Month: August 2014

I have been doing an awful lot of skype lately, away from home. Last night I was chatting with a dear friend. She was under the weather and feeling alone and struggling with a single-parenting issue that I heartily could relate to. And then she said something about when she was a child – and what would normally be a fleeting expression – froze. her image pixilated into a portrait of deep sadness that she normally would not allow herself to show. Skype held that fragment – that delicate split second of humanity – like a “missing child” ad for…

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Calgary is defiant with money. A women clickity clacks down 17th Avenue wearing outrageous hot pink pumps she paid a lot for. I can tell by the heel. Another slips out of a cab in a bright neon yellow designer dress, knees together, short skirt. She doesn’t care that she’s sixty. She has great legs. Why shouldn’t she? Matching boys roar past in matching black Porsches – so loud I have to cover my ears. The young lady next to me in the restaurant patio, nibbling here and there at her various high end tapas, is bothered by a wasp….

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While heading out in the Kubota over the rolling hills of Big Valley with Uncle Ed, we notice the cows are out and into Auntie Connie’s garden. Nora jumps out of the box and I leap out of the passenger’s seat and we run a gentle arc around the side of the hill and herd them back towards the fence where Uncle Ed shuffles, patiently, waiting. One little black and white calf bolts the other direction at the last minute, trying to duck under a fence and my little one and that little one have a battle of wills. Nora…

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I am headed off to clean my last apartment for a while. Maybe ever. Depending on how much the phone rings for other things this winter. I grab my bucket and bag of rags and I have refused to wash my tangled mess of hair because the smell of his skin is there. This makes me grin. It titillates me even. My little secret. Sure, I am a maid, I am scrubbing the alkaline ring out of someone else’s sink but I have a grin that is well beyond the joy of housekeeping. I am wrapping up things before leaving…

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Vancouver’s generosity allows my daughter and me to bike all along the ocean to Granville island and back. We watch an inventive play called Patch by my writing droogie, Alyssa Kostello. I am proud to introduce my daughter to this young woman who just gets out there and gets the thing done: forming her own theatre company, writing and directing about environmental issues she’s passionate about and sporting a most excellent French bob. On our way back home, pedalling lazy circles in the sun, we pass three sweaty brides with too much make up on. I wish they could just…

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“I wonder if I will lose my audience now that I’m happy?” Was my thought as he came through the door with a bouquet of flowering arugula from his garden and wrapped me in his arms. I know how to cook with that. Loneliness has made up so much of who I am. Loneliness is a common thread with me and some of my friends. Now I might turn into one of “those” who do dinner parties in even numbers. One of “those” who have affection available to them like indoor plumbing. One of “those” who don’t have time for…

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Stuck in the Houston airport trying to block out the “latest report” on recently released details about Robin William’s suicide. Vultures. Vultures. A man died. Have some god damn respect for the family. You don’t own him and you never did. A couple in their seventies wearing flip flops and cruise wear are whispering very naughty things to each other in the waiting line in front of me. I overhear a word that starts with a hard C. I try not to openly giggle at their audacity. He puts his hand around her waist and she gazes at him so…

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Yesterday we danced a twelve hour day. It was me, Donna (the other Canadian) and a room full of super fit Zumba instructors. Donna is incredible. She’s not an athlete but she looks like one and she kept up just fine, albeit dog tired. I was – as one can imagine – the comic relief. Miami is incredibly hot and very humid. All of us are sweating so much its like we’re all walking around in an invisible shower, rivulets of water running down our backs and faces. Most people on set are latin women, rolling out Spanish on full…

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Dorothy has landed in Miami. For those of you not in the loop, see my story “Conveyor Belt”. Dorothy does not have a great trip on the plane: high turbulence and a long flight with a lay over in Houston. Can’t say as there was much sleep the night before…given the recent romance…this results in a barf bag readily at hand, hair well well well beyond FF and into “walk of shame”, a pale face and wrinkled everything. When I finally make it to the baggage claim for my pick up – the guy has to squint. He isn’t sure…

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My salad days are now. They aren’t just reserved for youth, as Shakespeare and the Brits would say. No. My salad days are later on than expected. Like an Italian feast. Just when I thought the main course was over (having found it tough and heavy) – what’s this? Fresh, optimistic, cherry tomatoes from the garden that burst into your mouth – salad. I’m forty five – holding hands down the street, and he stops to kiss me passionately. A girl walks past us and giggles and says, “Aw, too adorable.” How many times have I been that girl, walking…

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