Saturday, June 28, 2008
"Well, hello Woodsy," he responds smiling and looking as mischievous as always. "Last time I saw you was last night and we were in a room with a naked guy!" he says for all to hear, and then he howls with laughter, "Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha!".
The lovely Audrey is there, and she responds nervously, "Oh, I don't want to know about this!"
Little hottie, Harmony, agrees with her and tells us firmly, "We don't need to know about this!"
"You will be reading about it soon enough Audrey and Harmony," I say with a conspiratorial wink for Coyote.
It all started when Coyote escorted me to the Fringe Festival Friday night, and we decided to go see Old Growth.
Before the play I had the opportunity to speak briefly with the lead actor, award-winning playwright/composer, Alex Eddington.
"Come see our play, Old Growth," calls out Alex, who is standing outside Academic Hall, inviting the passing crowd with a charming smile." Since I rarely miss an opportunity to speak with a cute lad, I responded to his invitation.
"I am planning to see the play," I tell him. "I traveled to Haida Gwaii years ago and saw the Golden Spruce before it was cut down."
"You were there? You saw it? You are so fortunate. I have not been to Haida Gwaii, but I read the book, The Golden Spruce, and it inspired me to write this play about it. I hope to get there someday," he responds genuinely impressed that I have seen this ancient sacred tree that was felled in 1997.
This is definitely not a feel good play, and if you are not offended by nudity, violence, and honest, intelligent narrative, I highly recommend that you go see Old Growth.
Alex if you read this, thank you for also taking time after the play to chat with Woodsy - apologies for not revealing my true nature!
Thursday, June 26, 2008
I hear humming. Could it be my young bus mate? I hear more humming. It sounds angelic. Do I ask him about it? Before I can decide, he points to the outside and calmly says, "Well, it is about time!"
"What?" I say eager to engage in a conversation. "I didn't see what you were pointing at."
"That stretch of road - they have finally paved it."
"Oh, I see - that's great." I say humouring him. I continue by asking, "Were you humming just now?"
"I am sorry. I was. Sometimes I don't even realize it. I am so, sorry." He says, sighing lightly.
His voice is mesmerizing as his velvety lips pronounce every word, every syllable, and every sound clearly and precisely with a gentleness that is enchanting to the ear.
"No, no. It was lovely," I reassure him. "Are you in a band?" I inquire further.
"No, I am studying opera in Toronto," he tells me proudly. "I also volunteer with an opera company... I hope to perform in an Opera next year... I love singing! Sometimes, I am certain that I am singing in my head, and then I realize that people are looking at me, and then I realize that I am singing out loud... Oh, I really hope my singing was not bothering you..."
In the second that he takes to catch his breath, I chime in, "Your singing was not bothersome at all - it was heavenly. I love opera. I also enjoy connecting with people..."
"Oh, that is wonderful!" he interjects. "People should be more free to do and say what makes them happy, and to be more open with each other..." I listen enraptured by his musical voice as he continues.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
My Papa passed away 8 years ago. We did not converse much, and yet he has left me with a heart full of dialog. I am guided daily by the advice and opinions he imparted on me - wisdom which I obstinately chose to ignore or argue while he was alive.
Tonight as I was awkwardly struggling with a drill, a hammer and a hacksaw, bloodying my knuckles, and straining muscles in an attempt to dismantle a broken sofa bed, I remembered a funny moment between us.
I was recently separated, and Papa was over to help me fix things around my new home. As we accomplished task after task (with him doing most of the hard labour and me assisting), I repeatedly and proudly exclaimed, "Ha! Who needs a man - see I can do all this myself!"
Abruptly, Papa grabbed me by the shoulders, held my attention with his calm blue eyes, and said, "Hey, you can ask Maman if you need proof, but I do happen to be a man... and here you are... needing me!"
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Zoom, looking foxy as always, stood up to greet me when I arrived, and as she hugged me she whispered, "How should I introduce you?"
I laughed and responded with, "Tonight Woodsy is coming out..."
