tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85247138853102042092024-02-22T06:35:35.436-05:00Confessions, Confusions and Misguided Notions A blog by critically acclaimed author, Colin FrizzellColin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.comBlogger315125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8524713885310204209.post-5240524389660701962015-12-16T21:55:00.000-05:002015-12-16T21:55:18.697-05:00‘Lavender’, Seed to Screen:One Writer's Journey. <div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="line-height: 1.714285714;">July 11th, 2015</span><br />
<br />
<a data-mce-href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt4680980/?ref_=nv_sr_2" href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt4680980/?ref_=nv_sr_2" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;"><em style="outline: none;">Lavender</em></a><span style="line-height: 1.71429;"> has wrapped. My first feature length script is becoming a film. It's a tremendous feeling. Humbling to see so many people investing time and money to bring a story I created to the big screen. It feels surreal. I am immensely grateful. </span><span style="line-height: 1.714285714;">And it was quite a journey get to this point.</span><br />
<br />
<header class="entry-header" style="border: 0px; line-height: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 1.714285714rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><h1 class="entry-title" style="border: 0px; clear: both; font-size: 1.571428571rem; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.2; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<div style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
As a kid I loved scary stories. I would get them from the <a data-mce-href="http://peclibrary.org/index.php" href="http://peclibrary.org/index.php" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">Picton Public Library</a> children's section. But those stories weren't scary enough. I got a book of ghost stories from the adult section in the library, once, but couldn't read it so I asked my older brother to read a story to me. He and I didn't get along but I really wanted to hear the story and I think my parents and sister were worried about it giving me nightmares, which I'm sure it did.</div>
<div style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
At home in Cressy, a hamlet in <a data-mce-href="http://prince-edward-county.com/" href="http://prince-edward-county.com/" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">Prince Edward County</a>, where I grew up, there were old <a data-mce-href="http://www.themysteryplace.com/ahmm/" href="http://www.themysteryplace.com/ahmm/" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;"><em style="outline: none;">Alfred Hitchcock Presen</em><em style="outline: none;">ts</em> magazines</a> lying about. As I got older I read many of them. I also enjoyed the <em><a data-mce-href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0047708/" href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0047708/" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">Alfred Hitchcock Presents</a> </em>(Hitchcock has always been one of my favourites) television shows, as well as <em><a data-mce-href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0052520/" href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0052520/" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">Twilight Zone</a></em> and <em><a data-mce-href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0088478/" href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0088478/" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">Amazing Stories</a></em>.</div>
<div style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
Then came VHS. I recall watching <em><a data-mce-href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0084516/?ref_=fn_al_tt_2" href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0084516/?ref_=fn_al_tt_2" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">Poltergeist</a> </em>at a friend's birthday party. For my twelfth birthday I was allowed to rent<em> <a data-mce-href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0082010/?ref_=nv_sr_1" href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0082010/?ref_=nv_sr_1" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">American Werewolf in London</a>.</em> My friends came over and we watched it with all the lights out. That is until the family dog, Duke, howled and frightened us all half out of our wits, then the lights came on for the remainder of the movie. Everyone got a thrill out of being scared, or wouldn't admit otherwise.</div>
<div style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
We kept renting scary films and would try to make them scarier by doing things like walking through the corn after <a data-mce-href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0087050/" href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0087050/" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;"><em style="outline: none;">Children of the Corn</em></a>, or we'd hop on our bicycles after watching ghosts, werewolves, witches, demons or vampires, and we'd cycle a couple of miles in the dark to sleep in the middle of the woods in a old bus that was converted into a camper.</div>
<div style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
We'd tell ghosts stories around a campfire fire, Most of those stories were local stories, about things that had happened to people we knew, or things we, ourselves, had seen and experienced. There was no shortage of ghosts in Cressy; real or imagined, it all depends on your point of view.</div>
