd better stop wearing those pink mitts.

Sic Transit Miniscule Gloria

This is just a short postscript to my last blog entry.

Early this morning I received an emal that informed me more copies of Ten Stories High will be printed.

So, guess how many more will be printed. The answer is 25. That is not a typo - the answer is 25. I guess that might tell me how small the first print run was. It also might tell me how much of an impact the anthology made. I'm not sure if I want to know the answer to either one of those "mights".

I think I'll go to Tim Hortons and console myself before I plunge back into my novel. At least I know what the next four chapters will be about. I don't know much, but it's good to know one small thing.

Sold Out!

A friend told me she'd ordered the Ten Stories High Anthology but hadn't received a reply to her email. And then, when I looked at the Niagara CAA website, I discovered that in one place the site indicated the anthology was out of print, meanwhile, on another page they said one could order it.

I sent an email to the Niagara Branch's president and received a prompt reply. The 2005 edition of Ten Stories High is sold out. It was more successful than they expected and they are "considering" printing more.

I have no idea of how many copies they started with, but the Anthology has only been out for about two months (less actually), so either they printed an incredibly small number of copies - or something is going on that I don't know about. Either way, I hope they print some more of them.

Hells bells! I only have one copy and was thinking of ordering another, just because, well, just because it might be good to have two.

I'm bullying my way through the NaNoWriMo month and have reached 29,999 words. Don't ask why I'm one word short of 30,000. I don't know. In fact this whole adventure has convinced me that at this point, the less I think about what's going on the more likely I am to get to the end.

I'm not quite sure what happens on the next page, but I'll think about that tomorrow.

Canada and Me - Halfway to Somewhere

Last night, I managed to reach the halfway 25,528 word mark in my NaNoWriMo novel. I'm halfway to somewhere, I think, and I might even know where I'm going. It certainly is a struggle to write so many words every day. And when I took a day or two off, it was difficult to catch up. I'm telling myself only 15 more days of this concentrated effort. Of course it won't be true, because I'll need to do at least two major rewrites, but it's a useful delusion.

As for Canada and where it's going and the election to come. I wish the MP's would just have the non-confidence vote and get it over with. I don't know anyone who has any confidence left in the way things are at the moment. Then there's the Liberal "economic update" otherwise known as - have some goodies and be quiet will ya. I guess some of the middle class folk and most of the business community will sop it up. I don't think it does nearly enough for the people who are not part of the middle classes. And furthermore, she said, mounting her platform/soapbox, there's the possibility that first nations people will be left out in the cold again, and nowhere in the economic update is there an increase in foreign aid mentioned. We have the bloody surplus (or so the Liberals say) so why aren't we increasing our contributions. What kind of a country is this anyway, when we can't even get close to the .07% contribution? It's shameful, selfish, and short-sighted too.

I thought Canada was going somewhere as a country. We seemed to be developing a pretty clear picture of how Canada should be and act; but right now its a bit like my novel - halfway to somewhere but who knows where. Or it could be that my novel is in much better shape than the country, because at least I know where I want it to go and eventually I'll find the way. I wish I could say the same for our country, but at the moment we're rudderless and it appears that no one with enough power cares to steer the boat in the direction I believe the average Canadian wants and needs.

I'd better get back to steering my novel.

At The Eleventh Hour

I was at the local Cenotaph this morning for the Remembrance Day service here. It still seems a bit strange not to be going to a service either at Toronto City Hall or at Sunnybrook's Warrior's Hall.

And while I see that there have been large crowds at Remembrance Day events in other parts of the country, that wasn't the case here. I don't know if K-W suffers from a bit of schizophrenia at times like this or not.

After the official ceremonies were over, I came home briefly, but on my way to meet a friend for lunch, I stopped by the Cenetaph for a quiet moment or two. I thought it would be a private time for reflection. But a reporter from Rogers TV was there and wanted to ask me a question or two about why Remembrance Day is important, so I answered, although I was a bit shakey since it was an emotional moment for me. Fortunately, few people watch the local cable TV channel.

This afternoon on the CBC Newsworld Your Call show, they were asking callers what is Canada's proudest military moment. I dialed the toll-free number, never dreaming I'd get through. I've never been successful on any other occasion. I answered the question by saying that when we became known as peacekeepers was our military's proudest moment, in my opinion. There were many many other proud military moments of course (I said) including when we decided not to take part in the Iraq war.

