saying and doing, wearing me out

montante; ink on paper (pages from an old math book).

On my way to get Oona yesterday, hiking up Queen Street, feeling pretty good about my review, when I looked down (always looking down -- it's the dipping territory of being tall) and noticed holes in my shoes. That took the gloss off.

Almost identical holes, one in each shoe, these tear-like things where the little toes are. This from a summer of no socks, and not doing laces (I'm a committed tuck-under artist, I'm afraid), and pushing Oona around like the Queen of Sheba.

I'm *always* wearing my shoes out, and it will only get worse now that I'm walking just under 7 kilometres a day again. C and I have a philosophical debate about this: she says I should spend more, so that the shoes last longer, while I reach for cheaper, and then don't care how long they last. Of course, with the cheaper stuff your feet occasionally break out in dime-sized spots, which then start marching up your leg, and then you have to call the Telenurse, so she can reassure you that you're not dying.

* * * * *

Someone left this very strange book on my desk yesterday, this worn-out little hardcover book filled with Hindi script and lots and lots of ads. Is this a warning? What's next ... a dead fish wrapped in a sari?

Comments

glamour, by extension

C is friends with the fashion stylist Rebekah Roy (left in both pics above) ... one of those people who personify calm and smiling success. On her blog she presents glamour in this very sincere, straightforward way ... whether she's taking pictures of people on the street , talking about stain removers , her favourite videos , or attending some glittering party . One minute she's ruminating on hair extensions, and in the next she reveals how she's been featured on the Vogue UK site. A real disarmer and charmer (and this without meeting her yet, although I feel like I know her because we both did our time in Winnipeg). * * * * * Coming home from Russia, we did many bad things. ; mixed media on canvas, 10 x 10 inches. In my own life, the glamour is wholly imagined. * * * * * witches, smoke ; mixed media on canvas, 10 x 10 inches. My second go at this one, and for some reason I'm painting a lot of smoke lately (note to self: tell C that I want to be cremated). *

the indisputable weight of the ocean

People are always telling me that my work is too dark. So I've put up this sunnier story, but even it has a shadow, as its original publisher – a fine Atlantic Canadian literary magazine called the Gaspereau Review – is no longer in business. ---------------- It was a simple enough thing and that thing was simply this: Edmund Kelley was a gentleman. Of course his mom called him her 'little gentleman', as in 'Oh Edmund, you are my perfect little gentleman,' which did seem to hold to a certain logic that these type of things often follow, considering her affection for him and the fact that he was, after all, only ten years old. Still, Edmund himself was not particularly fond of the diminutive aspect of that title. Gentleman was enough; gentleman summed up the whole thing rather nicely, thank you. He was definitely a more refined version of your average child. He lived in a state of perpetual Sunday m

Oona Balloona (doesn't care about new tables)

Well, it's Friday, and since I'm pretty depleted in the chit-chat department, I might as well put up some pictures of Ol' Giggles At Ghosts before Grandma starts sending me hate mail. Man, what a goofball. At this rate it's going to be, like, eighteen years before she has gainful employment and moves out of the house. I mean, come on . * * * * * C is especially crazy and frantic today. About two months ago she decided that she no longer liked our dining room table (take that, dining room table! no more BFF for you!). Since then she's switched the dining room and kitchen table (and all the rest of the furniture in the house -- about thirty times, but that's another story) as a provisional solution while she scoured area stores for an upgrade. And she thought she had found one, on Wednesday, at JYSK ( Whatever , I said). But when she ordered it, JYSK called back to say that they were really low on stock, and that the stock they did have was damaged, and

red-handed

Search This Blog