<div style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
So when I decided to write a feature script it had to be a thriller. The idea developed over time. I re-watched all the films that had frightened me, and rented others that were well-known but I had neglected to see. <em><a data-mce-href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0057129/?ref_=nv_sr_6" href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0057129/?ref_=nv_sr_6" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">The Haunting</a></em> (1963 version), <em><a data-mce-href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0055018/?ref_=nv_sr_1" href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0055018/?ref_=nv_sr_1" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">The Innocents</a></em>, <em><a data-mce-href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0070047/?ref_=nv_sr_2" href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0070047/?ref_=nv_sr_2" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">The Exorcist</a></em>, <em><a data-mce-href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0081505/" href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0081505/" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">The Shining</a></em>, <em><a data-mce-href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0084787/" href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0084787/" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">The Thing</a></em>, <em><a data-mce-href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0086336/?ref_=nv_sr_3" href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0086336/?ref_=nv_sr_3" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">Something Wicked This Way Comes</a>,</em> the first <em><a data-mce-href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0080761/?ref_=nv_sr_2" href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0080761/?ref_=nv_sr_2" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">Friday the 13th</a></em>,<em> <a data-mce-href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0077651/?ref_=nv_sr_2" href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0077651/?ref_=nv_sr_2" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">Halloween</a></em>, the list goes on. One of the common factors in all the ones I enjoyed the most, and by enjoyed I mean that terrified me the most and stuck with me, was that there were children involved. That was a starting point. As the ideas formed I decided to research certain psychological conditions. I spent a lot of time at the <a data-mce-href="http://www.torontopubliclibrary.ca/detail.jsp?R=LIB018" href="http://www.torontopubliclibrary.ca/detail.jsp?R=LIB018" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">Toronto Reference Library</a>, still one of my favourite places in the world.</div>
<div style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
All of this was done when I was taking film at <a data-mce-href="https://www.humber.ca/program/film-and-television-production" href="https://www.humber.ca/program/film-and-television-production" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">Humber College</a> and working as an usher at <a data-mce-href="http://www.roythomson.com/" href="http://www.roythomson.com/" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">Roy Thomson Hall</a>. But I never actually put pen to paper until I was in <a data-mce-href="http://visit-belfast.com/" href="http://visit-belfast.com/" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">Belfast</a>. I had<span data-mce-style="line-height: 1.714285714; font-size: 1rem;" style="font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714;"> just finished my first job in film after working as a trainee assistant director on the film </span><em data-mce-style="line-height: 1.714285714; font-size: 1rem;" style="font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714;"><a data-mce-href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0127516/" href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0127516/" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">Divorcing Jack</a></em><span data-mce-style="line-height: 1.714285714; font-size: 1rem;" style="font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714;">, written by </span><a data-mce-href="http://colinbateman.com/" data-mce-style="line-height: 1.714285714; font-size: 1rem;" href="http://colinbateman.com/" style="color: #21759b; font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714; outline: none;">Colin Bateman</a><span data-mce-style="line-height: 1.714285714; font-size: 1rem;" style="font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714;">, directed by </span><a data-mce-href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0128452/?ref_=tt_ov_dr" data-mce-style="line-height: 1.714285714; font-size: 1rem;" href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0128452/?ref_=tt_ov_dr" style="color: #21759b; font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714; outline: none;">David Caffery</a><span data-mce-style="line-height: 1.714285714; font-size: 1rem;" style="font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714;">, and staring </span><span class="itemprop" data-mce-style="line-height: 1.714285714; font-size: 1rem;" style="font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714;"><a data-mce-href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000667/?ref_=tt_ov_st" data-mce-style="color: #70579d;" href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000667/?ref_=tt_ov_st" style="color: #70579d; outline: none;">David Thewlis</a><span data-mce-style="color: #333333;" style="color: #333333;"> and </span></span><a data-mce-href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0341737/?ref_=tt_ov_st" data-mce-style="color: #70579d;" href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0341737/?ref_=tt_ov_st" style="color: #70579d; outline: none;"><span class="itemprop">Rachel Griffiths</span></a><span data-mce-style="line-height: 1.714285714; font-size: 1rem;" style="font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714;">. After that film wrapped I sat at the end of my bed in front of an electric fire place and started to make notes. The real writing wouldn't be done until I returned to Canada and to the farm in Cressy. The rewriting didn't really begin until I was back in Toronto, and back at Roy Thomson Hall. That, I'm pretty sure, was in 1999. </span></div>
<div style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
Continued <a href="http://www.colinfrizzell.ca/?page_id=1070">here</a></div>
</h1>
</header></div>
Colin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8524713885310204209.post-59310918892356062272015-12-16T18:05:00.000-05:002015-12-16T21:52:55.925-05:00I just found this on another site and really liked it so I wanted to share. <br />
<br />
A Catholic Clergyman whose name escapes me was lured unsuccessfully into a war of semantics. He was asked the question, "You believe that your God is the One, True God, correct?" <br />
"Yes," he replied. <br />
"And so the Allah of the Muslims is a false god?" <br />
"No, he is the same god." <br />
"Ah, but they have it wrong.You are more correct than they, for if they were more correct, you would be worshipping their god, being a rational man." <br />
The clergyman stopped for a moment, and then spoke: <br />
"We stand at the edges of a vast, circular ballroom. In the centre, suspended from the ceiling, is the most beautiful chandelier ever created. It not only provides light and heat, it also allows us to see one another, and interact as equals. Each of us, where we stand, see a different aspect of that same chandelier. None is more correct than the other. We choose to view that part of the chandelier, because that aspect is pleasing to us, or actually more pleasing than any other part." <br />
"Oh, and what of those who do not believe in God?" <br />
"Then there are some who choose to not look at the light at all."Colin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8524713885310204209.post-16678619920052696762015-01-18T21:55:00.001-05:002015-01-28T10:27:21.118-05:00Pitfalls of a Brave Heart<div class="MsoNormal">
You were in love.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nothing can diminish that.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You gave your heart to another, trusted them to keep it and gave
your word that you would be true, because you were. You took them at their word because
you believed in something, someone, other than yourself. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nothing can belittle the courage that took. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even if that love wasn’t returned on anything more than a
superficial level. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Perhaps the other person wasn’t capable of giving you any
more than that. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Loving when the love is returned in equal proportion is, one
would assume, an easier task—though still daunting, I’m sure. Such
responsibility. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yet, you loved. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You may feel your relationship was built on, and destroyed
by, lies. Though, to be honest with yourself, it was the truth that dealt the
final blow. The lies just weakened it enough to make it a fatal one.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe the one you loved gave their heart, body and soul to
another, and then, another, while still smiling at you and telling you they
loved you because that was what was easiest for them. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still, you loved. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It may have been that their lies and cheating made you lose
yourself. Your pain made you hurtful, your insecurity made you jealous, the
person who’d brought out the best in you suddenly brought out the worst. You may
have felt shattered, ground down, almost destroyed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s okay. You loved. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If it’s easy to leave, you had no place being there to begin
with. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If the wound takes years to heal because it cut as deeply as
you felt, that is to be expected. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes the forest needs to burn to make way for new
growth. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If the love you thought true turned out to be an illusion,
but the void it left was real and you fell into it, and it into you, and the darkness
still threatens to consume, hold on, you’ll get through.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because, you loved. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you feel that the person you fell in love with never
truly existed. Not as you thought you knew them. That they were only playing a
cruel game of pretended. If the marriage ended in divorce or you had the vows dissolved
by an annulment but like salt in water it isn’t really gone, the water is just
left undrinkable, try and recall how sweet it tasted before it was tainted.
