Nature of time

Heather Haley & the Zellots

It’s running out! This picture was taken when I still felt like I was going to live forever. I don’t know if 40 is the magic number, but at some point it hits you—maybe when musicians stop lining up to play for free—that the vicious rumours are true, that indeed, you are going to die. It’s only a matter of time. Bittersweet knowledge that’s supposed to make us appreciate life more. One life. Short and sweet.

Speaking of sweet, Happy Easter! Another Christian holiday we must work hard to ignore. 5 pounds. Apparently that’s the amount of chocolate the average kid will eat this long weekend, and you know it’s going to be crappy chocolate. I haven’t chowed down on bunnies since I was a kid, when I didn’t know bad from good chocolate or anything else. Maybe all chocolate was better quality or I had more taste buds or they were more sensitive. I’ve noticed the texture of chocolate bars has changed; they’re waxy. Yuk. My mother was a good lapsed Catholic and never did much to observe Easter besides buy us candy. My sisters and I would collect pop bottles those years when Ma was broke and we’d go to the store and buy our own. I always got a pop and a comic book too.

Ah, country living. A pair of Northern Flicker woodpeckers is mating on the roof of the house, which entails loud rat-a-tat-tats on the metal chimney cap at seven in the morning. The power went out in a recent windstorm for nearly two days. I’m seriously considering getting a generator. I’d hate to see our freezer of food go bad. Now that goes against my religion-wasting food-having grown up without enough to eat, often.

I’m preparing two upcoming events. Josef and I are hosting a salon and reading with Penn Kemp and Catherine Owen April 17 and See The Voice: VISIBLE VERSE’S 10th anniversary celebration and festival isn’t until November but we’re facilitating two screenings this year and need to get the call for entries out to ensure a stellar programme. What we’re all about really, in addition to being North America’s sustaining venue for the presentation of artistically significant poetry video and film. My Edgewise ElectroLit Centre colleagues, Kyle Hawke and Warren Dean Fulton have volunteered to help with the planning and promotion and I’ve invited videopoetry pioneer Tom Konyves to be on the panel.

Long, frustrating day this past Wednesday! First, the lab work for my annual check-up couldn’t be completed because my GP neglected to instruct me to fast. Ferry ride for nothing, an afternoon to kill and another commodity I can’t afford to waste-time due to the aforementioned mortality factor. I ran a few piddly errands and then collected Pete (Trower) for our dinner at Chambar, one of my favourite restaurants in the city. Intimidated by the European ambiance, he complained that he didn’t know what to order, though he began to enjoy the exotic Belgian beer after only one. Then we moseyed on over to Pandora’s Collective-Twisted Poets Literary Salon at the Cambie Street Bakery for my reading, a most intimate one. The place was small and stuffy and had no bathroom. (I ran next door to the raunchy bar with Laura Zebreski who had come out with her beau, my new Facebook friend Peter Babiak, a teacher at Langara.) I couldn’t breathe in either location, thought I would pass out! I had to open the door, stick my head out and gulp down some oxygen before I could perform. It was fun though. A lot of friends came out, including Steve Duncan, Bernice Lever, January Rogers and the ever charming  Susan Cormier, who joined us later for a lovely chat over drinks. Still, I think they need a bigger venue! It would have been nice to visit with people but by the time I was finished, Pete was ready to leave. Well, to be honest, so was I. We weren’t about to drive home however. As we walked up and down the streets in the pouring rain it occurred to me that my car had either been stolen or towed. Considering that it’s a well-used 96 Volvo, I leaned toward the latter. My cell phone was dead! So, I went all the way over to Pete’s place o the North Shore to call Busters. Sure enough, they had it. So, I cabbed it back into the city to retrieve my trusty steed/pain in the ass. I had fed the meters that indicated 8 PM but apparently it was a Passenger Zone. I didn’t see any signs to that effect but that’s parking in the city for you. I knew it would happen sooner or later, that it was just a matter of time and another colossal waste of of my precious time.

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