Monday, July 31, 2023

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Astrid Blodgett

Astrid Blodgett is the author of the short story collections This is How You Start to Disappear (UAlberta Press) and You Haven’t Changed a Bit (UAlberta Press). Her stories have appeared in The Journey Prize Anthology, Meltwater: Fiction and Poetry from the Banff Centre for the Arts, the Danish textbook Connect, in many Canadian literary magazines, and in translation in Inostrannaya Literatura. One of her stories was short-listed for the Writers’ Guild of Alberta Howard O’Hagan Award for Short Story; her first book was long-listed for a ReLit Award, a runner-up for the Danuta Gleed Literary Award, and a finalist for the High Plains Book Award for Short Stories. She is also a co-author of Recipes for Roaming: Adventure Food for the Canadian Rockies. For many years she co-hosted a literary salon in her home. Astrid also loves multi-day river trips and long walks. She lives in Edmonton / amiskwaciwâskahikan.

1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
It did not change my life (well, except that I could stop fiddling with the stories I had been fiddling with for a long time).

I think some of the lines in my first collection are more poetic than much of the second collection. But it's hard to see your own work clearly after you've sat with it for too long. Otherwise, it feels about the same. The annoying pre-publication jitters!
 
2 - How did you come to fiction first, as opposed to, say, poetry or non-fiction?
I may have started life as a poet, but I started writing so long ago I am no longer certain what I wrote first. (I wrote both poetry and fiction as a child/teenager.) When I began writing seriously as an undergraduate student, I wrote poetry, simply because I liked the form and it was right for what I wanted to say. When I decided to pursue writing more seriously as a graduate student, I made the switch to short stories because my dad was a poet. It was a difficult transition (my stories were rather short and I suspect I may not always have written in full sentences, and my fellow writing workshop pals were often confused).
 
3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?
Writing used to come quickly for me. Now it is slower. This is the problem with becoming more discerning no doubt.

I don't take notes. I simply start and keep going, keep going, keep going.
 
4 - Where does a work of prose usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?
I write short stories that sometimes get longer and when I have enough, I try to find a publisher for the collection. I don't think of it as a "book" at the beginning.
 
5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
No and no and no. They're part of what I do to share my work and hope people buy my book. :-)
 
6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?
No theoretical concerns. I try to answer why people do what they do. I try to get into people's hearts and in their skin (usually via their kitchens and bedrooms).

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?
It doesn't have to be anything, but it can be. The writer, intentionally or not, presents the thinking (or her idea of it) of the time, whether about the present, the past, the future. Some writers might have a political goal.
 
8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
Essential and greatly appreciated.  Not usually difficult. Editors want your work to be the best it can be. Editors can save you from sending crap out in the world.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
Keep writing. (Oh, and read widely.)
 
10 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?
I don't have a routine; I am also working to earn money and this sucks up time and mental energy. I used to go to a writing retreat once or twice a year for 5 days or so and this helped me get a good start on something I could work on at home.
 
11 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
I take a break. I pick up my baroque recorder and play. I go for a walk alone. I read a really good short story.
 
12 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
Hand cream.
 
13 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?
Yes, all of the above.
 
14 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
Mostly short story writers but also writers who play with form, among them Sue Goyette, Claire Keegan, Shaena Lambert, Lisa Moore, Lorrie Moore, Gaetan Soucy.

15 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
Something bigger, perhaps. A novella. Or bigger in scope within a short story. Something with greater impact.
 
16 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?
What a thought. Let's not go there.
 
17 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
Because I didn't think of anything else? But seriously, I started writing, I was told, as soon as I could hold a pencil, no doubt because I grew up in a home full of books and with someone who wrote poetry much of the time (in his head or on paper) and a raku potter. My brain/hands couldn't figure out clay. My brain likes words.
 
