Poet Laureate? Snow? New(old) boots? A grab-bag.
Screaming through all this whiteness I feel like it's harder to be heard. Like somewhere under all this scrunching of feet on new-fallen snow there is a whisper that I am missing. All the sounds of the world drowning out the ones you need to press an ear to to hear. Subtlety now conveyed in shapes and curves, not in details and colour.
Another pair of hand-me-down boots from my father. Brand new, but too high on his shin to be comfortable. (Sometimes I think he is like the princess with the pea in his mattress or maybe Goldilocks and her porridge) It seems I can count on it, at least once a year that he will go out and buy a pair of shoes (on sale, no doubt) come home, wear them once and decide they don't fit and then give them to me. I have a box down here, in the basement, filled with old shoes my dad bought and has maybe worn once. He can't eat the shoes on sale like he can the cakes on sale that he buys regularly as well. I've never understood the mentality behind buying things simply because you can save money on them. Why not save the money and buy yourself something nice not on sale somewhere down the line? But I'll digress.
Something about a thicker sole and an extra inch and the fact that I'm wearing boots makes me feel extra manly for some reason. Maybe because I don't usually feel particularly masculine. I feel like the boots should give me more chest hair or hairier arms or something. Strange, the effects having no fear of wet feet or snow can have.
Read in an e-mail today, a link about John Steffler becoming Canada's Poet Laureate. Holy crap! That sorta threw me for a loop. The guy who taught me two creative writing classes, had one of these classes over for dinner and who I've attended numerous readings and things with is now Canada's Poet Laureate? Wow! Great for him, he's a perfect fit as far as I'm concerned.
I suppose this is just another reason why someday I should start actually watching the news or reading a newspaper or something.
Another pair of hand-me-down boots from my father. Brand new, but too high on his shin to be comfortable. (Sometimes I think he is like the princess with the pea in his mattress or maybe Goldilocks and her porridge) It seems I can count on it, at least once a year that he will go out and buy a pair of shoes (on sale, no doubt) come home, wear them once and decide they don't fit and then give them to me. I have a box down here, in the basement, filled with old shoes my dad bought and has maybe worn once. He can't eat the shoes on sale like he can the cakes on sale that he buys regularly as well. I've never understood the mentality behind buying things simply because you can save money on them. Why not save the money and buy yourself something nice not on sale somewhere down the line? But I'll digress.
Something about a thicker sole and an extra inch and the fact that I'm wearing boots makes me feel extra manly for some reason. Maybe because I don't usually feel particularly masculine. I feel like the boots should give me more chest hair or hairier arms or something. Strange, the effects having no fear of wet feet or snow can have.
Read in an e-mail today, a link about John Steffler becoming Canada's Poet Laureate. Holy crap! That sorta threw me for a loop. The guy who taught me two creative writing classes, had one of these classes over for dinner and who I've attended numerous readings and things with is now Canada's Poet Laureate? Wow! Great for him, he's a perfect fit as far as I'm concerned.
I suppose this is just another reason why someday I should start actually watching the news or reading a newspaper or something.