It may be ‑35°C outside but at least the sky is a lovely shade of blue.
Things I didn’t expect to see in Victoria Avenue the morning after a heavy snowfall the week before Xmas: this guy.
This past Sunday I had to run a couple errands. As I left the house, I noticed there was a police car parked facing the wrong way on the street in front of the house a couple doors down.
When I returned there were about four police cars. I went up the back alley, planning to loop around and park in front of my house. But there was police tape strung across the back lane, and another police vehicle blocking the way. I backed out and parked further up my block. I made a mental note to check the police website later, to see if there were any details in the daily media release as to just what was going on.
Well, there were:
On Sunday morning at approximately 07:52am, Police were requested to attend to a residence in [my block] for a female who had been stabbed multiple times in the arms, legs and mid-section. Police learned several items including the victim’s vehicle were stolen at the same time. Police believed two male suspects were involved [note: turned out it was a single suspect] and may be armed with firearm. […] At approximately 6:10pm, the suspect was observed leaving the residence on [another street]. Police conducted a high risk vehicle stop and the suspect was arrested.—Police media release
So yeah. Wow.
You go up, you go down.
I saw this stairway on Twitter, and thought it looked, well, amazing. It made me nostalgic for the stairs in my childhood home, to wit:
Dad made the risers. They’re varnished wood, crazy slippery in sock feet, shaped like the end of a canoe paddle. The central column, if I recall correctly, was welded by a close family friend, Gilles.
Man, I loved those stairs. They were the best.
A friend of mine, Steve Groves, was a talented writer and an amazing cartoonist. I think he had a hard time believing it, though.
For a while he drew a weekly strip for a local newspaper, called The Grove, that featured humans and animals in a small town. The main character had moved home from the big city and would often question just why. The humour veered between gentle and biting, as all the best satire does.
A sample cartoon is at the top of this post. I often told Steve that The Grove reminded me, in tone and in execution, of Bloom County. He’d always mumble something in an embarrassed voice about how it “can’t be that good”, but it was.
(He would sometimes tell me that he found my success in writing inspiring, and I’d mumble something in an embarrassed voice, because I know how much rejection I’ve collected, how much further I feel I have to go. So I guess that particular knife cuts both ways.)
Steve died last year after a battle with cancer. A mutual friend, one T. Keith Edmunds, set about on a project to gather some of Steve’s work into a memorial collection. Mine arrived on Thursday, and it’s gorgeous. 96 pages of cartoons, drawings, sketches, and notes for projects that run the gamut from “kid’s book” to “nightmarish monster hunter”.
Thanks, Keith. And of course, thanks, Steve.
Unfinished Stories: The Art of Stephen Groves is available for purchase, as are select prints of Steve’s work.
On my walk to work this afternoon, I was struck by how much receding ice on concrete resembles a topographic map of an archipelago.
Sidewalk at the WMCA.
The Halloween tally:
- Mad scientist
- 2 members of a motorcycle gang
- Day of the Dead
- 2 jailbirds
…for a total of 10 Halloweeners. (Plus two parents, dressed as Mary Poppins and Ben, who didn’t come close enough to get any candy.)
At judo: 0 kids. 5 adults. A nice quiet evening of flashcards and kata.
“The children […] actually rule the Blue Planet of Earth. They are more intelligent than the older people and outrun them on bicycles.”
A song, from my French immersion schooling, about sunflowers. (Every time I see a field of sunflowers, this song comes to me.)
Le tournesol, le tournesol
n’a pas besoin d’une boussole
ni d’arc-en-ciel, ni d’arc-en-ciel
pour se tourner vers le soleil
The sunflower, the sunflower
has no need of a compass
nor of a rainbow, nor of a rainbow,
to turn its face to the sun
One thing I didn’t remember from elementary school music sessions in the library at École Laurier: that bassline.
McNally Robinson, my favourite bookstore, is curating a photobook of the province, to be titled Manitoba by Manitoba. To that end, they’re seeking photos taken outside the Perimeter (for the non-Manitobans, that means, essentially, “not taken in Winnipeg”). You can submit up to 5 photos.
It wasn’t easy, trimming my submission down to five. Here are the ones I sent in.
Wish me luck!