18 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
Book: A tie between I (Athena) by Ruth Dyck Fehderau and What Strange Paradise by Omar El Akkad

Movie: The Quiet Girl, based on Claire Keegan's Foster

19 - What are you currently working on?
Trying to start a long story. Trying to find the right way in/the right voice.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

Sunday, July 30, 2023

Once upon a time in the West (of Ottawa, but still in Ontario, (part two,

[see part one here]

Tuesday, July 25, 2023: Slept terribly, despite the better arrangements. The Oakville hotel was fine enough, the kids sharing a bed, but somehow that was a better sleep. Here they have bunk beds with a half-wall between us, and it wasn’t as great. Stupid away-from-home.

Today was attempting to enjoy all the amenities the Great Wolf Lodge offered, especially given how much the damn thing costs. I was tempted to jump across the border and sell a kidney, which prompted my eldest daughter, Kate, to provide me how much I’d get for such a thing (somehow this is information she already knows off the top of her head; “it’s not my fault the internet is gross,” she responded). Again, we literally haven't taken the children to anything, given Covid, so it makes sense, I suppose, that this trip is attempting to make up for the past few years. There was wave pool and arcade and bowling and yoga and an elaborate self-directed wizard-game of some sort and a bunch of other excitements. I used the opportunity to read The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Cartoonist (2020) by Adrian Tomine. It is really good. The children wore themselves out on their quests, we sent each other texts when they ran by (sitting in different corners of the hotel) and I managed some reading.

Sad to hear that a cousin on my birth mother’s side, Jaime, died earlier this week. She was one of the first on my birth mother’s side to reach out upon “discovery” a couple of years back, and responded with an enthusiasm I appreciated. We hadn’t a chance yet to meet, which was frustrating. Through emails, I discovered another cousin, Micah, is apparently here with his family, but not sure if he’ll reach out and attempt to connect. I told his parents, including my Uncle Dale, my birth mother’s brother, that he’s welcome to text me if he’s able and/or interested. As of yet, I have yet to see him (and I’ve been looking).

My pal b stephen harding and his lovely wife Gemma were at the falls yesterday, which was amusing to be that close in a different part of the province. I think we considered the possibility of meeting up, but it wouldn’t have been easy. We’ll catch up on stories once we’re back home.

The entire afternoon, spent in the waterpark area. So much waterpark area. Normally I hate water, but bringing the bags in from the car across two loads yesterday was so bloody hot it was enough to prompt me into the water. Once we’re back home, I’m sure everything will return to normal, and I’ll be avoiding it again like an old, irritable cat. The young ladies don’t know how lucky they have it right now (or maybe they do).

Both nights we’ve been here, seeing a local skunk (I doubt he commutes in) wander by our back door. After the children asleep, sitting just outside the back door. Last night, he startled us, so we came back in. Tonight, he just wandered by.

Wednesday, July 26, 2023: It seems odd to be waking most mornings before the young ladies. I mean, I’m not exactly waking any earlier than normal, but they’re staying up much later, I suppose. To be up before Aoife seems baffling to me. Rose can easily sleep longer if we let her, at least at home. She’s often the last of us to rise. We attended to the last elements of our big ridiculous Big Wolf Lodge adventures (another stretch of the wave pool, at Aoife's insistence) before heading off to catch a quick view of the falls themselves, which was only about a five minute drive down the road. We parked, walked by the carnival row of downtown Niagara Falls strip (ice cream en route, of course, so it would be long gone by the time we returned to the car) and saw the magnificence of the falls. The children were impressed, at least. And then we returned to the car and drove north, easily passing twenty or so cemeteries. Are we driving through cemetery country?

When in Owen Sound, naturally, one begins to think about the sound poetry group Owen Sound, yes? I mean, everyone else does that as well, right?

Rained heavily, but luckily it began well after we landed here. Amy Dennis' house, backed up against the banks of the Sydenham. Lovely. There were swans, also, but swimming separately, as Amy said they must not be getting along at the moment.

A cat in the window across from Amy's house. I don't like the way it keeps looking at me.

Thursday, July 27, 2023: Woke, in Owen Sound. We’re spending two nights with the delightful Amy Dennis, a poet that Christine met during her Toronto days, pre-Ottawa. She even launched her first book this past spring as part of VERSeFest in Ottawa, which was pretty exciting. A slow moving day, simply hanging out with her. Very nice to catch up.


