I need clean surfaces, darling!

Eramosa River


detailbear visited last night. Yesterday I took the opportunity to sweep away ghosts of Christmas past. The last leftover casserole dishes got washed. Several loads of clean but scattered laundry got hung and folded (I'm not fussy about folding; fitted sheets get piled in flattened wads). Shreds of wrappings and oddments of teenage girl detritus were ushered to their destiny. The apartment has returned to its pre-holiday state.

The office still needs work. Until recently I refused to write morning pages on a messy desk. Now I dutifully elbow papers and keys aside, but the clear expanse of oak still feels like a gift if it's available.

A tidy room is an empty canvas.

Today the coffee table is vacant except for knitting notes, inviting me to work in the armchair. Pausing in the neat living room I see pregnant space surrounding, opportunities for projects unfolding. I feel an urge to fill them, but also a sweet savour of anticipation, wondering what will become. It's much like expecting my lover to arrive on Friday, and wondering how we'll make love.

Now I'll enter the clean kitchen, pour a glass of red wine, and abandon myself to the creation of lasagne.

Tickets selling fast

The media have caught wind of the fact that Waterloo Wellington Rainbow Chorus will be going to Carnegie Hall in February. At last Wednesday's rehearsal we had a camera guy from CTV. The segment will be broadcast Wednesday, January 18 on the 6 pm news on "The Beat" with Nancy Richards. If anyone in Southwestern Ontario has an opportunity to record it for me, I would be indebted.

There's a rumour that our January 28 concert will be sold out, and it's no surprise. We've had near capacity audiences the past two years, and this time we're getting extra attention. Someone asked me to turn in my unsold tickets today to sell elsewhere, but I'm holding onto them for a few more days. I have three remaining. If you want to go, let me know.

The madness

When the madness takes you
it's all sky in your head
eyes streaming sapphires
sun stutters catching your throat.
You're blind to everything
but the singularity.
Until you hit pavement
with wreckage of wax wings
broken, suffocating,
never saw it coming.

It will take you again.
Can't fight it
unless you split your breastplate
let life drain
to chill, languish
always in shadow.

Or keep embracing
letting it take you
spin dump dizzy
agonizing fire whip
until one day you get it right
knock high
and see the world.

Then
no words
for a while.

Afterward
if you lose your wings
you'll remember the way
paths and rivers crossed
never forget
the quilted land from above
with its eyes, and flesh
and clear pulse.
Keep walking.

You'll smile
in the glow of one moment
always flying.