I LERVE my Magpies! Canadian craftsmanship start to finish.
Every few years I treat myself to a Magpie garment – usually coatish. Not on purpose. I just pop into the shop on Queen West to say hi to the remarkable owner/designer Cathy and her wonderful crew.
Inevitably there’s a stunning piece glinting directly at Me from a headless mannequin. “I knew you would come” it slyly pulses. Hiding in full sight from any other would-be buyer. I climb into it’s spectacular perfection of unusualness, and the kitten is mine.
I soothe my conscience by envisioning my granddaughter burrowing into my closet one day, swooning with gratitude. Not that I have a granddaughter. In the meantime, wearing my magpie, I step into the public forum feeling delicious in my completeness. I realize that some people accomplish this by having a partner on their arm, but there you go.
Even though she’s dressed the fabulous Measha Brueggergosman and Prince by any other name, Cathy’s designs would sell for 3x the amount on a hangar in Holts. So go. I dare you to walk into Magpie and not walk out with an exquisite representation of your artistic self purring against your skin. And a ferocious neck accessory heralding your way.
Here’s the FB fan page. Magpie Design. Eat your heart out.
DIRTY DISHES partied their second CD release with glorious precision on Saturday. Theatrical abandon orchestrated into snap-tight musical desserts. Three gorgeous talents trilling fiddle, guitar, ukulele – and Harmonies to melt a bird’s heart! Original tunes by the uber talented Suzanne McKenney mixed in with gems featuring each of the women in turn. This trio, backed with the stellar Henry Heillig on upright and Jay Boehmer on percussion, lit up the packed house at The Dominion. Chair dancing has revived! The CD “You’re Soaking In It” is Uplifting. Polished. Professional. Refreshing. Play again-and-againable. iTunes are coming – in the meantime, buy the CD from their site : “You’re Soaking In It”
The air disturbs as her husband enters the room. Doffs his grey hat, holds it to his heart like a shield. The family beside her titters in admiration. He beams. Pulls on his little mustache. Alights on the one who’s cuddling the infant, the oldest woman in the lot.
“And is this Yours?” He turns a twinkling eye to the old gal, inviting her appreciation.
“No no!” she blushes. “This is my son’s! His second daughter. I am just the gram mamma.”
“The gram mamma!!!!” Earl splutters. “And you don’t look a day over 30!”
The family bobbles like a flotilla of clowns, chortling. Seals in a fish storm. Loretta stiffens in her sallow gown. Tries to hide her swollen belly, willing him to come to her. With a flourish of his hat toward the mom in the bed, he turns to his wife. All sparkle drying into sand. (more…)
paris. new year’s eve 2012
i’ve joined the legions wooed by the enchanted city.
cobblestone lanes captivating from window to lamp post, around curves and through archways, beckoning like a fairy’s secret. bridges bearing our footsteps like memories. lights spiriting our fancy backwards into a child’s picture book.
and music! although my journey to share new year’s eve with the remarkable sly blue did not live up to its expectation, i danced a night away in a paris cave that won my heart nonetheless. (more…)
she searches for her husband in concrete
with ill intent
soles scraped raw from rummage over
splintered faith (more…)
Cinderella Sits In the United Nations
Like Cinderella, on October 6, 2002, I find myself at the ball. The palace is Le Warwick, sitting prettily on a quaint boulevard in Switzerland – a swelegant hotel with just the right amount of understatement to keep it humble. The guests arriving are like children about to open presents at a birthday party.
I enter the ballroom, my pockets bulging with tape recorders, notebooks and a camera. Start snapping pictures as the seats are filling. I have to reign myself in when I realize I’m shooting everybody with a shaved head. Bald doesn’t necessarily beget holy, I chide myself. Flashbulbs shoot all over the few people sitting next to the dais. I’m surprised. Here we are, preparing for the opening moments of the first Global Women’s Peace Initiative of Religious and Spiritual Leaders and a holy man is attracting all the attention. I assume he’s holy. He wears a white gown and his long gray hair is streaked with black, just like his moustache.
I take his picture. (more…)
my lips have gotten larger
my eyes smaller …
memory re-weaving my face
The wisdom I have achieved with middle age smacks of hypocrisy
The little pearls I have strung along my necklace of experience
proving to be mere costume
The water gems roll along the depths still
shifting with the tides
a pitiful game of hide and seek
a mockery of my self esteem
like the ancient ordinary that have gone before me,
that I know even less now than I did when I was young
My bravado is Made In China
a foreign garment
and ill fitting
I know that, even as I model its gaudy cheapness
what choice do I have
life must be achieved (more…)
for an indie rockout, you can’t do better than hamilton’s own COWLICK – hallucinatory imagination strapped into slick musicianship.
their recent cd release walloped a packed This Ain’t Hollywood, featuring … no cd.
purchase their 3d glasses and access the code online to get on their 3D car-ride showcasing their newest hit MONEY, and download the cd. or just get online and get the tunes. just check them out. surfing their body of work is a razor blade skate across a blotter.
Cowlick. The brothers Hudecki and ned nolan
Suzie McKenney’s pink guitar, sassy heels, infectious joy and radiant talent revved Cadillac Lounge on Saturday. With her songwriting partner, bass & vocalist Stu Clow, backed by guitar rocker Kevin Vienneau and percussionist Bob Vespaziani, Suzie’s Alibi once again rockabillied the Caddy. The dance floor smoked. This gal’s star wattage blinds.
(see MORE SUZIE under “I’ve got some CRAZY talented friends!”)