Sunday, April 02, 2017


Lately, I crave silence.

The past several years of nonstop renovations on my street - houses beside me and across from me being ripped apart and rebuilt in the vision of their new occupants - have created a constant din along a once-quiet roadway. The whine of the rip saw, the percussion of the nail gun, the middle-of-the-lane conferences held between open truck doors, diesel engines running - this is the new symphony of the street.

We are equally to blame, of course, our own tear-downs and rebuilds adding to the decibels. It's all part of living in a house built 45 years ago.  

When I lived in an 80-year-old house - with styrofoam packing peanuts being used as insulation behind the lathe and plaster walls - I thought of a 45-year-old house as relatively new. But evidently, to the thirtysomethings with far too much money who seem to be buying up all the houses on my street, it's just a gut-job.  

Is it lake time yet?

Tuesday, March 07, 2017


Touches of red punctuate the day.

The way rose-coloured glass stands on guard for a hub of domesticity.

How curling rocks roll up to camouflage against painted Timmy's cups: red granite on pebbled ice. 

The way road closure maps scream a blood-coloured warning. Stay away commands the network of red lines, a spider's web of blizzard-blocked highways. There's a good reason you don't travel to the cottage in winter. 

The winter tomatoes, though, are pale pink, at best.


Wednesday, February 15, 2017

every picture tells a story

Since I have clearly become crap at writing anymore, but since I am not quite ready to bury the old blog just yet, I am going to switch to photos for a while.

In fact, I challenge myself (and anyone who cares to join me) to use this latter half of February to post a daily photo. A photo that hints at having a story to tell.

No other rules, no boundaries. 

Here is the photo I took today.

Saturday, January 07, 2017

things that get you through January

- pools of lamplight in a darkened room

- turkey stock

- new slippers before the inner fuzziness gets trodden down

- sun on new snow, seen through a window, when you have already shovelled and have no place you need to be

- sweaters still warm from the dryer

- finding that last bit of Christmas baking at the back of the fridge

- landscaping sketches

- continuing the Christmas tradition of curling up with a glass of port and a short story

- mid-week matinees at the cheap seats

- ignoring the fact that you haven't blogged in months