So, that's it, except for all the faces of all the Veteran's I worked with appearing before me as they always do on this day.

There's a long long road a winding into the land of my dreams, and I'll always remember how to play Tipperary for you.

Proud and Prejudiced

Lsst week, my daughter, Nancy, asked me for some advice on an article she was working on. She wanted to submit it to the K-W Record as a rebuttal to some pieces that have appeared opposing the use of any pesticides.

I gave her some minimal editorial advice. I'm happy to say that the article appears on the Op-Ed/Insight page of The Record today and it looks good, really good and I'm proud.

It seems that there are writers everywhere. When I went out in the rain (ugh) this morning to pick up my copy of the newspaper, I had a chat with the proprietor of the closest convenience store. As it turns out, he translates books from English to Arabic. Unfortunately, to date, he has not really been paid much for his efforts.

I guess it is time to think about working on today's installment for NaNoWriMo.

The Giller Prize. Hockey Night in Canada

CTV is currently running ads promoting iteself as the "literary" channel. Seems they are going to telecast the Giller Prize event. However; they are going to run the program at two o'clock in the afternoon, not in prime time. Will any one watch? Are they cancelling a soap opera to broadcast this? I'm not sure, but I can just imagine how many viewers will tune in, or record the event for viewing later - very few. At least they show "Corner Gas."

Rick Mercer comes back on CBC on Tuesday and I hope he will be as caustic as ever. I've really missed parts of the regular CBC shedule, mostly the comedies.

Hockey Night in Canada is back and I've actually watched a couple of hockey games ( it's been years since I bothered) and I've enjoyed the way the game moves now. I still hate fights and change the channel when one starts, but there seem to be fewer fights, so who knows, I may watch more hockey. It's in the genes somewhere and it all started back when I listened to Foster Hewitt do his inimitable play by play on the radio. Yes, I am that old, and what's more I don't care who knows it.

I'm plugging along on my "novel." I'm using quotes for that word because I don't know if it will turn out to be a novel or only a very long short story or a short novella, or nothing in particular. The characters are in conflict (yay!) and I've written almost 12,000 words so far. There's a long way to go yet.

I'll think about that after I check my mail box.

The NaNoWriMo Adventure at Day Four

It's hard to believe that in three days I've written 6,731 words and some of those words might possibly be ones I'll keep. On day three I worked on proof reading a short story so I could send it out. Then having lost a day's NanoWriMo work I had to do two days worth today.

The paragraphs are long and sprawly and in spots there's an over-abundance of descriptive detail, so someday I'll be pruning them.

The biggest challenge right now is to decide where the plot is going and whether there is enough plot.

I went to the "Evening with Stephen Lewis" and found that he is still a great speaker. Of course I'm biased but the applause and the standing 'O' he received supports my opinion. Yes, I know that people are more inclined to give standing ovations these days (old codger makes a brief grumpy appearance) but his was certainly more than deserved. His comments about the American government were careful but quite pointed and funny too. And he didn't leave out the role right-wing ideology plays in the inadequate distribution of AIDS assistance ($) in Africa. He was most passionate when he talked about the terrible price the women and children of Africa are paying now. But he also talked about some of the hopefull things that are gradually happening and encouraged the people in the audience to get involved in some way.

I suppose I should go and plot my plot, or consult my characters in my dreams.

In 48 Hours, or Less The Clock Starts Ticking

It's almost November first, and I am not ready for the NaNoWriMo adventure. I need to remind myself frequently that I'll never really be ready and will just have to do it anyway.

Fortunately, I was able to obtain Chris Baty's book "No Plot? No Problem! and have read it. I finished it while riding the bus back to Kitchener. I only hope I'll think his comments are still funny when I'm in the middle of the concentrated writing month.

I'll have to take a broom and chase my inner editor out of the room, into the hall and down the stairs. But I've had lots of practice in using real brooms and mops lately, so I should be up to the task.

Maybe I'll do that tomorrow.

A Bed, A Bed, My Kingdon for a Bed. Adventures in the T-Dot

I would have liked to start this with a compliment to Sleep Country Canada, but alas, I can't.