That was all you. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You were the one who loved.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That fact shall remain.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You gave your heart to another, trusted them to keep it and
gave your word that you would be true, because you were.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nothing can ever belittle the courage that took.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nothing can diminish that.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Someday, when your courage returns, so will love. An older
love. A wiser love. One that is equally brave. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If it doesn’t, that’s okay, too. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because you loved. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
And no one can take that from you.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Colin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8524713885310204209.post-23628539088228667842015-01-12T10:42:00.003-05:002015-01-18T21:56:19.880-05:00A Box Called Freedom<div class="MsoNormal">
Why do you seek to control me?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Why not instead try to understand me?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wish I could understand you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But you speak little of yourself </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and instead talk about </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
all
that is wrong with me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You seem to count that as one of your virtues.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You don’t tell me what you believe, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
you tell me what I
believe. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then you dismantle it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Controlling both sides of the argument.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is an exercise in vanity, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
not critical thinking. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Regardless of what others have told you, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
what you heard and
are repeating with </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
confidence and conviction, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
you are only saying </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
what you
believe </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I believe </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
not what </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I actually believe.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In pointing out </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
what you think is </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>my</i> ignorance </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
you are,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
in
fact, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
revealing your own. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We may speak, but we have not spoken.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You say my world is small,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
but you see a mere fraction
of it,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
only what your blinders allow, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
as you safely peek out of your box</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
— a box
you named freedom.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You say I have no curiosity or wonder </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and yet when you talk
at me </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am curious </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
as to how you can be so blind,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wonder </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
how to make you
see.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not to see as I see, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
but allow me to see differently than
you </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and have you still acknowledge, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
perhaps even respect, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
my right to exist as my own person </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
rather than being a reflection of you, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
who are just as much a
product of your culture </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
as you accuse me of being a product of mine. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Products can be so easily disposed of.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not that I need your permission, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
which is something else </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
you
don’t seem to understand. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Colin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8524713885310204209.post-73812577976191753802014-12-16T11:15:00.000-05:002014-12-16T11:38:25.795-05:00Christmas Excerpt from 'Just J' .<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; tab-stops: 0cm 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVRRlMdSfcNgp8UT3x8504RBv2AP-JU3kHgBmgn6Q_bm5GVq8_sTRKxOW5YwOB3O30Ouw7j8H4wzUokFfq3aZZASI0zD2HD6WBLVaqr55h48fAWQQKnYTPHaQxrsyPSpicijLpxjVXlAkh/s1600/Just+J+Norway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVRRlMdSfcNgp8UT3x8504RBv2AP-JU3kHgBmgn6Q_bm5GVq8_sTRKxOW5YwOB3O30Ouw7j8H4wzUokFfq3aZZASI0zD2HD6WBLVaqr55h48fAWQQKnYTPHaQxrsyPSpicijLpxjVXlAkh/s1600/Just+J+Norway.jpg" height="200" width="141" /></a></div>
We
used to make a big deal out of Christmas. Ours was always the largest tree on
the block and on Christmas Eve we’d invite the whole neighborhood over. The
outside of the house would be covered in lights and the inside with tinsel and
fresh cut cedar boughs.<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; tab-stops: 0cm 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We
live near a golf course and Mom would go there at night with Billy, me, a