So much Owen Sound! Did you know that painter Tom Thomson is buried here? I even saw a tree en route this way that looked completely like one of his. A lovely small church in the woods, with surrounding cemetery. The church itself long closed, but the building and space restored, which was good to see. One doesn't wish these historic sites to crumble. The children wandered the cemetery looking at names and dates, and attempting to figure out how old everything is. I think the stretch of that kind of time is a bit past them, but hard to tell.


We spent time at a beach, listening to the silence of the waves. The children picked at the stones, seeking fossils. They wandered the beach. We saw a kayaker and a paddle-boarder leave from the cove. All the waves on the shore whispered shush. The children left the shore with a handful of fossils. A bag, even.

 

 

Saturday, July 29, 2023

a reminder: the 'six questions' interview series,

I mean, you probably already know, but in case you don't, you should check out the 'six questions' interview series I've been working weekly over at the Chaudiere Books blog (see the latest interview here; see the full list with links of interviewed here). The series interviews writers either currently or formerly Ottawa-ish, and posts a new one every Sunday! Can you believe I'm coming up to two hundred posted interviews? Gadzooks.

The full list of current/former Ottawa-based interviewed-to-date writers include: Manahil Bandukwala : Conyer Clayton : Mark Frutkin : Dessa Bayrock : Anita Dolman : Laurie Koensgen : Sandra Nicholls : Chris Johnson : Ronnie R. Brown : Rob Thomas : Amanda Earl : Claudia Coutu Radmore : Blaine Marchand : nina jane drystek : Anita Lahey : D.S. Stymeist : John Barton : Ellen Chang-Richardson : K.I. Press : Jason Christie : Christian McPherson : Ian Roy : Gabriella Goliger : Kate Heartfield : Susan J. Atkinson : Ron Seatter : Frances Boyle : Mer Brebner : Matthew Firth : Elizabeth Hay : Sarah Kabamba : Abby Paige : Colin Morton : Mary Lee Bragg : Nadine McInnis : Namitha Rathinappillai : Helen Robertson : Maha Zimmo : Laura Farina : Rusty Priske : IAN MARTIN : Chris Jennings : Pearl Pirie : Terry Ann Carter : Nicola Vulpe : Jennifer Baker : Tim Mook Sang : David Groulx : Jean Van Loon : Warren Dean Fulton : Cameron Anstee : Joseph A. Dandurand : Missy Marston : Sean Johnston : Jennifer Faulkner : Deborah-Anne Tunney : Monty Reid : Rachel Small : Colin Browne : Wanda Praamsma : Andrea Thompson : A.M. Kozak : Julian Day : Christopher Levenson : Adele Graf : Michael Lithgow : Nicholas Power : Charlene Kwiatkowski : Jay Heins : Laura McGavin : Rob Winger : Kim Fahner : Aisling Murphy : Peter Richardson : Susan McMaster : Vera Hadzic : Christina Shah : Cindy Arlette Orellana : Cyril Dabydeen : Carla Hartsfield : Ranylt Richildis : Sarah Priscus : Armand Garnet Ruffo : Adam Meisner : Brandon Crilly : Justin Million : Debra Martens : Robert Hogg : Alison Gresik : Cara Waterfall : Adrienne Stevenson : Natalie Morrill : Grant Wilkins : Marnie Pomeroy : Simon Turner : Sonia Tilson : Pamela Mosher : Lana Crossman : Kathleen Klassen : rob mclennan : Michael F. Stewart : Nathan Hauch : Suzanne Alyssa Andrew : Richard-Yves Sitoski : Jérôme Melançon : Allana Stuart : Sonia Saikaley : Waubgeshig Rice : Mary F. Hawkins : Peter Darbyshire : Naomi K. Lewis : Albert Dumont : Jacqueline Bourque : Allison Armstrong : Christy Ann Conlin : Katie Welch : Wade Bell : Chantel Lavoie : Andrew Faulkner : Michael Caesar : Janna Klostermann : df parizeau : Dave Gregory : Jessie Keith Butler : : Jennifer Cox : Rob Manery : Phil Mader : Liam Burke : Michael Murray : Becky Halton : Olive Andrews : Michael Blouin : Tanya Rakh : Brenda Chapman : Kimberly Quiogue Andrews : Zoe Dickinson : Sarah Feldman : Jeremy Hanson-Finger : Myriam Legault-Beauregard : Suzanne Doerge : Gordon G. Bowman : Leah Schnurr : Charlotte Esme Frank : Anvesh Jain : Chris Lackie : Shannon Quinn : Leslie Roach : John Geddes : Katherine Lawrence : Tree Abraham : Salem Paige : Carolyne Van Der Meer : Selim Ulug : Mark Bourrie : Dean Steadman : Sharon King-Campbell : David Blaikie : Katie Nolan : Rhiannon Ng Cheng Hin : Laurie Anne Fuhr : Andrea Vasile : Lisa Alletson : allison calvern : Mary-Lou Zeitoun : Maria Saba : Heather Ferguson : James K. Moran : Cath Morris : Jamie Chai Yun Liew : Barbara Sibbald : Michael Bryson : Abigail Rabishaw : Samara Garfinkle : Sierra Duffey : Michelle Sinclair : Nathan Erb : Alix Laimite : Trevor Mahon : Kyle Vingoe-Cram : Gerald Lynch : John Moss : Murray Citron : Frances Peck : Amelinda Bérubé : Stephanie Bolster : Fabienne Shepherd Stone :

