Monday, July 10, 2017

new nook

There has been a great deal of hiatusing going on around these parts lately. The new hammock is an especially delicious place to read away those hot summer evenings. Parked in a shady nook, trying to catch even the slightest breeze, I glance up from my book occasionally to watch the thermostat creep ever so slowly downward.

Friday, May 12, 2017

not in my backyard

During The Great Backyard Restoration of 2017, the resident kitty has taken it upon herself to maintain security by establishing dominance against all interlopers. 

Be ye Bobcat or be ye any other kind of cat, she gives not a single damn.

Wednesday, May 03, 2017

book nook in morning sun

You'll find me here a lot these days. Ever since giving myself permission to sit down with a book during the day, instead of trying to stay awake for more than two paragraphs in bed at night, this has been my favoured reading spot.

The comfy chair by the big front window is also an ideal perch from which to keep a judgmental eye on the goings-on in the street. Surprisingly, all that vigil-keeping has yet to interfere with my book reading. Multi-tasking at its finest.

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