Complimentary colours

This must be the only time of year the sun sets far enough south to shine directly through my bathroom window and into the shower stall. I discovered this yesterday afternoon when I turned off the water, pulled back the curtain, grabbed my towel and wrapped it over my shoulders. Looking down, I saw pale blue twill folds drop around my radiant orange belly, etched with fur. Glancing through the window etched with frost, I spied a soft gold eye watching me, enfolded in pale purple clouds.

This morning we worked on two more organs in downtown Waterloo. Back at Les's shop this afternoon we washed panels from the 1916 organ donated by a Hamilton Church for the new one we shall construct in Dundas. They were filthy with coal dust—"Hamilton air," I said—dappled with mould and paint dropped carelessly. Strips of felt insulation around the edges disintegrated in our fingers, emitting clouds rank with the smell of 90-year-old basswood.

Les is going away, so now I'm on holidays until January 8.

A very long vigil

A quote from me appears in a recent article about 1001 Nights Cast, in the online version of a Montreal-based magazine, Maisonneuve.