toboggan and a pair of clippers. She’d cut branches off the cedars that line the course and I’d pile them on and around
Billy, who stayed on the toboggan. He’d do his best to hold onto them. Mom
loved the smell; she’d sniff the end of each one after she cut it. Dad used to
play the course, so he pretended that he didn’t approve, but he’d always tell
Mom which trees needed trimming <i>if</i>
she insisted on cutting them.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; tab-stops: 0cm 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Everyone
was at our Christmas parties. Not just people from the neighborhood but people
from my parents’ work and my school friends too—back when I had friends. Mom would
play the piano and sing Gordon Lightfoot’s ‘Song for a Winter’s Night.’ I’d
tell her she was awful and that it was embarrassing. She’d tell me not to take
things so seriously and to stop worrying about what other people thought. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; tab-stops: 0cm 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> Then she’d convince Dad to sing a duet of
‘Baby It’s Cold Outside.’ I’d always
make it clear to my friends just how mortifying I found it. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; tab-stops: 0cm 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Mom
loved to laugh and have a good time. Entertaining was her thing. She and my dad
would do a dramatic reading of ‘Twas the
night before Christmas,’ acting out the different parts—complete with wardrobe
and props—grabbing some unsuspecting person out of the crowd to spin around
with at the ‘turned with a jerk’ part. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; tab-stops: 0cm 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It
was the very definition of corny, but all the younger kids and the adults—with
the help of a little rum and eggnog—loved it. My friends and I would watch from
the sidelines, making sure always to be laughing at, and never with, them. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; tab-stops: 0cm 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQtm3NIYpS0itPYswus6s1Em1lMYjsZLcyUPHPJGfeWFYf9YEZ_fiFcmXAeu2aMzi-ZaQOXxA_snbf9OazOCs4V6tOaVdFz05i0McwOC9V_0wmeSF6lFf2ivF-V2ty_u5VfRCQftjNc28T/s1600/Just+J+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQtm3NIYpS0itPYswus6s1Em1lMYjsZLcyUPHPJGfeWFYf9YEZ_fiFcmXAeu2aMzi-ZaQOXxA_snbf9OazOCs4V6tOaVdFz05i0McwOC9V_0wmeSF6lFf2ivF-V2ty_u5VfRCQftjNc28T/s1600/Just+J+cover.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">On
Christmas morning, Mom would be up before any of us, even Billy. Dean Martin’s
‘Silver Bells’ blasting from the stereo would awaken the rest of us. She’d
spray fake snow everywhere as we came down the stairs and then we’d rip open
the mound of presents. At least, I think that was us. I remember it all right,
but not to touch, not to feel, just to watch like an old film. Last Christmas<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">—</span>now <i>that</i> I can still feel with
painful clarity.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; tab-stops: 0cm 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">There
was no party, there were no lights outside or cedar inside<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">—</span>only a touch of
tinsel and a sad little tree for a sorry little Christmas. We all had to wait
for Mom to wake up and for Dad to help her down the stairs to the chair by the
fire. He wrapped her in a blanket, put a scarf around her neck and turned up
the gas fireplace. He then straightened the knitted, pale yellow toque she’d
been wearing since she lost her hair. After that he went into the kitchen, made
her a cup of tea and handed it to her gingerly.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; tab-stops: 0cm 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Are
you comfortable?” he asked her for the thousandth time.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; tab-stops: 0cm 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Yes,
I’m fine. Just open your presents.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; tab-stops: 0cm 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“You’re
sure?” he asked again.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; tab-stops: 0cm 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“She’s
fine! Now can we get on with it?” I answered for her. Dad gave me a dirty look
but he didn’t say anything. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; tab-stops: 0cm 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I
vividly remember Mom’s frailty and how not even the fire’s reflection could
give her face any colour. I remember Dad’s patience and gentleness, Billy’s
enthusiasm, my anger. I watched all of it with a great fury and I let that fury
be known for the rest of the day. Why shouldn’t I have been angry? I had lost
<i>my</i> Christmas.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; tab-stops: 0cm 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1TzTqLtF4k2rAwGmS4VWMuaT1sNdfEgrwOUIJzxxLgQbn2vfdOFLg1BtHPWwxF3H2Ug_lAKFFjBI60LaH9tvuf8ieta8ZVixKIu6yyZloOVYd2POCXbv-RzP0L54PG-glRkWqWjD08YlY/s1600/Just+J+Swiss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1TzTqLtF4k2rAwGmS4VWMuaT1sNdfEgrwOUIJzxxLgQbn2vfdOFLg1BtHPWwxF3H2Ug_lAKFFjBI60LaH9tvuf8ieta8ZVixKIu6yyZloOVYd2POCXbv-RzP0L54PG-glRkWqWjD08YlY/s1600/Just+J+Swiss.jpg" height="200" width="140" /></a><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I
got to be in the school’s Christmas pageant, but I was the only one there
without a parent. Dad arranged for me to get a ride with the neighbours and
their kid, Martha. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; tab-stops: 0cm 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Martha
stuck to me all night like a bad smell—literally—and in doing so ensured the
complete destruction of what remained of my social standing.</span><br />
<br />
The thing about Martha, besides her “top student” marks, and her random, loud, snorting laugh, is that she will occasionally stick her hand down the back of her skirt, pull it out and sniff it. She did it that night, on stage!<br />
<br />
My perfect evening was complete when, on the way to the car, Martha grabbed my hand with the hand—Merry Christmas!<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; tab-stops: 0cm 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt;">
</div>
All
I wanted was one morning—Christmas morning—just a couple of hours of normality.