Friday, July 28, 2023

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Caleb Curtiss

Caleb Curtiss is the author of Age of Forgiveness, forthcoming from Sundress in September. His poems appear in Gettysburg Review, Witch Craft Magazine, Image, New England Review, and TriQuarterly.

1 - How did your first book or chapbook change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
I published a chapbook before Age of Forgiveness that probably changed my life, though it’s hard for me to say exactly how. I’m probably more anxious now.

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?

Growing up, I had a little bit of contempt for poetry. Protesting too much. Eventually, in my late twenties, I took a poetry class at my community college and was, for the first time, able to imagine why someone might choose to read, write, and think about poems. The syllabus was more or less Dickinson to Whitman to Frost to Stevens to Frost to Brooks to Frost to Sharon Olds. Ended the semester with some “two roads diverged in a yellow wood.”

3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?
I’m kind of a slow learner and my process tends to reflect that. It feels like I’ve been working on Age of Forgiveness for the last ten years or so. Probably I have been, in some ways. A few of the poems in the book are from early on in my writing life, but I didn’t start working on it as a book until 2019, and it won’t become one until September 2023.

So, between 4 and ten years.  

4 - Where does a poem usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?
Oh, I’m definitely a combiner of shorter pieces. Notes or ideas I’ve been rolling with with start to take shape, etc. Eventually, those shapes start to fit together…or they don’t and they end up buried on a hard drive somewhere.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
There’s plenty to like and dislike. I look at readings as an opportunity to tune my audience’s ears to the frequency my work is on. As a teacher I feel pretty comfortable in front of a crowd, and I put a good amount of thought into what I read and how I read it. Can it be stressful, to stand in front of strangers and share your precious art? It can be, but it doesn’t have to be.

6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?
Probably not? I think I’m mostly interested in all the first-year-poetry-student stuff still. I think a lot about form and voice, repetition, order, metaphor. Other stuff, too, but those are the main ones. My main question always seems to be, how am I supposed to write this poem that my brain is trying to make me write?

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?
Writers think and create artifacts of their thoughts. There’s plenty of evidence that the current role of writers in our larger culture is to create marketable artifacts. I’m sure there’s more to it than that, but maybe there isn’t. I don’t know what a writer ought to be in our larger culture, and that’s the truth. I just know writers should definitely be in the larger culture.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
I think it’s essential. It can be difficult, but it doesn’t have to be. I was lucky to work with Tennison Black at Sundress who was a constant source of creative energy for this project. Kit Frick edited my chapbook at Black Lawrence, and that experience was equally generative for me as a poet. Caitlin Rae Taylor helped me solve a really formally and emotionally difficult problem in a poem she published at Southern Humanities Review. I’m forever grateful to these editors and all the others out there like them.

