August, the climax of the year. Trees are lush and heavy. The fruit is ripe. A carefree laziness fills the hours. For a precious few weeks we forget what day it is. Every day is exquisitely the same. Nothing to do but complain about the heat.

But soon enough, that satisfying contentment is shattered by one dreaded sentence; someone you like quite well may utter it, or perhaps a stranger wandering close enough to be heard: “You can feel that nip in the air.”

There it is, in its naked starkness like a sumptuous August tree in January. We all know it but are too prudent to speak the obvious: the heat wave has ended.

Yes, August is passing us by and we are heading into fall. And then the second nail in summer’s coffin:  One leaf floats down, drifting from side to side, landing right there.

Today is hot, August still full of promise. I enjoy the luxury of my favourite month in delicious solitude, only every so often allowing in close family and trusted friends.

They know full well there is to be no unmentionable utterances as we bask in the blissful afternoon sun.

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It’s freezing in here.

Heritage buildings may not be known for their cozy interiors when it’s cold outside.

Sitting, working, freezing.

Those who shake my hand are freeze dried, frozen upright.

Odd that people I’ve known for years, who never cared to touch me in any way are reaching out, needing to make contact.

They chill. A subtle tremor is evident.

And they are thinking, I’ve known her all these years and I had no idea she was so Brrrrr cold.

It would probably go better if I shut the window.

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Cruises are big. I get it. Get on a boat. A new surprise every morning. Eat. Sleep. No effort required: Presto bingo bango. There you are in another place.

All that water though. Dark, deep, shifting; filled with strange things. Big, quick, small; alien things in an unknowable, uncontrollable, unpredictable viscous vastness.

Not my style. Ok, I have a phobia of deep, dark, vast water.

Half the fun is not getting there. Getting there is a necessary inconvenience which causes great dreading, crying and praying. Once on that silver coffin with wings getting there should be without delay – instantaneous, like science fiction:  here now then, whoa, there! How did that happen? With liquor, that’s how.

And then the delicious unpacking. Your whole holiday stretching out before you like a white sand beach. The daze fading into nights. Just the now. Until it’s over.

What is that in the harbour? A white, glistening ship just waiting for tourists to flock onboard.

No, not going to do it. Once again I choose the emptiness of space. After the engines cut out it will be a long way down. I hope I packed the Ativan.

MLB National playoffs

Last night when I put the game on I saw that terrorists had taken over the NY Mets playing field.

But, they are playing baseball after all. This might be ok.

Today though, in the 3rd game of the NLCS, I had to reconsider:  Has my judgement been sans souci? Indeed.

Under those semi baklavas are not enemies of the state but cold baseball players. Cold, because the temperature in New York is about 40 degrees F according to Ernie.

Baseball is going to continue through October. And, unless a team wins 4 straight in the World Serious, into November. Don’t get me wrong. I love baseball. But November?

I guess that’s like playing hockey in June.

No I do not want to look at your condo rental in Santa Monica

Not your baby cousin either.


Not your begonia or any of its friends, the trifle you made, shoes exactly like our server has – I’m taking your word for it.


Yesterday’s sunset, your brother’s car, the full moon.

“It doesn’t do justice to it does it? It’s always bigger than the picture shows.”

I haven’t seen you in a while. Put down your device. Look at me. I’m talking to you.

“Did you finish the eagle sculpture you were working on?”

Ah, yes. There it is. Well, it is really grand.

“How is your mother?”

Of course, a picture is worth a thousand words.

“I’m taking my glasses off.”

I’m opening the case and dropping them in. There. And now, into the purse…

“It looks like a toxic dump. Oh, it’s the modern painting in your living room. Yes, I can kind of make that out, now that you mention it.” [squinting]

“No glasses…” [gesturing to eye area]

“Certainly. I have them.”

“No. Not going to. Talk to me.”

Yes, I’ve heard of YouTube.”



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Love This

Screenshot 2015-06-30 19.05.54

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The Yankees are playing the Mariners in Seattle. That’s a tough one. My default is Seattle but the Yankees, hard to resist.

I digress. This is about politics, specifically an ad I just saw between the 4th and the 5th innings for the Progressive Conservative Party of Canada. Don’t be fooled by that first descriptor. And in this ad, a woman with a blue nylon sweater sat talking with some other sad looking people who just came from the depression ad, saying that Justin Trudeau wasn’t the right choice (I’m paraphrasing) because, well, he needs to grow up and he isn’t ready.

So what the PCs are saying is, yes, this is the right guy, but we’re not ready for him. I’ll bet they are not ready for him. And they’ll never be ready for him because then they wouldn’t be in power.

I just might vote for him. And I’ve never voted Liberal in my life. That’s right. I vote NDP, the New Democratic Party, always have and had no intention of changing. But you know what Prime Minister Harper?  I’m voting Liberal. I am ready.

Bring him on.


Justin Trudeau, April 2013


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