Aside from being beautiful places to walk, the grounds of the Nepean Sailing Club and Andrew Haydon Park are excellent places to see birds and other wildlife. While on a walk today, I saw an Egret, a Great Blue Heron, Purple Martins (a life-list first), and several other species, as well as two lovely little Painted Turtles and a frog.
And now three site visits from Romania, as well. I wonder if there’s a connection between the unusual birds I’ve seen today and the different countries whose citizens have visited my site today. . .
A great day for birds, as my walk down Jacques-Cartier yielded a first Canadian sighting of a Yellow Warbler and a first Quebec sighting of an Osprey. Hadn’t seen a Yellow Warbler since my summers in Maine as a boy.
And now–a second site visit from Ecuador. The plot thickens. . .
So. . .I just got my first site visit ever from Ecuador. In fact, it was my first site visit ever from a Central or South American country. Wonder what this augurs for my writing business. Should I be hastening to learn Spanish?
Nothing like Father’s Day to show how truly inconsequential men are in this society. We’re little more than props, put there to advance the sale of barbecues, power tools, sporting goods, and neckties. Show Dad you love him. Buy him more power tools to stuff into his already overcrowded workshop. If we were honest with ourselves, we would call the third Sunday in June Canadian Tire Day. Mother’s Day is sentimental to the point of outright mawkishness, but at least there’s a bit of genuine affection there. As for us, we are nothing more than brute factors of economic production, and the sooner we learn that, the better. Once there’s a reliable and relatively inexpensive way to breed without us–and I don’t think that time is far off at all–our days will be numbered.
I can definitely relate to George Banks, paterfamilias of the Banks brood of Mary Poppins fame. At the outset of the book, George tells his wife she can have a clean, comfortable house or four children, but not both, because he can’t afford both. As for me, I can have a neat, clean, comfortable house or a busy, active, engaged life as a writer, editor, and actor. But not both, because I simply haven’t the time (or energy). When serious creative work calls, housekeeping must take a back seat.
Whether in individuals or in the larger societies of which they are part, depression is generally the result of unused capacity.
I’m afraid I don’t share the literary world’s near-boundless admiration for the prose style of Ernest Hemingway. If affect-free prose were what I was after, I would go and read a blueprint. Writing without affect is like cooking without spices.
John McPhee was, quite simply, the previous generation’s Ken Burns, working on a much smaller canvas and using print rather than film.