“Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.” — Virginia Woolf
Enjoying a visit by a poet so very much. Our conversations prompt me to remember my own formation as a writer and a woman. This is one of those unexpectedly powerful transitional moments that occur when we retire. You find yourself thinking about possible futures and then your past arrives as a lesson to guide you.
A terrible pain. A dinner with friends. A shiatsu massage. An adoring poodle. Not to mention Cuban salsa dancing. And avoiding the political scandals for the moment - the avoidance a temporary measure. And still the plot lines of White Supremacy leak into the narrative - a terrible commentary on our times.
A September weekend: strolling through sunlight and the heat of summer returned. Two days and three nights unfold with the up and down flow of a rusty sun salutation.
It started with a new friendship. And a dear friend whose cooking is legendary. What better excuse for a shared feast. With Doreen Prei returned to the Art Gallery of Alberta’s Zinc Restaurant,* the menu lights up. The six-course tasting meal - a good idea, says my friend. And why not wine pairings too? A welcome extravagance.
Wherein a woman walks and muses. The shape of the woods sounds like birds. Writers abound. The stories cross oceans and wave. All this to try to stem the tide in her head of climate catastrophe and the rise of authoritarian regimes here there & everywhere. Keeping a world on self-destruct at bay.
