Skip to main content

getting to know you

getting to know you; mixed media on canvas, 8 x 8 x 1.5 inches. In the shop.

* * * * *

Oona and I have started walking to 'school' (read: daycare) in the morning, trying it on a few times a week to start. It's good for her (there is no stroller in her three or four year-old future anyway, full stop), good for both of us and I have to admit to being melted a bit by that little hand in mine. And then we talk about what we see, about scurrying cats and scrambling squirrels and biker guys out walking their giant dogs. As we cross the street I get her to look out for cars as well and this morning there was one sitting way off down the way, with its lights on but not moving, and Oona thought it was thinking and then maybe sad and could possibly use a blanket.

* * * * *

The clouds of midges (at least I call them midges) have arrived, seemingly early this year, but in their clouds and sticking and dying in my eyes and hair and ears nonetheless. I have to shake my coat out once I get to work. This will go on for about two weeks, and then suddenly they'll be gone.

* * * * *

Listening to the radio this morning, it occurred to me as odd that this economic crisis keeps bubbling along, here and there, with no end in sight, and while it was caused by speculation in the financial sector, and this is widely acknowledged now, it seems to be the state (read: the people) who are paying all the costs: greed in the markets leading to meltdowns leading to bailouts and sovereign debt and plummeting economies leading to governments laying people off. And everyone seems to (more or less) know this, too. And while I'd like to report that you and I and everyone we know are outraged about this, and holding their governments to account, this only seems to happen when it affects all the fish in the same tank (read: Greece), by which point the rest of the world doesn't care (read: Ireland), and otherwise it's just a case of everyone thinking as long as it's not me and that's just the way it is, because you can't argue with the market, it's the market that creates all the jobs, don't you see?

Comments

  1. maggie jean9:21 am

    http://mobile.bloomberg.com/news/2012-02-20/icelandic-anger-brings-record-debt-relief-in-best-crisis-recovery-story.html :

    the heart-warming story of the little country that could (fire their government and arrest their bankers on criminal charges). Never made national news anywhere in particular. Wonder why not? Guess that's 'just the way it is.'

    Also, they're mayflies, I think. Midges bite.

    ReplyDelete
  2. don't get me started on the sheeple who think this debacle won't affect them..that said, your walks with Oona sound like the perfect antidote to world messes. I got a new bicycle for my birthday from my oldest son. I rode it yesterday at the risk of all the neighbors wondering what a fat old gray haired woman was doing on a white and pink cruiser..but I was so able to see the clouds, trees and flowers better than from the car! Almost as good as having a baby along to point out the poor car that needs a blanket!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

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

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). *