Grocery hunting in downtown Guelph

What downtown Guelph lacks (a supermarket), it makes up for in diversity. One only needs to slow down, root around. I consider it a scavenger hunt. I left home at 10:30 with an obscure grocery list and returned two hours later with everything on it, plus a few guilty pleasures.

West End Bakery: a dozen brandy snap cookies.

The small grocer where Sylvie works: beef liver, seedless red grapes, nappa, shiitake mushrooms, Swiss water decaffeinated coffee, ginger root, green onions, angel food cake. Sylvie emerged and greeted me with bread dough on her hands and white flour in her black hair, on her glasses.

The Stone Store (health food): mango nectar, blueberry almond muesli.

The Flour Barrel (bulk food): mixed dried fruit, macadamia nuts, sesame sticks, rice nuts (a slightly sweet, puffy, crunchy snack).

LCBO: spiced rum.

Asian grocer: dried shrimp, a jar each of coconut gel and pineapple gel, rice vinegar, coconut milk, longan in syrup.

I can pick up milk and cream across the street later.

Tonight is the Rainbow Chorus's last monthly dance of the season. balunbustingbea and detailbear will be here for dinner. The menu:

• chicken curry


• braised nappa with shiitake mushrooms


• jasmine rice


• tropical tiramisu

Preparing to give a workshop

I've been doing some last-minute preparations for the creative writing workshop I will give tomorrow. Actually, all the preparations have been last minute. I've been thinking about it for weeks, considering what ideas to discuss and exercises to use. I started writing an outline yesterday and filled it out more this afternoon, including some inspiring passages to read from Natalie Goldberg, Deborah Garrison, Jane Hirshfield, Annie Dillard and Cyrus Cassells (my favourite living poet).

I have never done anything quite like this before. I'm trying to draw on my experience as a group facilitator for Bible studies and, in a later, different life, Gay Fathers of Toronto. I remember the award winning speech I gave in grade four before a nameless shadow came and snatched my self-confidence. I remember, much more recently, the first time I gave a public reading of my poetry and how good it felt; but then I knew each word like a friend.

The workshop ought to be informal, so all I have done is outline the topics to cover and points to make. I haven't given myself a script, gambling on the hope that I won't blank out. I'm not sure exactly how the hour will go, but have plenty of material to play with. And of course I will be teaching people about something I love doing more than anything else. How could I possibly run out of words?

I specified that the workshop would be suitable for 3 to 15 people. Five have registered so far.

Only now, as I assemble the pile of books and notes to take tomorrow and realize I've run out of preparation time, am I starting to get nervous. A black particle waits for me in the glow of tomorrow afternoon. I can't tell whether it's a bomb or a seed.