As the evening progressed, I was honoured to get to know
- Logan's person, Skylark (lovely engaging gentleman),
- Aggie's crush, Milan (fascinatingly brilliant cute lad),
- Woodsy's crush of the evening, David Scrimshaw (dangerously charming genius, but who unfortunately, for me, was accompanied by his girlfriend), and
- Mother Earth's kindred spirit, Mudmama (wonderfully intelligent hip chick) who'd brought along her little wee kissy-hand Sprout (who smells like peaches!).
Friday, June 20, 2008
"Hey, you've been tagged!" he yells up to me.
I'm in his tree-top bedroom watching Trading Spouses.
"I've been what?" I yell down.
"Zoom tagged you!" he bellows.
"She tagged me? What does that mean?" I question hyper loudly feeling unsure whether I should be flattered or scared.
"Come look at her post. It's a meme," he says still yelling, not realizing that I have come down and that I am standing at his side.
I touch him to make my presence known, and the poor bastard screams out in surprise letting out a litany of expletives that would shock even a candidate for president.
I tickle and rub the back of my friend's neck and manage to calm him down, as he explains a meme to me.
"Sure, that sounds like fun!" I reply eagerly .
P.S. Zoom, if any bunny's die, please keep them for me. I am having Coyote over for supper soon.
Springtime Mixed Tape Meme
Instructions: List seven songs you are into right now. It doesn’t matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they’re any good, but they must be songs you’re really enjoying now, shaping your spring/summer. Post these instructions in your blog along with your seven songs. Then tag seven other people to see what they’re listening to.
- Michel Theriault - Easy Rose
- Sally Robinson - Recycle Your Man
- Ball and Chain (Jody Benjamin and Micheal Ball) - Lovers Waltz
- Buffy Sainte-Marie - Emma Lee
- Johnny Cash - Hurt
- Florent Volant - TSHISHE MANITU (Guest : Zachary Richard)
- Marie Jo Thério - Café Robinson
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
I hear the first syllable of his genial hello, and I know it is him. "Hi my sweet son! How are you?" I burst out, interrupting his salutation.
"Great, great. What about you, Woodsy?" My sons have always called me by my first name.
"I am well. So, do you want me to send you the letter, or should I open it?" I ask out of obligation, knowing full well that he wants me to open it.
"Open it, please," he replies in his mellow earthy voice.
I read from the letter, "We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted as a student of the Università degli Studi di Milano..."
"I figured I would get in," comments the Word Wizard in his usual confident but humble way.
"Isn't life great!" I almost scream.
"It sure is," he responds with a little, he,he,he, chuckle that is his signature happy sound.
"Well, I have to go," he says, "I don't have access to this phone for long. I'll call you some... I mean, I'll call you soon."
We both burst out laughing. We know each other well enough to appreciate subconscious slips.
I miss him dearly, but at 20, he was ready to leave the nest. I remember with great clarity, 6 days after his birth, promising him that I would make the best of our time together, "because you are only mine for a short time."
Monday, June 16, 2008
After her first set, I went off to powder my nose. The bathroom was in use. A few seconds of waiting, and the door opened. Out walked Evalyn. She smiled at me (my knees weakened), held the door open, and said, "It's all yours," in her silky sexy fluid voice.
I lowered my eyes, coyly smiled back at her and expressed a quiet little, "Thank you."
I went into the washroom... and as I sat down realized, "Oh! The seat is still warm!"
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Ahead of us is a dad and his two little girls. They are excited about the gelato flavours and are discussing the choices. Before they can decide on a flavour, the dad's cell phone rings and he answers it.
"Hello! Yes... How are you?" He responds into his phone. His girls become silent as he continues his conversation.
The Erratic Genius and I are chatting, joking and laughing together. A happy mother and son moment as we wait for our turn to order.
Suddenly, Cell Phone Dad turns to look at us and glares.
I lower my voice as I realize that our conversation is disrupting his phone call.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Woodsy: Gypsy Jen, what are you doing?
Gypsy Jen: Making tea.
Woodsy: But, you put the tea bag in the cup and poured hot water on top. That's not making tea.
