CBC News – British Columbia – More floods feared as storm targets coast.
Note the Gablon caging pic.
An emotional day on Kingsway chez ICBC.
The people were v kind indeed there.
A failed attempt to read Gertrude Stein amid the exhausts I took a tour to see all the damaged cars. There were bicycles too. Kind of an odd sci-fi set up in there with these interview rooms and mini under the armpit computers.
A Julia Child French omlette via my not quite Julia enough technique and a swimming lesson, with flippers, with my not quite anywhere near cutting technique.
The teacher has established impediments in the concept of breathing (think rebirth) and is trying to reestablish a general entrance of oxygen in and out the lungs without any swimming. It’s v difficult to negotiate flippers with short legs, frankly I have no idea how ducks cope. Technically speaking I am going backwards in achievement, but I am not much for the technical talk, so I assert my progress as arrested due to genetic flaw.
As of 2pm I have finished reading Eileen Myles novel Inferno and can no longer request it solve every minor and major dilemma that presents. I accept it will not build a greenhouse. It does cure earache. And generally possesses the indestructible sway and lumber of a giraffe. (novel? memoir really? who cares.). V fine, v funny and an hommage to a certain part of the female anatomy that deserves elevation. She yanks it up there like that statue overhead in the holy shrine of Lourdes.
Now I return to Betty Lambert’s Crossings for the revisiting of the revisit.
Literally a windowless start to the day. Gah. What a mess. Some gobshite put my car window in, in a most unartistic arrangement, and failed to steal me car.
The gauling thing is I sleep poorly, I hear every sound on the street, I was up and down all night — how’d I not hear the elbow action under me window?
As my mother would say, “The divil roast them.”
***
Film fest time means curling queues on grid like streets. I was thinking of going to see a doc on Norman Bateson — hence the essay link. Then I switched thought to heading out to Alan Gilsenan’s Liamy Clancy doc, but a walk in our lucky to be dry evening sent me home back to Eileen Myles novel Inferno instead. If I want New York, I got New York right here in this here bewk.
Co incidentally I appear to have painted my nails the same colour as the cover. 
Winter gardening is akin to wrestling match. I have removed the decaying tomato plants — quelle roots!
I also picked a cucumber — not bad given it is Oct. 2, 2010.
There are bound to be more gratifying moments than getting your arms ripped up by the departing scratchers.
And the slugs are back in session with avengence.
Paternal honesty
On the morning of July 2, Gregory asked his son to kill him. The asking was not a fully conscious request for practical steps – he suggested getting a stick and hitting him over the head with it, as if by brutal overstatement to achieve the opposite of euphemism – but it was a demanding paternal honesty.(From Six Days of Dying. Mary Catherine Bateson. essay describing Gregory Bateson’s death) read entire essay here