I’m up at 7 this grey November morning, making muffins. I’ve got a latte at my side, early morning radio turned on. The determinedly cheery CBC hosts are prattlling on about football, weather and our country’s newer, more-racist-than-ever refugee laws. My roommate comes downstairs and sniffs the air warily. Hmmm. You baking? She never…
UPDATE. YOUR. BLOG!!! he whispered loudly, intimately in my ear. We were at a drag queen bar on Church Street. I was tired, achey, and exhilarated. I’d just escaped the dusty realm of my mind (we’re talkin marking season, folks). I had attended a performance of spoken word poets, two of whom are my…
The restaurant, Da Divo, had been highly recommended. One of the best in Siena, some said. We ordered, nervously. We’d had some antipasti earlier. We only wanted primi. My travelling companion ordered the wild boar pasta. I had gnocchi with seafood sauce, over a bed of sauteed kale. What fun! It took an age…