Tag Archives: Peter Trower

Gobsmacked

Journal, , ,

Well, the LA Weekly article Paul Cullum wrote about Peter’s slaying was finally published and I guess you could say I am gobsmacked, the fallout coming down heavily now, a week later, scab of grief picked open, bleeding all over the place. It’s also a relief in a way, after having discussed the story for the past year.

The editors cut it nearly in half and called it Beautiful Loser-Tortured Killer which offended Peter’s mother. Anything to sell the paper. Many people have asked, “What did you think?” I think Continue reading →

“Pretty stumps,” poets, loggers and another Peter in my life

Journal,

I’ve arrived at the cottage, which is really not a cottage at all, more like the small wing of a house and I’m disappointed that there is no view. There was an ocean view on their website, lots of views. When am I going to learn? Well, it’s dark, I’m hoping the magnificent sea view will materialize with the morning light. I was counting on it for inspiration!

Sterile. Too much white in here, feels like a clinic. Our house has colour on the walls, thank Christ. I’m cramped, hemmed in, and discombobulated, not to mention tired after missing the Crofton ferry to Salt Spring Island. There were no signs on the Island highway for Crofton or the ferry to Vesuvius Bay and so I missed the sailing by about three minutes. Then I was driving in the fog and dark trying to find the place. It’s hard to tell driveways from roads and with no idea of distances, very confusing. I had to pull over and call the innkeeper, found out I had indeed gone too far, had to turn around. That’s it. I’m asking Santa for a GPS for Christmas! This is just dumb. In any case, after a nap and a cup of tea, I am starting to ease into the solitude, anxiety abating. In fact, it’s beginning to feel quite heavenly. I was vaguely lonely earlier, restless. Ah, quiet. Wow. No barking and howling, no video games booming, no doors slamming.

Why do the drinking glasses have the mason’s symbol on them?

Earlier today, around noon:

I saw a truck on the Bowen ferry bumper sticker: Slow Down! This ain’t the mainland.

I’m free! On the Queen of Cowichan, on my way to Salt Spring Island and my week-long writing retreat, watching three Cat in the Hat-shaped clouds recede as we chug along to Nanaimo, fog horn blasting. Continue reading →