But Mom couldn’t even give us that. How hard would it have been? One hundred
and twenty minutes of pretending everything was all right. That was it. That
was all I wanted.<br />
<br />Colin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8524713885310204209.post-85543910670550858692014-12-11T14:15:00.000-05:002015-01-18T21:55:40.907-05:00A Beautiful Thing (Hard as a Hockey Puck)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNoGEDhSwpXDAAbWoicBWi2dcKkpt756qGasIOIf2A4q3X52vynWXTni-He5ufIChnbj0ftZiSYhf3iYqRrOU0Ko9rn2vXTufNij5XWGUU8FX2uFlEQBlH5eY-Cy0JkrBBAyM_WbARPBcx/s1600/Hockey+One.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNoGEDhSwpXDAAbWoicBWi2dcKkpt756qGasIOIf2A4q3X52vynWXTni-He5ufIChnbj0ftZiSYhf3iYqRrOU0Ko9rn2vXTufNij5XWGUU8FX2uFlEQBlH5eY-Cy0JkrBBAyM_WbARPBcx/s1600/Hockey+One.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
First performed, in 2001, at the<span style="font-style: italic;"> St. Lawrence Centre for the Arts</span>, Toronto, Ontario, by Jason Leighfield: a great actor and an even better friend. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Charles backs onto the stage talking to unseen people in the wings.</span><br />
<br />
“Oh yes I know, I know, the string section alone it was . . . I was taken away, I was truly taken away.”<br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">He stops and turns to the audience. He takes out a pack of cigarettes and starts the fiddle with it while he talks.</span><br />
<br />
It’s what we desire, it’s what we long for, it’s what we live for. The quest for beauty is at the core of our very being. It’s a need, a shared addiction. In every turn we try to find it, capture it. But if we succeed in getting a hold of it we must be sure not to hold it too close, because if we do then we’ll soon tire of it and the beauty will be lost.<br />
<br />
Perhaps, that’s why the things that we secretly find the most appealing, what creates the deepest longing in us, are the things that are denied us: the chocolate bar in the back of the drawer, the magazine under the mattress, the blood on the pavement, the love unrequited. It’s all beautiful, in it’s own way, but we’re not about to admit it in public.<br />
<br />
No, we praise the slender supermodel while longing for the renaissance women; denounce the violence while staring at the screen; compliment the vintage while longing for the hop; and God forbid anyone should light up.<br />
<br />
<i>He takes a cigarette out of the pack, looks around, looks at the cigarette; looks around, again, lifts the cigarette to his nose, smells it like it was a fine cigar, and *SIGHS*. He lowers the cigarette and returns it to the pack and the pack to his pocket. </i><br />
<br />
For years I have professed to finding beauty in artistic and intellectual pursuits: the sorrowful sounds of Sibelius, the mournful notes of the cello; or in the madness which lies in the brush stroke of a starry night; in the forms, and even the very blows of the sculptures chisel.<br />
<br />
Other times I would say, with great depth, that man can not create true beauty. That true beauty lay’s only in nature and that man’s gift was to be able to recognize it. Then I would point out the irony in the fact that we, the only creatures that can appreciate the beauty that surrounds, are in turn the only ones destroying it. I feel ashamed at my arrogant rumblings, now. Now, that I am about to confess to you what my true imagining of beauty is. One defining image.<br />
<br />
I was fourteen. Most of the truly beautiful things we experience in life happen when we are young; that's when we're most open to them. I was with my friends on the frozen lake playing hockey. This, in itself, was a beautiful experience. The sounds of the mental cutting frozen water, the wood hitting the ice, the yells of excitement, surrounded by friends, without a worry in the world and all with one a clear objective.<br />
<br />
There was a rush at the our net. My team was fighting them off. I held back, half way up the ice. Their goalie was my best friend Peter’s little brother who couldn’t stop a puck to safe his life. I knew that if my team could just get the puck to me, I could score from centre.<br />
<br />
Then it happened, the puck broke free and floated down the ice to meet its destiny at the end of my stick. I quickly got it under control, swung around, lined up, pulled back . . . then I saw her. Against the backdrop of the setting sun she was silhouetted by a sky ablaze with the same red passion that burned within me.<br />
<br />
She, was Darlene<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">—</span>Peter’s older sister. She was just on the other side of the goal, practising her figure skating, wearing nothing but those beautiful white skates, pink tube socks, a toque and a scarf. Of course she wasn't really naked, it was -15 for god’s sake, but to me, she was in the buck. I guess I left her the toque and scarf to give the fantasy that touch of realism that made it all seem possible.<br />
<br />
Oh, how the cold did such wonderful things to her porcelain skin with perfect red highlights, the pours all closed tight, everything so firm as she pirouetted. An airbrush can’t compare to the wondrous winter wind. It was amazing. Watching her somehow ripped me from this world made an interracial part of it all at the same time. I couldn't move or think; of course most of my blood was being quickly diverted away from brain to deal with more important matters.<br />
