October

part ix:
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Adam is fine. He was taking his Bachelor of Arts for a while. . . It just wasn’t his thing . . . school, and -

Oh, that’s too bad. That he gave it up, I mean. Education is so important, don’t you think? Peter went into Economics. Found himself a good position with the government. We’re very proud of him.

Jean went quiet then. It seemed that Marjory had turned their sons’ lives into a competition without explaining to Jean what the rules might be. She regretted then having accepted Marjory's invitation to tea.

And then just a month ago...out of the blue...who could have known? Marjory continued, he just ups and announces that he’s gay! Always been gay, he says. Ha ha! Can you imagine? Oh, you should have seen Michael. Besides himself, he was. Hmm... would you like a warm-up?

Jean sensed something was off in her friend’s voice. No, thanks. I’m fine. And on fine, as if on cue, Marjory began to sob.
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Haiku: in the shadows

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On hope's window sill
Darkness drops a cloud of tears;
To dawn my soul belongs.

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Stuart James

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Pour créer l'arbre, tu as jeté d'abord la graine où il dormait.

De Saint-Exupéry

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Post-it Life

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Whole grain bread
Soy milk
Salmon
Navel Oranges
Balsamic vinegar

J - call your mom!
Will you be home for dinner?

Sorry I missed you . . . Slept on the
couch last night so I wouldn't wake you.
I'm re-thinking this new job, babe ..

We need milk MiLK milKkkkkk!

I aced the math test, mom! : -)

Oh sooo proud of you, sweetie! A+! WoW!

Mommmm : what's with this soy sh*t? I need my milk!

MILK.
Fish sticks (?)
Rice
Whipped cream (Will I ever see you again, John . .)

Thanks for the milk! Nyum.

You're welcome. Ever think maybe next time you can walk the two blocks...

So sorry, V. This job. What can I say.

**FAMILY SUPPER - THIS SUNDAY** everyone Please please be here, k?
I miss you.

Roast beef
Potatoes
Green beans
White onion
Chocolate anything

Sorry mom. Soccer practice at 4. Save me some leftovers pleeeeeese!

Dear V,
I'm so sorry - Sunday's month end, remember?

Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream
Lindt truffles
Old Dutch chips
Coke
Vodka
Vermouth
Movie or
Mailman
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sand art

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The Venerable Losang Samten is today dismantling the Sand Mandala he has spent the past three days creating, at the Winnipeg Art Gallery. The practice is a mystical, centuries-old Buddhist art form which I did not have the good fortune to take in this week. But if you find enjoyment in pieces of ever transformed, temporary art, you're sure to enjoy this artist's work:

Have a wonderful week!
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October

part viii:
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November came quickly, and with it a bone chilling cold like Winnipeg hadn’t suffered for some time. Jean found herself in Marjory’s living room, waiting for the tea to steep and for Marjory’s return. She herself would have preferred a dark cup of coffee. That would surely warm her after the long bus ride into St-Vital.

She wasn’t used to these ticky-tacky houses lined up side by side, their numbers barely distinguishable to Jean’s eyes as she slowly made her way one house at a time before coming upon the street number she was seeking.

Here we are, Marjory said as she entered the room with a plate of home-baked cookies in hand. You take sugar, if I recall?

Yes, please, Jean replied, but just a little. I’m trying to lose weight –

Oh, but why? You look just fine, Jean. Just fine.

Was Jean being too sensitive, or was that second ‘fine’ one too many? Is it just you and Michael in this big house?

Yes. Well, but, I keep Peter’s room the way he left it two years ago when he suddenly decided to move out. Just in case, you know?

In case of what? asked Jean.

Oh, well, in case he decides to come back home.

Jean cleared her throat before asking her why Peter would want to come back home and then realized it had probably come out the wrong way. But Marjory was already speaking . . .

Well, you just never know, do you? And it's a mother’s job to make sure that her child always feel welcome when he does return, don’t you think? But enough about that, she said before Jean had a chance to reply, I want to hear all about Adam!
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When you start a painting, it is somewhat outside you.
At the conclusion, you seem to move inside the painting.
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:FERNANDO BOTERO

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botero

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October

part vii:
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The seat across the aisle from Jean had become available and Marjory scooted herself in while asking her old companion, with some sense of urgency in her voice, about Adam. But with every inhalation Jean took in preparation to reply, Marjory came back with another question until Jean just wasn’t sure what to say anymore.

