Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Easter shoes.

Le Poulet and I; Montreal, April 2011.
Photo. Meghan Kinita

Clam, crab, cockle, cowrie.
That means no
Where I come from
I am cold
Out waiting for the day to come
I chew my lips
And I scratch my nose
Feels so good to be a rose

Oh don't, don't you lift me up
Like I'm that shy
No no no no no
Just give it up
There are bats all dissolving in a row
Into the wishy-washy dark that can't let go
I cannot let go
So I thank the Lord
And I thank his sword
'Tho it be mincing up the morning, slightly bored

Oh, oh morning without warning like a hole
And I watch you go

There are some mornings when the sky looks like a road
There are some dragons who were built to have and hold
And some machines are dropped from great heights lovingly
And some great bellies ache with many bumblebees
And they sting so terribly

I do as I please
Now I'm on my knees
Your skin is something that I stir into my tea
And I am watching you
And you are starry, starry, starry
And I'm tumbling down
And I check a frown
It's why I love this town
Well, just look around
Just see me serenaded hourly !
And celebrated sourly :
And Dedicated dourly
Waltzing with the open sea
Clam, crab, cockle, cowrie
Oh will you just look at me

A song sung by a musical friend of the ages, Joanna Newsom.

Give me the harp, give me the rain.

Breakthrough day. The rain was a cleansing thing, Le Poulet and I wandered in and out of it from 10 until 1 today. Umbrellas for heads on hustling walkers in Mile End. Bakery smells pouring out of doorway steam holes, the smells turning to fog before my eyes. Wafts of heady flower shops puffing into my nose made my heart sail to Gerry and Toots, the very women who taught me how to sing to orchids and the importance of misting ones plants.

Leo and I passed the pre-lunch lull at my house, my mind away from the big baby all up in and already so far into the meal plan that began cooking in thought at 9 this morning with the crack of Jamie Oliver's spine. What a cook, I hope to feed my family in such a way someday. Two long naps and a trip to the record store in between. Orders, credits, selling vinyl that was sitting neglected (get rid of slim rotation), following Leo as he shopped around, checking out the bottoms of the shelves heavy with music. I forget his low line of vision sometimes. Nice day.

To think I ended my day around a table with mes soeurs and Rob Vilar. A tablecloth, my first attempt at roasting fowl, Chanel's Snack-and-a-half ice cream sandwiches for dessert. Candles, italian disco, Culinary Propaganda.

I retired to my darkroom. Ha, if only. I retired to my bedroom, workshop, office, sewing room, studio, dressing room, and turned negatives into positives with the magic aide of a large bed scanner. Voila, my Easter getaway to Winnipeg in a nutshell. Highlights captured, snap, rumble, shake, release.

Shot with the Russian, Illford black and white.

Willa meets Auntie Kim; Winnipeg, April 2011.
Suddenly pals, Kind Izzy and Maiya Papaya; Winnipeg, April 2011.
My Grandpa, Syd Reimer at the Great Fire; Rosenort, Manitoba. April, 2011.
A blaze that brought a crowd; Rosenort, Manitoba. April, 2011.

Thinking of Auntie Marj while elbowing to the front; Rosenort, Manitoba. April, 2011.
Rest you, Dick Zach; Rosenort, Manitoba. April, 2011.

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