<br />
The trance had such a hold one me that I stayed in it even when my feet were taken out from under me and I glided backward to the cold ice surface. There I lay, flat out. Well, not entirely.<br />
<br />
With all the strength of adolescence one part of me defied gravity, as well as two pairs of long-johns, in order to remain standing. That part continued to stand proudly until Brad clipped its tip with his hockey stick.<br />
<br />
As excruciatingly painful as that was I hold no ill will towards Brad. I came to realize, years later, that the only reason that Brad did what he did, was so that the others won’t see how captivating he found me. Through my eyes Darlene was the perfect Venice, and through Brad’s eyes I was the perfect David. <br />
<br />
Of course, no one would have noticed Brad for they were all to caught up in the game. And Brad and I did our best to pretend that we were that caught up in it, too. That our vision was the same as everyone else's. But it wasn't.<br />
<br />
Thinking of it now, though, I’m not sure if there ever was a true shared vision, or if everyone out there had their own dirty little pictures going through their minds<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">—i</span>mages that they kept tucked in the back of the drawer or under the mattress.<br />
<br />
Years later when I kissed Darlene that still wasn't more beautiful. The all-night conversations and debates that lead to the kiss, when we first made love, our marriage, or the birth of our first child, which is what I tell everyone was the most beautiful sight I’d every seen:<br />
<br />
“Nature, at it finest, working directly through us,” I’d say.<br />
<br />
None of it comes close to seeing her on that ice, with nipples that could cut glass and me hard as a hockey puck and straight as a steel blade.<br />
<br />
<i>He pulls the cigarette pack back out of his pocket, takes a cigarette out of it with his teeth, lights it and takes a long drag. He exhales and watches the smoke drift away. </i><br />
<br />
That, my friends, was beautiful thing.<br />
<br />
<br />
Copyright © Colin Frizzell 2001. All rights reserved.Colin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8524713885310204209.post-23298644318201465832014-12-06T13:24:00.001-05:002014-12-06T13:24:01.659-05:00THE COUNTY WRITES…THE COUNTY READS<span style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #666666; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">SUNDAY ON <em style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">THE COUNTY WRITES…THE COUNTY READS</em> – following the news at noon. “Such Little Time”, Peggy and Art Frizzell’s love story in letters. Jamie Kennedy dis</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #666666; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">cusses his food philosophy and his new cookbook and County FM volunteer and writer, Ken Murray, narrates his story, “The Exception.” Listen on the radio or listen online <a href="http://www.993countyfm.ca/" rel="nofollow" style="border: 0px; color: #3b5998; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_blank">www.993countyfm.ca</a></span>Colin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8524713885310204209.post-89780700232784920552014-11-17T10:44:00.003-05:002015-01-18T21:56:03.642-05:00The Cassette. <div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="border: 0px; color: #141823; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Early November. We were supposed to have been in Toronto by November first. Things always take longer than you think they're going to, especially when you're moving. </span><br />
<span style="border: 0px; color: #141823; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span>
<span style="border: 0px; color: #141823; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It's difficult for Mom to leave the house, even if it's just for the winter. But last winter was so hard and she will be turning 87 this year, she needs to be where she can keep active. Nonetheless, it's the only home she's known in Canada; her mother lived here for a time, also, when she first arrived and later when age made it too difficult for her to keep her apartment in Picton. Dad's mom, who he cared for, died in this house. Grandfather Frizzell died out by the barn, I believe. Dad wanted to die here, too, but had to go to the hospital in the end. Though his spirit does linger. </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="border: 0px; color: #141823; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I decided to give the grass one last cut. I wasn't going to, but Dad always gave it that one last low cut in the fall after letting it grow long. It was supposed to help keep the weeds down in the spring and make the first cut easier. The extra mulch was also good for the lawn. </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="border: 0px; color: #141823; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The headphone jack on my iphone had been damaged in September and my ipod was no longer holding a charge so I had resorted to using my Walkman (which I hadn't used in years and had only recently found one that worked) a few cuts ago. </span><br />
<span style="border: 0px; color: #141823; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span>
