Cappuccinos, Pineapple Upside Down Cake. Union Square & Gramercy Park & The Bowery Poetry Club.
My blue bicycle. May it have a long life. The Toronto island ferry, ice formations, Artscape Gibraltar Point feels like home, walking along Bow River in Banff, Steve Earle, the Saskatchewan sky, Emma Lake, Danceland & City Perks Coffee in Saskatoon .writers retreats , dancing alone in my room to Patti Smith’ s Horses album. A Love Supreme, John Coltrane & Thelonious Monk… St. Peter’s, The Benedictine monks, chapel & walks into town to go to the thrift shop. Chickadees. Waking to the sound of a woodpecker. The last was a lie,
Bird watching eludes me. I admire anyone who lived & can identify birds and trees..
Playing the piano when I am alone Horses, ponies & donkies. Remembering my horse girl days. The smell of English Leather Soap.
Swimming, swimming in the nude in a deep spring fed lake at midnight, getting lost in a book, getting lost & forgetting my own narrative, struggling to write, getting lost in my writing. Fountain Pens. James Joyce & Mary Gaitskill
Maybe I like cats better then the sound of woodpeckers.
I enjoy watching cats tracking birds & get a thrill of clapping the bird away just as it’s to pounce
Spellcheck changed list to lust Reminded me to me mention sex.
I love great sex or so so sad a distant memory my flip tooth hold me back
I loathe my flip tooth but try to love it
Book launches, poetry I don’t understand, poetry I think I understand, coffee at the art gallery with friends.Going to the theatre, trying to write a play, Millers Crossing & imagine my surprise when I cried during an opera. Comps to anything. Patsy Cline. Housesitting.
Crisp snow, skiing, but maybe not downhill, getting lost, cold air and blue skies.
Apple products that are beyond my reach.,
My family ￼except for the loathsome ones.
:the Wilno Tavern and sunny summer days at the cottage. , Indian Food, Jerk Chicken & old community cookbooks. Photo of my mother skiing in the Laurentians when she was seventeen.
Getting giddy, a belly laugh & a sour mood disappearing on its own accord, when I think I’m suicidal & realize I only need to shop or indulge lust, envy or have my lips and chin waxed
I love the poet who wrote Designstiion of Flowers & the charming creature of song & beauty on the cover. The David’s.
cancelled Christmas’s are the best
The dead they are the easiest to love except my step father.,
Michele our first Christmas without you. I don’t love your absence.
Touching anything & I know I am still here.
pS after I write this post my blue bicycle was stolen. I’ll offer it up for the souls in purgatory. Oh, I forgot the church got rid of purgatory
Now I don’t know what to do on behalf of my blue bike.,