Just the right container

Oh Guatemala.

I thank you. My blog thanks you. And my readers, all 63 or 7 – depending on the day - can indulge me or click off.  

Pass me a paper bag.

Saturday I started to hyperventilate. 

I saw a front-page headline in the Globe and Mail about Laureen Harper, wife of Conservative Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper.

She’s no Michelle Obama – and that’s how she likes it. I doubt she said that.

A Can’t get Enough Week

I’ve told you almost nothing about Guatemala other than the volcanos didn’t blow while I was there. I’ve kept it to myself (for over a week) not ready to share.

Under the Volcano

I went to Joyce Maynard's memoir writing workshop in Guatemala carrying a lapis stone my friend Jane gave me.

“It’s the writing stone,” she said.

The last thing I did after getting dressed at 3:00 am on the morning I was leaving was to stuff it in my jeans pocket.

Sometimes dirt holds things together

I’m not going to make you sit through another fight between me and my blog although the last one was kind of satisfying and productive, and I was certain coming out of it that we were back on track.

Turns out we weren’t.

Birthing a suitcase

Just read a great blog post by first-time novelist Natalie Bakopoulos  about her rocky, self-doubting road to completion.

New Years Again or “I want to be a dentist”

Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer is one of my favourite xmas stories. I love Hermey the elf who wants to be a dentist. Arguably I’m a dentist who wants to be an elf. But I envy his chutzpah and spirit of adventure. He may be animated, but he’s inspirational. (I’m pretty sure he’s Jewish - that angst is so familiar. But he wasn't out.

Matchmaker, matchmaker or Cutting the (safety) rope

Fat news on the paid work front: I officially have none. Bye bye, shalom, au revoir, arrivederci, tata, sayonara, adios, ciao, so long Ontario Government.

Termites – not a metaphor

Evidence of termites was found in my basement. Yes, I freaked out and yes, I've written a poem about them. Life is full of surprises, odd pleasures and horrors.


I found only the remnants of you

the tunnels you bore

the dust you left behind

a kind of brown I might have picked


If I stood in the streets of downtown Toronto every day dressed as a glam mouse, yelling clever things, after a while someone would put my picture in the newspaper, or interview me and I’d become a phenomenon like the Naked Cowboy in Time Square who is out there performing today despite hurricane Sandy’s imminent arrival. I’m not looking for notoriety but are notoriety and fame not just flip sides of the same coin?