Of course, I’ve also had ~not great editorial experiences~, but this isn’t a Taco Bell, so I take what I get and do what I can to learn from it.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
I’m paraphrasing an old friend here who advised me to not die and to keep writing at whatever pace I could: “eventually enough people will start to like your work.”

10 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?
I parent and adjunct, so my writing routine works best in summertime when the children are at camp. I’ll drop them off and go to the gym where I write for about an hour, play basketball, stretch, and then return to what I’ve written until it’s time for pickup. The day is always short, the writing often sparse.

11 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
I play pickup basketball and then stretch for six hours afterwards. That usually gets me to where I need to be. Sometimes pickle ball helps.

12 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
School library.

13 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?
I’m inspired by visual art. I seek it out, hang it on my walls, think about it, and write about it, too. A few years back I became a little bit obsessed with this visual essay called First Adventures in Beauty by Lia Purpura. Technically a book, I guess. Books that are art interest me a lot. I’m thinking of Book of No Ledge by Nance Van Winckel, Mary Reufle’s erasure books, both of Karen Green’s books and a handful of other Siglio titles.

14 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
Nance Van Winckel’s oeuvre inspired a lot of what you’ll see in Age of Forgiveness.

15 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
I’d really like to visit Mérida.

16 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?
I don’t really see myself primarily as a writer. I’m a parent, a teacher, a family member, a displaced midwesterner, etc. I’m a writer, too, though. Sometimes I’m more of one, other times I’m less of one.

17 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
Writing has always felt special to me. I have great memories of learning how to do it.

18 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

Heat 2 by Michael Mann & Meg Gardiner and Heat (1995).

19 - What are you currently working on?
Right now I’m preparing for the Lewes Creative Writers’ Conference where I get to present next month. I’m also starting to think about the coming semester and all the changes I’ll make to my syllabus. Promoting the book, of course. Some writing is making its way in, too, but I wouldn’t want to overstate that at all.  

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

Thursday, July 27, 2023

Ana Božiĉević, NEW LIFE

 

 

5 THINGS AT 40

You are not crazy, it’s the patriarchy
You’re not a loser, it’s the capitalism
You are not old, time’s not really a thing
You’re not alone, I’m here
You’re made of stars, that’s fucking cool

The latest from New York-based “poet, translator, teacher, and occasional singer” Ana Božiĉević, NEW LIFE (Wave Books, 2023), a curious assemblage of lyric first-person studies. Božiĉević’s poems appear as sketches of accumulated phrases that cluster together to form thoughts, narrative and sentences; poems that write the heart from the floor’s foundation, providing narrative substance before slipping into a kind of abstract. “If wishes were horses I would have no horse.” she writes, to open the poem “PSYCHOMAGIC,” “I opened my pussy and a crow flew in. / My heart is a dog sleeping / On our love’s grave. / Yeah I’ve been keeping my / Heart open for you like an elevator / With my bare hands, and now / It’s closing as fast as / The escape hatch / In the sci-fi movie. At the speed / Of a casket lid.” With precise language, she writes a clarity from within and around her particular temporal and cultural moment, offering songs of experience and passionate resolve that hold firm in both their thinking, as well as a curiosity. These are smart and articulate poems. As the poem “LONG LINES” opens: “Looked around your life & / Found no place to sit / So I’ve just been standing / This whole time / And every time I look in / Like that I see / A different color room / Full of beautiful strangers [.]”

 

Wednesday, July 26, 2023

Once upon a time in the West (of Ottawa, but still in Ontario, (part one,

Okay, so it feels like forever since we’ve been anywhere [Vancouver in February 2020; the UK in 2018], especially the whole group of us, beyond heading to father-in-law’s in Picton, or mother-in-law’s cottage in Sainte-Adèle. We did big ridiculous car trips at the end of each of Christine’s maternity leaves [see our trip with wee Rose here; our trip with wee Aoife and toddler Rose here, none of which our young ladies would recall], so here we are on a years-long-awaited week-plus drive west to Burlington, Oakville, Woodstock etcetera, all centred around a conference that Christine is presenting at in London, Ontario. Might we even survive the journey?

