the bunny is hollow at the bottom

I was about to write something about it being a long week when I realized it was only Thursday. Tomorrow being Good Friday.

Blink twice for the weekend, then Oona's home for Monday (Easter Monday?) as well.

I've gone off on Easter before so I won't bother. Needless to say that a four-day weekend so quick on the heels of March Break feels a bit bloody, even gratuitous.

And it was a tough week. Too much design work lately, which means not doing any actual design at all, which means too much sitting in front of a computer, which means playing detective work with other people's problems.

We do these things for money, yes. Listened to a BBC podcast which asked, does money make people mean? The answer, of course, is yes –– with notable exceptions (otherwise the word philanthropy wouldn't exist). The BBC could have stayed home on this one.

But at least they're asking the question.

And while it's not a problem that I'll ever need to think about (meaning: I'll never have any money beyond getting by), I can tell you that living in a developing neighbourhood (read: rough), amongst the kind of people who always wear their hoodie up and walk with a limp and prefer alleys over streets and think of the future in terms of hours and remind me of deleterious version of Papillon on a very bad day ... this does not soften my heart, or make me think warm thoughts about where things are going. And I feel very bad for the kids, who will probably still get lots of chocolate this weekend, as if that were a substitute for everything else.

hope is a snowstorm with red confetti

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

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