Routine is simply never boring

News Oct 23, 2009 Ancaster News

Many, many years ago on a summery day, I was unloading a six-year-old daughter from the car for her swimming lesson. The three-year- old boy and girl twins escaped and ran off in two directions. Needless to say, we were edging toward being late for the class.

A woman with two young children in hand stopped. “It gets worse before it gets better.” She half smiled and walked away. I took that as a mother’s motto. It has served me well, Faithful Reader. All the way to grandchildren, some of whom are in university and others well established in their careers. I am still curious, when does it get better? “For better or worse” is more than a marriage vow.

Currently, I am in a time period that is becoming the norm and not simply a period of transition. Before I rise in the morning, I plan the order of the day. This has always been my practice. A completely futile one, of course. All it takes is a casual trip to the studio to check last evening’s work for me to be having breakfast at noon, the vacuum cleaner left standing like a Grenadier Guard in the hallway for another day. That delicate little change here or there that will make or break the piece. An exaggeration to a curve, a reduction to a baseline. Perhaps an addition to the height? The morning is gone. The evening evaporates. Lunch? Now it must be dinner. The laundry can wait but the garden will not.

This ramble has been interrupted by a long, long-distance call from the eldest daughter. She and her husband took a sort of vacation from the countryside beyond Annapolis Royal to Halifax and encountered Halifax’s celebration Nocturne. A similar event to Toronto’s Nuit Blanche. A time for the arts communities to come out of their studies and basements.

Many, many years ago, possibly even before you were born, F. R. I wrote an essay for a boarding school French class project. My father had discovered Cole’s Notes. These were self-help booklets on various subjects. A sickly yellow cover with black printing, I think I recall? I decided to somehow use the phrase “nuit blanche” on an upcoming exam. A little show-off stunt to express an expertise in the language I certainly did not have, nor have I ever attained.

Our French/English teacher was a very young, fresh out of school, very nice woman. She stopped me in the corridor and asked what exactly the phrase meant. I explained that it meant “a sleepless night.” She was amused, questioned me how I learned it. Whatever I answered wasn’t exactly a lie. I think in the “olden days,” it would have been described as a “fib.” In other words, according to Oxford Dictionary, a trivial lie.

For my sin, I have never been able to forget the phrase. Nor have I been able to use it. I was delighted when the Toronto arts community named their all-night arts prowl event. I prefer it to Halifax’s Nocturne, don’t you, F. R.?

The Fall newsletter from the Dundas Museum and Archives has a splendid photo of the unveiling of the Dundas Soldiers Memorial monument. You do know it was originally installed downtown near the Fire Hall? The museum reception for this exhibition will be Oct. 27, 8 p. m., 139 Park St., Dundas. Will the world end with a twitter...or a tweet? Not a big bang?

Routine is simply never boring

News Oct 23, 2009 Ancaster News

Many, many years ago on a summery day, I was unloading a six-year-old daughter from the car for her swimming lesson. The three-year- old boy and girl twins escaped and ran off in two directions. Needless to say, we were edging toward being late for the class.

A woman with two young children in hand stopped. “It gets worse before it gets better.” She half smiled and walked away. I took that as a mother’s motto. It has served me well, Faithful Reader. All the way to grandchildren, some of whom are in university and others well established in their careers. I am still curious, when does it get better? “For better or worse” is more than a marriage vow.

Currently, I am in a time period that is becoming the norm and not simply a period of transition. Before I rise in the morning, I plan the order of the day. This has always been my practice. A completely futile one, of course. All it takes is a casual trip to the studio to check last evening’s work for me to be having breakfast at noon, the vacuum cleaner left standing like a Grenadier Guard in the hallway for another day. That delicate little change here or there that will make or break the piece. An exaggeration to a curve, a reduction to a baseline. Perhaps an addition to the height? The morning is gone. The evening evaporates. Lunch? Now it must be dinner. The laundry can wait but the garden will not.

This ramble has been interrupted by a long, long-distance call from the eldest daughter. She and her husband took a sort of vacation from the countryside beyond Annapolis Royal to Halifax and encountered Halifax’s celebration Nocturne. A similar event to Toronto’s Nuit Blanche. A time for the arts communities to come out of their studies and basements.