Saturday, July 22, 2023: On Saturday, we woke early(ish) and headed west for two nights of a hotel in Oakville, thinking that a good half-way point would be to stop at the Big Apple along the 401, just by Colborne, to lunch and let the kids run around. A petting zoo! A wee train! Mini-putt golf! I mean, if that doesn’t scream “vacation,” then what does? And given the length of our drive, we presumed it far more interesting for the young ladies than simply grabbing a quick bite and one of the EnRoute locations (which are fine, but the children required a bit more).

We landed at the Big Apple, which has become a carnival in comparison to what it was when I first landed there back in 1993 with parents and toddler Kate. Apparently there’s been a new owner a decade or back ago, which really ramped up everything, from their winemaking to beermaking to rooms upon rooms of gift shop. There’s still the mini-putt golf and the petting zoo (moved to accommodate an extended parking lot, now twice the size) and the train for the kids, which is entertaining enough, but the whole thing of it seems to be a massive gift shop with entertainments to draw you in. Either way, I’m still in. A three-storey random apple-shaped building on the side of the highway that pulls in busloads of tourists? Genius.


Aoife and I did wander towards the apple itself (when Rose and Christine still in the gift shop), but we were caught in a downpour, which prompted us underneath the patio deck with twenty other people for cover. It rained very hard! But she and I crouched down and still managed a selfie with the apple behind us. And then we found a quarter!

Once we left the apple, we drove around Toronto and into Burlington, where we visited with Christine’s cousin Kim (technically her mother’s cousin) for a wee bit. The children were handed many treats and colouring equipments, which they thoroughly enjoyed. And driving through Streetsville en route to our hotel in Oakville (where I said hello in my head to Anne Stone’s parents—Anne and I stayed with them briefly in spring 1999 during a two-day break in our nearly two months of touring our books together) Christine drove us by the two houses she lived in while wee—the house she was brought home from the hospital to as a baby (which she didn’t recall) and the house she grew up in, and lived in until she left home for university (the young ladies were sort of interested and then completely not interested).

And then to the hotel, where we dinnered and crashed for a bit. I met Andy Weaver for a drink in the box-store monstrosity across the street. Apparently the staff were baffled when I asked if I could walk there (due to the creek/forest between hotel and the mall). A ten minute walk, but apparently no one walks around here? Cars were even slowing down to look at me strangely, walking on these otherwise empty sidewalks. And I’m certain that there have been murders inside those bushes. I suspect there are people probably living in there as well.


We also drove twice (while looking at Christine houses) by a building in Mississauga that was the colour of the sky. I posted it in socials as “THERE IS A BUILDING IN MISSISSSAUGA THE SAME COLOUR AS THE SKY,” and enough people commented on how that should either be a title or opening line that I made some quick notes while awaiting Andy at the ridiculous chain-restaurant patio. Maybe? [Watch my substack over the next few weeks]


Sunday, July 23, 2023:
Morning plans shifted a bit, so we decided to make our way to Canada’s Wonderland, deliberately not telling the young ladies where we were going until we could see the park from the highway, which prompted them both to start screaming. Happily, of course. Given Christine grew up local to here, she went here lots as a kid with her family, and even more as a teen with her friends, but I’d only been once around sixteen or seventeen years of age along with my scout troupe. Our day the was one of heavy rain, and watching the water flow like rivers through the cobblestone streets, it having nowhere else to go. We went on the roller coaster repeatedly in an empty park (when they’d open it again, due to rain). I think my pal Ralph Williamson and others went on the white water rafting. I mean, we were already soaked, so why not?

