Honour the living…

Candye, me, Maritza & Teresa. Photo: Josef Roehrl

…join our Be Kind to the Living Club.

Lots of ill will toward 2016, many expressing relief at its impending demise. I came across an article that suggests blaming a year is like blaming God. Anthropomorphism certainly, but we have endured and lost more than most arbitrary passages of time including my dear friend Candye Kane. Yesterday I posted; “I wish people would pay tribute before someone dies,” and it has elicited quite a response. Paulette Turcotte suggested we should start a club. “What would we call it,” I replied, “Be Kind to the Living?” Alice Major said, “Well, we all need deadlines to get things done.” So funny, so true. I do find it hypocritical, and irritating, to watch people bash each other until one passes, when suddenly, he or she is a saint.

The discussion evolved into the types of send-offs we imagine upon reaching our expiry date. My inclination is to slip out quietly; have my body cremated and no funeral, or whatever they’re called these days. I won’t be there so what’s the point? If I leave any legacy it will be my son and perhaps some writings.

Stephen Roxborough reminded me that he produced an anthology devoted to bill bisset called Radiant Danse Uv Being. “An eclectic, energetic tribute to one of our most courageous and unconventional writers.” It is also beautiful and I was privileged to attend the launch, with bill and all his admirers. In fact, I had money then and purchased one of his “excellent” paintings which still illuminates my living room.

And as host, producer and musical director Mark Bignell pointed out, he honours our musical heroes on his CFRO Bandcouver show every week and female artists-including moi/AURAL Heather-on She-Boom!.

Then Jason Flower chimed in with, “I pay tribute to Heather Haley!” Yes! Jason and his record label, Supreme Echo are soon to release my first band the Zellots on vinyl. For two years we tried to track down the master tape of the demo, to no avail so wound up using a beat up old cassette I’d been carrying around for decades. Apparently his engineer “Josh of Octic Sound,” pulled off a miracle and managed to restore the songs. Designers are currently working hard to do the same with a gig poster and other printed materials. Better late than never. I’m so grateful and indeed feel appreciated.


“Where the Nights are Twice as Long” reading on the longest night of the year


How cool is that? Love Letters for Winter Solstice! On Wed, Dec, 21 at the Vancouver Public Library I, along with Daphne Marlatt, George Bowering, Christine Lowther, RC Weslowski, Jane Eaton Hamilton and Renee Saklikar will share love letters and epistolary poems published in Where the Nights Are Twice As Long (Goose Lane). With a “musician prelude.” I will have to find out more about that.

This lush, hefty, gorgeous book came out in 2014. Well received, it’s nice to finally celebrate its deliverance in Vancouver. Better late than never as they say. “Here are odes and lyric ecstasies, tirades and tantrums, pastoral comforts and abject horrors – all delivered with the vibrancy, wit, and erudition of our finest poets. Under the covers of Where the Nights Are Twice As Long, David Eso and Jeanette Lynes collect letters and epistolary poems from more than 120 Canadian poets, including Pauline Johnson, Malcolm Lowry, Louis Riel, Alden Nowlan, Anne Szumigalski, Leonard Cohen, John Barton, Di Brandt, and many others, encompassing the breadth of this country’s English literary history.”

Kudos and congratulations Dave and Jeanette! I know how hard and how long they worked on it, and I’m thrilled to be included, though I do get squeamish at the thought of such intimacy on full display. However it will appeal to the voyeur that I believe resides within us all.


I wish it would rain!

Sorry, but I have to whine a little. We Lotus-Landers on the left coast have been hit with snow. Apparently we’re in for another week of this crap so I’m going to have to tamp down my trepidations, thaw out my Volvo and drive myself on my all-season tires to various gigs throughout the city. It’s not as if I can afford not to work. Ugh. I hate it when Old Man Winter visits Vancouver.


Goodbye Peter, goodbye Leonard


Peter Trower gave me this record when I was helping him close up his house in Gibsons. R.I.P. Leonard and sadly, Peter is suffering from Alzheimer’s, sequestered in an institution. I haven’t talked to him in a long time as he doesn’t know who I am. We met in 08 at a launch for ROCKsalt, the Mother Tongue Press anthology of BC poets, having beers after with Rob Taylor and Zach Wells. Peter regaled us with stories naturally including the time he got high with Cohen at a party in Kits. We became buddies. Moneyed then, I used to squire him around to various readings and events, including Leonard Cohen’s 2010 Vancouver concert. I miss Peter and will miss Cohen, whose songs and verse and constitute an integral thread in the fabric of my life. “Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is the ash.”


Yankees Stay Home


Darlings I love you but it’s for your own good. Truly. And I don’t understand why you would desert your country when you believe it to be in crisis. Stay and fight.

