If Agatha Christie were alive she might have written “Tracking Happiness” in collaboration with P.G. Wodehouse but this cosy mystery is by Ellen Morris Prewitt. Ellen is a 21st century writer whose use of comic dialogue reminds me of Wodehouse’s Jeeves stories and who handles plot and red herring infusions like Agatha Christie. Think “Murder on the Orient Express” meets “My Man Jeeves”. Continue reading
People’s lives, in Jubilee as elsewhere, were dull, simple, amazing and unfathomable – deep caves paved with kitchen linoleum.
Alice Munro – Lives of Girls and Women
One of the reasons I love blogging is for the chance to peek in the windows of other people’s lives and so this Alice Munro quote seems apt in the context of the blogosphere. During Just Jot It January I met some new people writing on WordPress and would like to introduce you to them. Maybe you’ll enjoy looking through their curtains, too. Continue reading
The food of my people was fried, gravied, stewed and jelloed. Don’t get me wrong. I liked it all, especially deep fried halibut. Continue reading
I’ll tell you
that belly swelling
moon silk skin
stretched so thin
a tiny hand waves
at you – you lunatic –
moonlit nirvana under
a blue moon, a wolf
It is a day of rest. And so I offer up a guest post (as dear Cynthia Jobin used to do) whose last name is “Knight”, today’s Just Jot It January prompt. This Knight is a poet and I found him by visiting the Poetry Foundation website and typing “Knight” as my search term.
Please welcome Mr. Etheridge Knight to Wuthering Bites. You can find more of his work at the Poetry Foundation and Poets.org. Enjoy his reading on the video link below.
Every morning I make the bed. I give the comforter a good shake to restore its loft and then I sweep my hand across the steel blue sheet on both sides of the bed. It feels nice and smooth and when I’m done all the wrinkles are gone. (If only that was possible with my face.) I settle the comforter in place, punch the pillows – a bit of therapy before the start of the work day – drop them with a satisfying whump against the headboard and then add the decorative pillows. In this way I create order at the start of the day, fooling myself into thinking I am the mistress of my universe. Continue reading
Professor Margaret Miles-Cadman’s black academic gown created a soft breeze as she entered the class and addressed students in her Introduction to Old English class in a hypnotizing, sibilant voice. Her page-boy cut hair was grey with brown shadows and her skin as pale as the pages of our textbook, An Anglo-Saxon Primer written by Henry Sweet and first published in 1887. Prof. Miles-Cadman looked like she may have known Mr. Sweet. I took her class in 1977. Continue reading
I skated by myself today. By choice. I wobble when I skate and I’m slow and I’m afraid of falling. Plus, I don’t want to hold anyone back and I don’t want them to see my ancient skates which date way back to the early ’90’s. They were the first generation of leisure skates. ie. NOT figure skates. They have a thick liner and fasten with velcro. This means when its minus 20 my fingers survive the 20 seconds required to pat the velcro in place.
Have you ever tried to unlace skates, winkle your foot into the boot and then spent the next 15 minutes getting the buggers laced up while you lose sensation in your fingers and your glasses fog over because you’re breathing through your scarf and then your nose starts to drip and your eyes start to water from the cold? When you skate the condensation in your spectacles freezes and you’re blind. Velcro prevents this from happening.
There I was screewhooshing along on the best hard ice so far this season when I stopped to take a picture at Patterson Inlet. Two women were attempting a selfie and asked if I would take their picture.”Where you from?” I asked.
“Maine and Massachusetts. We’ve been friends for 40 years and we both turned 55 so we came here to celebrate.”
And off they skated with me wobbling behind them. As they slid away they said “We’re sorry for our President.”
I said “Me too. But I like our Prime Minister.”
“So do we.”
Wasn’t that nice?
“I wish I had the guts to write my performance appraisal self-assessment honestly,” I said to my husband as he drove me to work.
“You have nothing to lose but your chains,” he said, quoting The Communist Manifesto.
“Yeah,” I replied. “And my pay cheque.”
You come from a land of drama. On Vancouver Island gardens and drunks share a word: Lush. Its mountain peaks split the ski like axes and windstorms batter homes rougher than Viking invaders. Natural colour wails like a Saturday night, as unavoidable as a beach party in June.
Maybe because the last time you lived there you were an adolescent it will always be a land of Romantic Comedy, Shakespearean tragedy, The Greatest Show on Earth. Nothing, nothing, nothing in moderation. Like the farmer’s field across from your old high school known province-wide for its hallucinogenic magic mushrooms. Every fall pickers arrived and kids skipped school to harvest organically grown highs until one kid totaled his brain on a bad batch of mushrooms. Drama. Continue reading