because i said

Instructions for a Pandemic

First, put on a reflector vest and go for a run at 1 a.m.
Don’t see a soul.
Arrive home, shower and go to bed.
Imagine the things you could have done instead.

Reflections Over the Course of Several Days Following the Historic United States Presidential Election of November 3rd, 2020

Geez, come in outta the rain, wontcha? Come in an’ lookaround, folks. We got a white sale and a black. We got a goin’-outta-business, we got a everything-must-go, we got a end-a-season, deepdeepdiscount sale, folks. Pleez come in. Lookaround. See anything you like? You no like?

The Cameraman

In a few weeks, it will be exactly four years since I went out for my Monday afternoon tempo run and returned home with a one-act play stuck in my head. To dislodge it, I wrote it down. In light of last night’s U.S. presidential debate,

Alone, alone…

The moustache photo

We were alone, with nowhere to go and nothing to do. Continue reading “Alone, alone…”

Tyger Tyger, burning bright

Below is the first real photo I snapped with my new Brownie, Continue reading “Tyger Tyger, burning bright”

5 swans on Sanibel

We sat at a picnic table at a beachfront pub named the Mucky Duck, Continue reading “5 swans on Sanibel”

Oaxaca in black and white

Tree shadows car — Make sure you bring lots of colour film, they said. Mexico is a riot of colour, they said — especially during Día de Muertos. All the photos in this post are in black and white, taken with my original Brownie.

At our gate at Trudeau Airport, most of the waiting passengers are Mexican men: Continue reading “Oaxaca in black and white”

Love in Oaxaca

Girl in mom's arms — You don’t see the easy copout of plastic masks. This is serious business. Kids and adults sit for hours on end beside foldout tables laden with pots of paint and grease pencils, to be transformed into the dearly departed.

Before leaving for Oaxaca and the cultural glories of Día de Muertos, we prepared by watching the animated movie, Coco. I suppose it’s like watching Aladdin before boarding a plane for Bagdad. To be fair, though, Coco is a Pixar movie, so it contains pretty much all you need to know about Oaxaca and the Day of the Dead. We cried at the end.

Virgin at night — Skeletons and tributes to ghosts are all well and good. But this is a Catholic country, so you also need night-time processions and ladies with flowers carried high on men’s shoulders.

On our first night in Oaxaca, we strolled to the zócalo for a beer and to take in the sights.
As a band played under a restaurant awning, arthritic skeletons rose from their tables, clasped each other and danced.

Among the milling crowd in the zocalo, a girl in her early twenties, wearing tight striped pants and a sleeveless white shirt. With her glossy hair and makeup, her sandals and painted toenails, she might have been waiting for some friends to go clubbing.

Except that, she likely was not going clubbing. Her shirt was open and, as she chatted with a girlfriend and elderly skeletons danced the polka around her, a baby was clamped and furiously sucking on the girl’s exposed breast.

Boy + tuba — We spent most of the first day of festivities watching parades and listening to bands. Loud, ragged and beautiful.

Mother and kids — The simplest explanation for why Mexicans have a lot of kids is because they love them so much. Kids are everywhere: sleeping in their parents’ arms, playing under the family food stall, walking hand in hand with their ancient *abuelo*. Parents are endlessly patient and indulgent.

Red pants — The playing was just as sharp.

Black witch + red pants — On the Day of the Dead, unbridled joy, as beaming parents watch their kids play in bands, whirl in a dance, join a chorus declaiming a heroic poem.

We sat in a dusty park beside the zócalo, on a bench facing an empty fountain. Dogs stretched out and sleeping in the dirt, pigeons picking at candy wrappers and chewed-over corn cobs in the dry fountain. It was late afternoon, the between-time following the day’s music and dancing and before the night’s renewed festivities.

Opposite our bench, a man sat on a low wall and beside him, stretched out full-length, was a sleeping princess. She about eight, in a purple satin gown, with white shoes and a golden tiara. Head on his lap, fast asleep, clearly exhausted from the day’s parading and dancing.

The man had a distinguished head: carefully barbered, like all Mexican men. Neat and clean despite his shabby clothes and broken shoes. As he sat, the man stroked the princess’s bare arm and, as the shadows lengthened and the first evening chill stole into the park, he reached into a plastic bag and pulled out a blue and yellow cloth. With care, lest he wake her, he unfolded the cloth and tucked in the sleeping princess. All the while stroking her hair and arms, absently gazing at the parents and children streaming by, loving and gazing all the while.

Couple on bench — In the zocalo. A moment later, he smiled and gave me a thumbs-up.

Continue reading “Love in Oaxaca”

One day in Tuscany

2 layers, doctored — After a day and night of rain and thunder, we woke up to a landscape of mist.

As I write this, I’m sitting at my outdoor office. This consists of a three-foot travertine slab, resting on a wrought-iron base, with matching chairs. Continue reading “One day in Tuscany”

San Gimignano

Twin towers — Two of the remaining fourteen towers of San Gimignano. There were originally seventy-two. On a clear day, we can see San Gimignano from our *agriturismo*. On the horizon, it looks like Manhattan transplanted to the Tuscan hills. Slender towers rising into the sky, proclaiming the power and influence of the individual families that erected each sky-pointing finger.

We pulled into the small parking area at the Porta San Giovanni before ten in the morning. I made a quick beeline up the main street, wasting no time viewing the celebrated frescoes at the Collegiata or climbing the town’s medieval towers, in my haste to reach the opposite Porta San Mateo, where I finally arrived at my destination: San Gimignano’s barbershop. Continue reading “San Gimignano”