Americans are still reeling, in shock over the U.S. election results. I had an uneasy feeling early on in the campaign that buffoon and blowhard Donald Trump would win. As an expat I had resided in the States for 12 years. I like Americans but they’re often unpredictable. I suspected they could go for his message, and they did. Canada’s immigration site crashed on election night and I’m dodging frantic messages and pleas from friends south of the border to come to Canada, one a musician offering to play guitar and another to help brick the wall Canadians are threatening to build. All in good humour of course though I think you Yankees need to stay home and deal with the reality (show) of a Trump presidency. It’s a veritable call to action. Work to oust him and change things, including reform or abolition of your Electoral College, which many are now blaming for the disaster. Never underestimate the enemy. It was hard to take Trump seriously, now Americans must.

Who’s Your Daddy? The latest from the geneological front


All right! Received my Family Finder test kit in the mail today. Results will match me with both maternal and paternal relatives. Perhaps I finally have a chance of tracking down the scoundrel that spawned me, or at least, some of his kin. My kin.

I’ve been on this quest for years, ever since my mother blurted out on her death bed, “Danny is not your real father you know.” I paid no attention as she was suffering from dementia, sliding in and out of lucidity, but the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. I pressed but could not get an answer. After she died, my “alleged father,” apparently the correct legal term, agreed to a DNA test which proved that he is not my biological father. My shock had worn off by then but he was and the first words out of his mouth were, “I never would have married her if I’d known,” which took me aback and I’m not sure why. She did lie, though I have a feeling that knowing my mother, she deluded herself into believing that of the possibilities, Danny was the father. The chosen. Poor guy. Poor me. Looking back I see what an awkward pairing it was.

These days it’s called paternity fraud. I imagine that in small-town Quebec there were few fates worse than unwed mother. Or, bastard. So Corona she did what she had to do. I went to Matapedia several times to talk to her family but none of them could remember anything, or anyone she might have been dating. It was so long ago. I believe she had every intention of taking the secret to her grave.

In any case, I’ve been working with an outfit called Family Tree DNA who claim to have the most comprehensive ancestry database in the world. I will swab my cheek today and return the envelope. Some detective work will be required but I have to admit, I’m excited! Plus, feeling optimistic, hopeful that the mystery of my paternity can be solved at last. We’re on our way, as the result directly impacts my son as well.

Watch out Papa, this intrepid redhead is coming for you.

East Meets West; Thai curries on a soggy Vancouver night…

…with fellow poet and dear friend Clara Blackwood of Toronto. hhclara

It’s been a rough October but I got to go out for dinner with Clara while she was in town. She and father Alan Briesmaster of Quattro Books traveled to the west coast to launch  volumes by BC poets Susan McCaslin and Robert Osler.   I first met Alan at a League of Canadian Poets conference many years ago. He’s a good friend of Bernice Lever, who also resided on Bowen Island, so when Alan and Clara would visit I was often invited along. I’ve enjoyed the privilege of getting to know them. We click somehow. Well, we’re all poetry nerds.

Indie Author Day at the VPL & speaking from experience…


In 2012 I had finally acquired both an agent and a publisher. Woo hoo! Both shall remain nameless because both turned out to be pretty much useless. The agent seemed to think my novel, The Town Slut’s Daughter belonged in the young adult genre and spent a year barking up the wrong trees while the publisher, in the throes of much upheaval, jerked me around. Apparently they didn’t go under after all, but oh well. In frustration and desperate for deliverance-after many long years of writing the damn thing-I decided to take the dreaded Amazon/Kindle route and set up Howe Sound Publishing, with the guidance of dear friend, historical novelist Carol Cram.

As a single working mother I have precious little time for book promotion but my girl is doing okay, consistently awarded 5 star reviews and in the top 13% of the contemporary urban fiction category. Neither have I had time to calculate exactly how many copies have sold; several hundred at least. I’ve made a few bucks and the whole experience is pretty much what I expected. It is what it is, as they say. Despite the challenges I am relieved The Town Slut’s Daughter is no longer languishing on my hard drive, that she’s been launched into the world. Also, DIY is very fitting, having come up with punk rock, the original independents. Well, in recent times; Proust, Beatrix Potter and James Joyce were but a few of the authors who also did it their way.

I’m no expert in the vagaries of self-publishing, can only speak from my experience but on Saturday I will be participating in the inaugural Indie Author Day at the Vancouver Public Library, to hawk some wares and talk with readers. Perhaps I will see you there.

Racket remains, CV updated, treehouse residency


Gawd. Lived here for nearly a year and the building across the street is still being built. Wish we could move. In any case, got my CV updated with the help of Tanya Van  of Dollymomma Designs. I’m fortunate to have such kind and talented friends. It looks good and we got ‘er down to one page. Might as well apply for that treehouse-in-Switzerland residency. Dreaming is free after all.

Updating blog, CV despite the racket!


Ah, life in the big city, or “big smoke” as we ex-islanders refer to it. Our rent is going up, I need to get some editing done but again, there is a huge mother of a truck in front of the construction site across the street blasting away, since 6:30 this morning! Seriously considering moving. I still love Vancouver but it is becoming uninhabitable.

Oh well, we got to watch some free Canada Place fireworks last night, ear plugs help a little and it will get done as I need it by tomorrow. Deadlines as a cure for procrastination, yeah! I haven’t looked at this thing in at least a year. Fortunately my dear friend Tanya is going to help me whip it into shape.