I will be taking a small hiatus for the next two weeks while my eye heals. Cataract surgery is scheduled for Thursday and then time to heal and give my eye(s) a rest. First the left eye…..then the right. At this point I don’t know how far apart (or close together) the surgeries will be. Once this is over with, well…..look out summer, here I come!!!
So, I’ve been doing some cogitating, ruminating, deliberating, pondering, considering and generally thinking. My first loves are music, dance, writing and photography. Not necessarily in that order but they’re all a number one and blend together rather agreeably…..well…..except for the dance. It’s a little more physical. You have to visualize that one. (okay, you can stop laughing now). I began penning this weekly diatribe over three years ago writing about women in music which graduated to some of the leading ladies of blues and subsequently all those ballsy women of rock ‘n’ roll. Somehow I graduated, or drifted (depending on how you look at it) into writing about all the explosion of talent here in The Big Smoke. I’ve been covering as much as one body will allow me to for the past two-and-a-half years.
If you came of age in the 90s, you’ll likely remember Amy Ray and Emily Saliers as the Indigo Girls. Their music was the background music of the indie lifestyle, and indeed, they seemed to be everywhere, racking up Gold and Platinum records, receiving a Grammy in 1990 for Best Contemporary Folk Album, and becoming part of our mass consciousness, referenced in such diverse environs as Stephen King‘s Rose Madder, and the television series, Will and Grace, South Park, and The Big Bang Theory.
Holy summer!!! The weather is simply gorgeous. Warm and sunny….Mother Nature has apparently had a relapse or she’s feeling a bit guilty about the rather insipid summer we just…..I don’t know…..experienced? Let’s see…..what else…..day-to-day shit you don’t need to hear about but I will say this, the homemade grape jelly IS AWESOME!!!! Made from my own concord grapes, the vines are now 20 years old. Every year it’s a battle between me and the urban wildlife. Just who plucks the most grapes? The ones left behind or dropped from the vines eventually ferment, providing the neighbourhood with a little late night comical relief as the raccoons waltz about, stumbling and bumbling until they flop over in a deep slumber. The following night is unusually quiet as they nurse their hangovers.
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 