The two women faced each other now in an awkward silence which Marjory clearly felt an obligation to fill.

My son is gay now, you know, were the words that flew out of her mouth. It was announced with such ceremony as to impart on the passengers some need to look around them, awaiting this gay son to pop out of an imaginary curtain and announce, Ta-da!

Before the many pairs of eyes-and lost for words-Jean heard herself say, Well now, how nice for you...

What a silly-ass thing to say! she thought to herself, no longer knowing where to avert her eyes.
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At Seven

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the frightened girl,
a prescience of abandonment
again closes her eyes tight
and makes a wish.

but there are no stars tonight
no moon
no shadows cast from bright lights
in someone’s eyes.

she lives nowhere, and
in no one’s heart she burrows
with her tiny fragile fingers
seeking someone’s smile.
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fall haiku

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ripe luteous leaf clasps
to limb abashed; tender
is your Fall. Now dance!
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. . . . .Human beings are creative by nature. For millenniums we have been putting our creativity into our cultures - cultures with unique languages, architecture, religious ceremonies, dances, music, furnishings, textiles, clothing and special cuisines. "Ordinary people" pack into the cheap seats at concerts and fill theatres where operas are brought to them live. The total attendance for "the arts" in Canada in fact exceeds that for sports events. "The arts" are not a "niche interest." They are part of being human.

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MARGARET ATWOOD

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ARTist on disPLAY

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JOHN

PREST

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Conflict, 1978 (Acrylic laquer on aluminum)

spiders den, 198- (welded steel construction)
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Floodplain, 2002 (acrylic urethane on steel)

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John Prest has been making art of metal for over four decades. He learned the fundamentals of welding and metal work at R.R.C.C., but his techniques in painting motorcycles was born in experimentation and through curiosity. His love of using automotive and machining techniques have carried through to John's visual art pieces (displayed here with inscriptions).
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Autoism - 2, 1986 (plastic/ stainless steel/ wood/ acrylic laquer)

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Imagination

and fiction

make up more than

three quarters of our real life.

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SIMONE WEIL

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JULIUS T. CSOTONYI

Natural History Illustrator and Paleo-artist

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October

Jean, part iii:
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Jean and Marjory had shared a hospital room some twenty-three years ago. They were both very pregnant when they first met. And they would each give birth to boys, born just hours apart. In those days, the St-Boniface General took good care of their new mothers, well aware that once they arrived home, they would be alone to care for their bundled joys while the proud fathers celebrated their offspring with a den of men, a scotch and a cigar.

And so, the women were best of friends for three days. Marjory’s exuberance sometimes got under Jean’s skin, it’s true, but the guilt-filled single mother was pleased for companionship during those first frightening days. Jean had taken it as a blessing that she was not roomed up with some judgmental church-going mother of five who would make certain her whispers would be heard through the thin linings that passed for walls between the beds.

The two young mothers had met on several occasions after the big event. Jean suspected that Marjory thought she would be having difficulty handling an infant on her own. And she would have been correct. Those were trying days. There were times Jean didn’t know how she would manage on her own, although stubbornly wanting to show her family and neighbours that she could make single parenthood work.

Jean took solace in those hours shared with Marjory, and those lovely early days of Spring they had spent with Adam and Peter playing in the park. How was it again that they had lost touch?. .
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life shrinks or expands in proportion

to one's courage.

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ANAÏS NIN

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October

Jean, part ii:
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It seemed to take forever before the bus came into view. Jean was cold and tired by the time she plopped herself into what they must have considered to be a whole seat. This was the one remaining seat though, next to a large, malodorous man who whistled through his nose.

She thought she heard her name, but she didn't turn toward the voice, so certain was she that her aging ears were playing tricks on her. Rarely venturing out of her sheltered neighbourhood, who could she possibly know on the North Main Express?

Jean? The voice approached. Jean Rickert? Is that really you?

Jean slowly turned, trying to place the vaguely familiar voice with a long-ago memory. Only then did she find herself looking up into the woman’s beaming face. Hesitating, she said, Marj...Marjory?

But before she had time to have a really good look at the person belonging to the smile, the woman had already wrapped herself around Jean's neck with no sign of letting go. Hmm, this has to be Marjory, Jean thought to herself . . .
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