There was much running around. Each child had big emotions at either end of our visit for their insistence upon attempting to win something banging up against their inability to actually win anything. why do they insist on these things? And why do they get so upset at an outcome that is entirely built in? One child at the beginning, and the other at the end. There was much sobbing. But still, there was much excitement and hot hot hot hot but at least a bit of a breeze for the bulk of our visit. We did about five hours, as the kids ran around on rides (some repeatedly), begged us to buy them things, we spent much of their college/university money on food and even picked up some t-shirts (although in hindsight, I regret not attempting postcards, but we were just too overwhelmed). It was curious being aware that this was such a familiar space to Christine: as I grew up on the farm, this isn’t anything I had any experience with. We did farm things. We stayed home. And when we did travel (mainly in the 1970s, before my mother’s illness took over), it was more driving trips to historic sites and towns and such. I recall the covered bridge in the east coast, and that creepy wax museum on Prince Edward Island, for example, when I might have been seven. I doubt my father would have had the patience for a big park like this when I was young.

And then the last hour of our time there completely rained out. They’d closed one of the kid roller coasters for thunder, re-opened and Christine and Rose got on (while Aoife and I had lunch), but by the time we’d switched, it was closed again. Aoife and I waited twenty minutes at the gate (at least we were under cover, unlike the other two), but it was a no-go. We got completely soaked attempting the way out, although I found a beer hutch, which was useful. When I purchased my SEVENTEEN DOLLAR BEER, I was told I had to wear this wrist-band that proved to any staff or security that I was of legal drinking age, and therefore had the ability to wander the park with a drink. Um, what? ARE YOU SAYING THAT WITHOUT THIS WRIST-BAND YOUR STAFF WOULD OTHERWISE THINK ME UNDERAGE?

Excuse me, sir, but I am only fifteen.

We did manage to get through and out of the park in the ongoing downpour, and there was that second bout of crying, but we were mostly fine. We even found the car again pretty quickly, but had to rush back to the hotel to completely change, which made us about an hour late to visiting Christine’s childhood friend Kim (a different Kim than yesterday), but that was fine. Kim’s daughter recently became a teen, so the young ladies were offered mounds of her daughter’s leavings, from stuffed animals to ridiculous toys to comforters to books. They couldn’t imagine their incredible luck! And when I say “they,” I mean the children (getting toys etc) and Kim (who got to clear out a bunch of her house). We had to get bags from the car. God sakes.

I kept the wrist-band on to show it to Kim, also. I only took it off once we were back at the hotel, as Aoife had a final pre-bedtime dip in the hotel pool. Andy had given me a copy of the most recent issue of Ploughshares, which I tried to flip through, but wasn’t completely able to, yet.

"name this band"

Monday, July 24, 2023:
Woke, eventually. Left Oakville (an hour late, naturally) for the wilds of Thorold, to visit Christine’s great uncle Charlie and great aunt Brenda (Charlie is mother-in-law’s uncle, although they’re roughly the same age). In the hotel parking lot, a full coffee behind someone’s car, meaning there was someone else miles away from the parking lot realizing they hadn’t brought it along.




We hadn’t seen Charlie and Brenda in some time, and not since Charlie’s stroke, so it was good to spend some time with them and see where they’re at. It was their daughter’s wedding we were at back in 2019 down this way when Christine landed in hospital with meningitis, at the onset of September (she was in hospital in Niagara a week before transferred into Ottawa for a few days; I went back to Picton to collect children and car from father-in-law so Rose could begin grade one that following morning). Charlie ended up moving into different directions from his youthful adventurings, but he was once one of the original artists (along with John Moffat, Dennis Tourbin and John Boyle) of the Niagara Artists Centre in St. Catharines, and was involved with all of that activity in the late 60s and into the 70s, which is pretty cool to realize. A few years back he even sent me a bunch of photos he took of Tourbin during a particular tour around Ontario. I spent a great deal of time with Tourbin and Moffat in the 1990s (and John Boyle, when he came through town to visit Tourbin), so interesting to realize that connection.

From there we landed with Brenda at her late mother’s house right by Niagara-on-the-Lake, to see if anything we might have wished from the house, which they’ve yet to empty and sell. A large house on a lovely lot, a former fruit farm, right by a winery. Oh my.

And then from there we drove to Great Wolf Lodge, a site I wasn’t aware of until we landed. This place is ridiculous. With its log-building structure, massiveness and expense, this is clearly Montebello-for-kids. I fear what may happen next.