Many, many years ago, possibly even before you were born, F. R. I wrote an essay for a boarding school French class project. My father had discovered Cole’s Notes. These were self-help booklets on various subjects. A sickly yellow cover with black printing, I think I recall? I decided to somehow use the phrase “nuit blanche” on an upcoming exam. A little show-off stunt to express an expertise in the language I certainly did not have, nor have I ever attained.

Our French/English teacher was a very young, fresh out of school, very nice woman. She stopped me in the corridor and asked what exactly the phrase meant. I explained that it meant “a sleepless night.” She was amused, questioned me how I learned it. Whatever I answered wasn’t exactly a lie. I think in the “olden days,” it would have been described as a “fib.” In other words, according to Oxford Dictionary, a trivial lie.

For my sin, I have never been able to forget the phrase. Nor have I been able to use it. I was delighted when the Toronto arts community named their all-night arts prowl event. I prefer it to Halifax’s Nocturne, don’t you, F. R.?

The Fall newsletter from the Dundas Museum and Archives has a splendid photo of the unveiling of the Dundas Soldiers Memorial monument. You do know it was originally installed downtown near the Fire Hall? The museum reception for this exhibition will be Oct. 27, 8 p. m., 139 Park St., Dundas. Will the world end with a twitter...or a tweet? Not a big bang?

Routine is simply never boring

News Oct 23, 2009 Ancaster News

Many, many years ago on a summery day, I was unloading a six-year-old daughter from the car for her swimming lesson. The three-year- old boy and girl twins escaped and ran off in two directions. Needless to say, we were edging toward being late for the class.

A woman with two young children in hand stopped. “It gets worse before it gets better.” She half smiled and walked away. I took that as a mother’s motto. It has served me well, Faithful Reader. All the way to grandchildren, some of whom are in university and others well established in their careers. I am still curious, when does it get better? “For better or worse” is more than a marriage vow.

Currently, I am in a time period that is becoming the norm and not simply a period of transition. Before I rise in the morning, I plan the order of the day. This has always been my practice. A completely futile one, of course. All it takes is a casual trip to the studio to check last evening’s work for me to be having breakfast at noon, the vacuum cleaner left standing like a Grenadier Guard in the hallway for another day. That delicate little change here or there that will make or break the piece. An exaggeration to a curve, a reduction to a baseline. Perhaps an addition to the height? The morning is gone. The evening evaporates. Lunch? Now it must be dinner. The laundry can wait but the garden will not.

This ramble has been interrupted by a long, long-distance call from the eldest daughter. She and her husband took a sort of vacation from the countryside beyond Annapolis Royal to Halifax and encountered Halifax’s celebration Nocturne. A similar event to Toronto’s Nuit Blanche. A time for the arts communities to come out of their studies and basements.

Many, many years ago, possibly even before you were born, F. R. I wrote an essay for a boarding school French class project. My father had discovered Cole’s Notes. These were self-help booklets on various subjects. A sickly yellow cover with black printing, I think I recall? I decided to somehow use the phrase “nuit blanche” on an upcoming exam. A little show-off stunt to express an expertise in the language I certainly did not have, nor have I ever attained.

Our French/English teacher was a very young, fresh out of school, very nice woman. She stopped me in the corridor and asked what exactly the phrase meant. I explained that it meant “a sleepless night.” She was amused, questioned me how I learned it. Whatever I answered wasn’t exactly a lie. I think in the “olden days,” it would have been described as a “fib.” In other words, according to Oxford Dictionary, a trivial lie.

For my sin, I have never been able to forget the phrase. Nor have I been able to use it. I was delighted when the Toronto arts community named their all-night arts prowl event. I prefer it to Halifax’s Nocturne, don’t you, F. R.?

The Fall newsletter from the Dundas Museum and Archives has a splendid photo of the unveiling of the Dundas Soldiers Memorial monument. You do know it was originally installed downtown near the Fire Hall? The museum reception for this exhibition will be Oct. 27, 8 p. m., 139 Park St., Dundas. Will the world end with a twitter...or a tweet? Not a big bang?