My friend, "the bear" was in desparate need of a new bed. We went to the Sleep Country store. We chose a bed. The bed was to be delivered on October 27th. It did not arrive on October 27th. I was there and I know they did not call and it did not arrive. However, Sleep Country said they did come to the bear's apartment building and no one answered their call. Fuck that! There was no call.

After I called Sleep Country, and the bear called them too (he was irate and I can't blame him) an arrangement was made. The Bed he ordered would be delivered by an outside contractor ( a cartage company) on Saturday morning between 10 a.m. and i p.m. The bed arrived at 9:10 a.m. and I just got to the bear's apartment building in time to discover the cartage company people waiting outside his building.

Okay, so the good news is. - The Bed is now installed. It looks like a Laura Ashley oasis in the midst of chaos, but it's there. I've provided the plain blue sheets and four large soft pillows. Maybe he'll sleep on it tonight. He'd better, because I've ensured that he cannot sleep on his despicable couch.

I didn't get to do much while I was in the T-Dot. I'd planned to see the exhibition of Russsian art at the Art Gallery of Ontario. That didn't happen because I spent pretty much every moment at the bears apartment. However, I did get to see some great scenery (of the male kind) while staying at the Day's Inn at College and Yonge. Maple Leaf Gardens is closed, but it seems that many hockey players still stay at the Days Inn. It's fun to see those bulky guys tucking into large breakfasts at the hotel. I tucked-in too. I had the breakfast buffet, a small splurge, and really enjoyed myself.

Coming into Toronto on the bus, one sees the waterfront. Well, sorta sees it in between the condominium towers. If the economy is slowing, it's not evident in the T-Dot. Every blank space downtown i s about to be occupied by a condo-tower. Maybe I should be glad I don't live in the T-Dot any more.

National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) will start soon and I am not ready. That could be a good thing.

A Canadian Hero Comes to Town

I should say will be coming to town, but that would make the heading too long.

Stephen Lewis will be here, on November 3rd and will be speaking at St. Andrews Presbyterian Chuch, just down the street from me. Of course he'll be talking abou the AIDS crisis in Africa. He's been the U.N.'s special envoy to Africa for AIDS since 2001 and has worked tirelessly in his passionate and outspoken fashion to influence governments toward making effective changes. Rumour has it (and it's mentioned in this weekend's Globe and Mail article on him) that he may soon be fired for being direct and honest about the shortcomings of various powerful governments and the U.N. The Americans in particular are not happy about his honesty.

He's one of my heroes and true heroes are always in short supply.

On Monday, when the church office is open, I plan to pay the $25.00 which goes to the Stephen Lewis Foundation and get a seat for the evening. If the evening is sold out, and I hope it soon will be, I can look for Race Against Time (The 2005 Massey Lectures) when it comes out.

I only found out he was coming to town today when I saw a small squib about it in The Record but I hope that just means I don't buy the local paper often enough. He deserves an SRO crowd.

Sexy Posters Beside Lego Towers

I visited my daughter and her sons earlier this week and was treated to home-made chili for dinner. It gave us a chance to catch up on events in her life. Mine is fairly quiet at the moment.

It also gave me the opportunity to see my grandsons and this post is mostly about them-so if you are not in the mood to read a love letter-scroll down to the grunts'n groans section at the end.

Frank is 13 (and three months) and so far he is sailing through early adolescence and keeping vestiges of his boyhood close by. He has a poster of a sexy young singer in a bikini on the front of his dresser, and parked next to that is the Lego tower (city/space station etc.) that has been growing in his room for years. The current version of this fantastic world replaces one I accidentally toppled a few months ago. He and his brother Sam have collected Lego for years. In fact, they have so much of it that relatives are not allowed to give them more. When the edict came from on high ( 'mom says no') it caused great dismay among the male reli's.

Frank is often dreamy, and apparently he only hears requests or orders issued from on high (mom or dad) after the third utterance. That's totally normal, I think. What really amazes me is how happy he is. He also has 'cred' with his friends who are almost all physically larger than he is because: he has a girl-friend (but not in the city), he does well in school (not outstanding, but quite well), he's studying Judo twice a week and he manages to do his chores. He's going to be allowed to dye his hair black Why black I don't know, but mom said yes. Maybe he's happier and more confident than some 13 year olds I've met because he actually has time to himself. Time to just be in that in-between world of of boyish imagination interspersed with real-world aspirations.

