I made a sprint for the finish line. There are four songs this week. The thought of hitting 100 songs — finding music to fit that many occasions — makes me happy. It's been a big part of the fun of this. Music's a place of magic and solace.
You want to know how it feels to talk about myself? In a way that conveys I'm interesting? At 59?
'today' began May 4, 2021, with this post. Having a space for creative writing that's non-monetized and with only select external input is delicious. I've tried new things.
The loneliness of the pandemic was too real at times. The long and short of it was I wanted to talk to you.
Here's some other stuff that makes me happy:
The Hollies, Long Cool Woman (in a Black Dress). Is there a better song? It makes me want to pull on roller skates.
The sunrise on the railroad tracks that run parallel to Geary Ave. At the level crossing. There's more of it to share at the end of the year.
The quiet of the late night. When you're all asleep, there is peace.
The hot fudge sauce recipe in the Boulevard cookbook. I add espresso powder.
Bare tree limbs against a Lawren Harris blue winter sky. Admiring them with my grandmother, Theo, out on a country drive near Fonthill. She planted that seed. And so many more.
Bubble baths, very long ones sometimes.
My cat has always let me sleep in the morning — like he was custom-built for me. He lies on my chest for snuggles when I wake. Sometimes he stands up and puts his full weight on my sternum, which hurts. He sleeps in the middle of important stuff on my desk while I write.
Raspberries and apricots. I fantasize about having an Eastern European jam garden-orchard. Sounds like more work.
Playing Yahtzee with my mother over FaceTime. Look at this sweet picture from a week ago.
The bay window in my studio apartment. My desk faces a heritage Catalpa in the front yard. It's a tree native to Ontario and was likely planted at a time when this end of Bloor was farmland. It has a unique life cycle — shedding white blooms in late spring and long bean-like seed pods in the fall. By parks and recreation's standards, they're messy.
A mostly unscripted wander in the city on a weekend afternoon. Stopping to write notes. Or record voice memos.
Cortados made proper. It's not a small latte.
My Trek bike with the panniers full of groceries.
Full-fat anything, dairy mostly.
Standing in front of the four Kandinsky panels commissioned by Edwin R. Campbell at the MoMA.
Two scoops of ice cream in a sugar cone. Rum and raisin...blackcurrant...
Kayo O’Young’s porcelain. I have three small bowls, one a gift from my dad. The cat hasn’t broken them, yet. A fucking miracle.
Dahlias, because I grew them in Stratford in the first year of recovery. My addiction counsellor told me to plant something. And I obeyed.
Meals you've cooked for me.
The Humber River. I've walked it in all conditions — external and internal.
Good perfume (and cologne) worn discreetly.
Going to see movies in a theatre with popcorn. All kinds of stuff.
Baba au rhum with crème Chantilly served in a chilled silver bowl — condensation droplets dulling the surface. Eating it all without apology. Two are forever in my heart. Tobey's baba at Edulis and the way she elegantly fusses with it. The other at Abel, a bouchon in Lyon. I gasped at the mound of cream. It felt like I'd found my people.
Linen sheets in the summer. Flannel in the winter.
The smell of something good cooking in the deep fryer. Duh.
The photos of your babies on social media.
Summer evening lane swims in a city pool.
Ripple chips because the crunch is where it's at. I like dip too.
Refreshing adult beverages of the non-alcoholic kind, like Alchemy Pickle Company's kombucha.
Settling in at a French restaurant, opening the menu and considering the nature of my hunger in relation to what's on offer.
Figuring out my part. And owning it.
Lonely Days. The BeeGees. Maybe I saw them first on The Andy Williams Show or Merv Griffin. Andy Gibb, all the way.
Madame Benoît's Rum Baked Beans.
The cards, art, and gifts in my mailbox over the past three years. The generous spirits who sent hope.
Tuna salad sandwiches with pickles, celery, and green onions.
A band with a horn section — orchestral depth. There are more of those songs lined up in the near future. My dad had a nice stereo and liked Chicago. Feelin' Stronger Every Day.
Clouds. I took the photo in Bronte while acting as an amateur driving instructor with Jessica in the summer of 2020. Destination ice cream.
Having secret creative projects.
My membership on team lemon tart.
Takin' it to the Streets. The Doobie Brothers. Can't get enough of it, again.
Big hugs to anyone who has read what I've written here. And to those of you who send messages. The conversation and connection are welcome.
April 17, 1972
November 6, 1970
June 23, 1973
March 19, 1976
© Deborah Reid, 2021 - 2023. All Rights Reserved.