Gypsy Jen: Oh, not you too. Look, it's American tea, OK! I make the tea in the cup, then I save the teabag, and then I use it at least three more times. Listen Woodsy, I am half Jewish and half Armenian Gypsy. Making tea that way, that is tradition!
Tea Song for Gypsy Jen
My Cup of Tea
British Lady: The upper class always poured the tea in their cup first and then added the milk, whereas the lower class poured the milk in first and then added the tea.
Woodsy: Was there a reason for that?
British Lady: The lower class had cheap china, therefore putting the milk in first prevented the cup from cracking.
Woodsy: Interesting. Well, I prefer the taste of tea made in the lower class fashion.
British Lady: (lowering her voice) Me too...
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Four years ago, Erratic Genius, Word Wizard and I were at the Ottawa Humane Society looking at kittens. I asked the rough looking attendant, who was gently and attentively grooming Magi, how she ended up at the shelter.
"She was only three days old when someone brought her in," he told us. "She had been abandoned in an apartment by the previous tenants..."
He did not need to say anything more - we sympathized.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
"Ha, there we go," I muttered feeling ingenious as I plugged in the cord.
Before I could fully force the male connector into the female, I shot two feet back as the outlet let out a freaky spark enhanced,
Can anyone tell me what the hell that electrical outlet was trying to tell me?
Sunday, June 8, 2008
"Ya, I know I'm trying to put it on!" He replies.
I look up, and the Erratic Genius, who is from the gentle giant breed, is trying to slip on the napkin as if it were a shirt.
He once told me that he had pissed in the soup that his roommate had been simmering on the stove.
"I didn't like the asshole," he had confided.
About the dropped toothbrush in the toilet, he asks with hate in his voice, "Why the fuck did you do that?"
I respond, feeling no emotion, "It was an accident. Just count yourself lucky that I told you."
Thursday, June 5, 2008
I walk into Bridgehead looking forward to reading The Bluest Eye, and enjoying a medium dark roast coffee.
I line up behind an elegant Black woman and a skinny White fellow standing together in front of the cake and cookie display case. They are discussing the various colourful desserts. She is pointing at a red berry cobbler, and he is shaking his gray haired head to indicate his disagreement with her choice.
"Would you like a suggestion?" I inquire as I smile sweetly at her.
Before she can respond, I ask another question. "Do you like ginger? The ginger cookies are excellent!"
"I love ginger," She responds in a voice that makes the tips of my ears feel red warm and tingly. She has the same effect on me that ginger does.
Her frosted pink lips look spicy and her voice has a sexy hint of an accent. I don't focus on where it might originate from - I am too entranced by her friendliness.
I describe to her a recipe for gingersnaps that I read in The Cure for Death by Lightning. She shares with me a description of the ginger cookies her mother used to bake.
Her pale companion grumbles, "You women, always exchanging recipes."
We both look at him, and I defend us, "Well, it's so we can feed you..."
He cuts me off, still grumpy sounding, but I notice the crinkle of a smile on the corners of his green eyes.
"She would never feed me!" he quietly growls at me.
She laughs, orders the ginger cookie, thanks me, and off they go.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Sunday, June 1, 2008
"I can see the Pyramids from my family home," she tells me.
I met a Cleopatra on Sunday. She was wearing a silk head scarf and an ivory full length, long sleeved dress, her face was powdered with a light white foundation, and her eyes were dramatically highlighted with black eye-liner. I was intrigued.
It was raining lightly, so her garage sale was quiet. I was thrilled to find three little glass cups rimmed and designed with gold. She was only charging a nickel for each cup.
"Are these for serving tea?" I ask.
"You can serve either tea or coffee in them," she explains.
La Socière, who was with me interjects, "I was served Lebanese coffee in a similar glass cup years ago. The gentleman who offered me the coffee was shocked that I would not add sugar."
"Oh, you do not have to add sugar if you don't want to," the seller reassures us.
"No," insists La Sorcière, "he told me that coffee should always be served black as night, hot as Hell, and sweet as love."