Sam, who is 11 and-a-little-bit is only showing one visible sign of being a teen. And it's not one he's happy with. But since he has an almost uncontrollable sweet tooth, he may have to live with the occasional spot on his face. He's going out trick-or-treating and will be wearing his medieval page costume. He's made a sword and shield to go with it. I'm not sure when he found the time, between books. He's a read-a-holic. Just can't imagine where he got that propensity from. Well, I can, but I refuse to admit any responsibility. Sam is also fond of clothes and chooses what he will wear very carefully. Things must coordinate or he is not satisfied. Dance and cross-country running seem to be his favourite activities right now. But he's a quick-silver child and that could change at any moment. Of course that's one of the things I like most about him. He also has the kind of charm that people (not just family) find irresistible. I hope he has no desire to dye his naturally red-gold hair black, but older brothers have influence.

Grunts'n Groans

I'll soon be literally grunting and groaning when I try to move my friend, the bear's belongings in order to get a new bed into his apartment next week. Can't wait till this adventure is over. Mind you, I did discover I have a latent super-shopper gene when I was searching for new sheets for his new bed. Or maybe I don't, and fate was just assisting me to find a 25% off sale at Zellers so I could get 4 flat sheets for $51 including tax. Mom woulda bin proud.

Internet searching is not all it's cracked-up to be or- Why can't I find anything?

I wanted to find out more about my father's father and his grandfather and so I've been net-trolling. No success yet. His father's surname is too common and while he had three given names, none of them show up. It's back to before square one, or maybe my aunt will remember something. There may or may not be an Acadian connection and that's one of the things that got me interested in the first place. If only people had kept to consistent spellings for names. They didn't of course, and so I've researched Girard and Giruard and Carriere and Carrier and so on with no luck so far.

I'm going to use Windsor, Ontario as the setting for my NaNoWriMo draft/novel-to-be. They (those lit-crit Gods) say that first novels always have biographical elements. So I might as well go with my inclination. Besides, Windsor is a neglected setting (never mind that there may be good reasons for that!) and other cities will enter the fray at various points along the way. Since I'll be using Windsor in the '50's and '60's I may have to rely on memory if my internet research skills don't help. Or, I could take a trip to the Windsor library.

I have a couple of themes in mind, but am not at all sure of the plot elements. Could I write a plotless novel. Doubtful. Robertson Davies said something like, his ideal work would be plotless. Unfortunately, I'm not R.D., so I must figure out at least some of the plot elements and I should try to do that before November first. So much to do, so much dithering to get through.

Maybe I'll think about that tomorrow.

Vintage or merely Old? The P.M. Speaks Out: Oktoberfest Farriers: Nagging Piano Tuners

And the last shall be first, or something of that sort.

Yesterday, I had my piano tuned. It's been nearly four years since its last tuning. I know, I shouldn't have waited so long, but other uses for money kept appearing. Thanks to a gift from my grumpy friend, the bear, I was in a position to pay the tuner. He got lost on his way here, but called to tell me what street he was on. Unfortunately, that didn't help since I didn't have a clue where the street was. It turns out the street was only about five blocks away. I guess I don't know my neighbourhood well, even after three years here.

During the tuning process, which took two hours, I found out a little about the man behind the wrenches. He's a fourth generation piano tuner who also plays classical guitar and rock guitar and he teaches and plays in a rock & country band that travels to gigs around southern Ontario. He very politely told me I should have my piano tuned more often. Guess there's a story there, but perhaps it's for another time.

Oktoberfest is winding down today, and soon I won't be jostled on downtown sidewalks. I did go to one quasi-Oktoberfest event last Saturday. The downtown market had two farriers (blacksmiths) demonstrating the art of making horse shoes. It was fascinating to watch and the younger of the two men was quite willing to chat away about being a farrier and teaching the art. I was amazed to find out that there are not enough farriers to go around. The popularity of horses is increasing and there are as about as many horses as dairy cows in Ontario, he said. It was comforting to know that a trade that's at least a thousand years old is still viable and that the best way to make a horseshoe that benefits the horse is still the very traditional way.

I didn't participate in any other Oktoberfest events, mostly because I'm not fond of Festhalls filled with drunken people singing Ein Prosit numerous times, or worse yet, Eee I Eee I Eee I Oh.... Eeek! I will admit to liking Walter O. (the polka king) and four years ago I went with a friend to hear him at an Oktoberfest event. We were early, and ended up sitting at a table with Walter and members of his band. He's friendly and unassuming, but I wouldn't go to a crowded Festhall to hear him again.

The Prime Minister is getting testy about the softwood lumber tarriffs and the money Canada is now owed. I'm glad to see him taking a stronger stance. But, will it do any good? It seems that NAFTA decisions (curses to the administration that brought that in!) just don't count if you are America's El Presidente shrub and you say they don't. It's abuse of power, plain and simple, and there is no one to call them on it. We are far too intertwined with the Americans to do a heck of a lot about it. Right here in the heart of money-generating Ontario we have a shortage of electric power and have to borrow from the American part of the grid, frequently. God knows, we should be working fast to change that. But, it's only happening in small increments. Meanwhile we keep gobbling power at an enormous rate, as if we have an inexhaustible Canadian supply. We don't.

Oh yeah, and as for the first topic - vintage or merely old. There was a display of vintage cars by the downtown market this morning. I guess I am not vintage but merely old, since most of the vintage cars on display were from well after my youthful days. I did appreciate seeing a 1972 Jaguar E type. Not that I saw any in Windsor, where I grew up. Car town was Ford, Chrysler and G.M. with the odd Studebaker or two thrown in here and there.

At least it's now apple season and sweet red peppers were 3 for $1.00 at the farmers market. I thought a new house plant would be a fine idea too. Maybe I'll be able to keep this one (an 'aluminum' plant) alive for a few months.

I haven't had to turn the heat on yet, maybe because I'm generating enough of my own by ranting away.

NaNoWriMo Entering the Fray

Here we go folks.

This is my second try at posting this blog entry. I've officially entered the National Novel Writing Month free-for-all. So in the month of November I'll need to write at least 50,000 words. Maybe being part of NaNoWriMo will help me get through a first draft of something approaching novel length.

NaNoWriMo - Onward the Timid Writer

While I was in Toronto last week, having fun and assisting a friend, I kept thinking about National Novel Writing Month, and the opportunity it presents. Of course, I thought about NaNoWriMo last year too, but I wasn't ready. I'm not sure I'm ready now - but I've signed up, so I suppose this is a semi-public declaration of intent. Or maybe an admission that my insanity level is about to rise as November looms and I have to keep my promise to myself.

In a way, November is the ideal month to begin since the weather is usually more than icky and there are no big events as far as I know. I also have a 300 watt floor lamp now that will help keep the gloomy SAD beastie away, or at least banish him to a corner. Maybe I'll be able to develop a consistent writing routine instead of being so damn sporadic and lazy. Deadlines have always helped me focus and get through things. I hate them, but they work for me, or is it that I work toward them?

I should try to write an outline before November arrives, so I have some kind of framework to throw lots of words at.

At least one good thing happened last week. I finally persuaded my friend 'the Bear' to buy a bed. He's desparately needed a new one for over a year, but wouldn't shop for one by himself. After three hours at a Sleep Country store he made a decision just in time; I was afraid we were going to have to sleep in the store. The salesperson was amazingly patient and understanding and should get some sort of award.

My daughter and her family are celebrating Thanksgiving up at their trailer since this is the second last weekend of the season. And Sam is still waiting to see the results of the Grand River Life Writing contest in the age 10 to 16 division. It's likely that someone older will win (Sam is 11) and I do think they ought to have two age categories for teens, but I'm delighted that he entered his charming and funny story.

It's time to consider working on the novel outline.

The Arrival of "The Slender Volume"

Thougt I'd post an update before going to Toronto on Tuesday for some fun and some drudge-work.

Yes, I have my copy of Ten Stories High, and it is a slender volume of 85 pages. Probably the size of some poety chapbooks.

I didn't have that jump-up-and-shout feeling when I finally got it, but I did get a quiet glow for a while. Apparently, the Niagara Library system will have copies on their shelves, so it's somewhat possible that an unsuspecting reader may come across it someday.

It's a perfect autumn day, so I'm going to postpone some cleaning and trip preparations and savour the moment.