<span style="border: 0px; color: #141823; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I grabbed three cassettes: Tony Apler, <i>A Taste for Wine</i>, a Fuji recordable tape without a label, and a cassette with a home-made label with Irish comedy written on it in green. I had found the Irish comedy tape in my office when I was packing the office up the day before; I didn't recognize it and I don't know where it come from. </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="border: 0px; color: #141823; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">While cutting I listened to the wine tape, first. It gave pointers on tasting and cooking with wine and the joy of sharing it with friends etc.. I had always enjoyed drinking wine (since developing a taste for it, through necessity, as a teen. The necessity being that I was at a party and there was nothing else to drink.) After my native home, Prince Edward County, became a wine region, and I went to work at Rosehall Run and then Devil's Wishbone winery, my interest grew.</span><br />
<span style="border: 0px; color: #141823; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span>
<span style="border: 0px; color: #141823; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">When Tony Aper had finished I put on the Fuji tape. It turned out to be Toad to Wet Sprocket, recorded back when I was in college. </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="border: 0px; color: #141823; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I finished the lawn quickly. Some parts, that were shaded by trees, hadn’t grown much since last time I cut it; not having to cut close to the trees sped things up considerably. </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="border: 0px; color: #141823; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">“Dad would be happy,” I said, as came into the house. He was very proud of his well-kept lawn.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="border: 0px; color: #141823; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I had a cup of coffee. I checked my facebook and took a call. I went to go back out and put the lawnmower away for the winter.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="border: 0px; color: #141823; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I was on my way out the door when I turned back. It wouldn't take me long to put the lawnmower away, so it wasn't really worth getting wired for sound. Nonetheless, I picked up the Walkman, again. I felt I should check to see what was on the Irish Comedy cassette before it went into the back of a drawer and was again forgotten about.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="border: 0px; color: #141823; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I inserted the cassette into the yellow player. I pressed play. Nothing. I fast forwarded it a little bit. Nothing. I fast forwarded it a little bit more. Nothing. I was about to turn it off when I heard a crackle. I didn’t recognize that crackled, it’s been so long since I heard it, but it was the sound of someone pressing the record button.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="border: 0px; color: #141823; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I heard her start to sing, ‘The Mountains of Mourne’, and then I heard his voice. I can’t really describe in this moment what that moment was like. I needed to be sure I was hearing what I thought I was hearing. I walked into the room and held an ear bud to Mom’s ear.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="border: 0px; color: #141823; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">She smiled slightly, tears came to her eyes.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="border: 0px; color: #141823; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">“Is that you and Dad singing?” I asked.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="border: 0px; color: #141823; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">She nodded.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="border: 0px; color: #141823; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I put the cassette into the stereo so we could hear it properly.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="border: 0px; color: #141823; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It was the first time hearing him in 11 years. Their singing filled the room, once more.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="border: 0px; color: #141823; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">There was just the one song and then the tape went into an Irish Comedy routine that it was labelled for.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="border: 0px; color: #141823; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The cassette in is a protective case now. Dad’s name added to the label. It won’t be going into the back of a drawer. For a back-up I recorded it with my camera and am sharing it here, with you. It's only a minute, but it's a minute that crossed time, and the great divide, and it means so much. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/CWReTE-YlJo?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br /></div>
Colin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8524713885310204209.post-14790480453024365542014-07-24T09:59:00.002-04:002014-07-24T10:16:54.251-04:00Book Launch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKdjBXF3n3g1dGRCIO3qg2ZwFe2TKkY_E7XppYbhmK4Yowee9xiJkcfKUzYRDPXPTlynxJv2486kucIF_GGlp74SYqSaJ70eUTcpWsOJXmg-HsntKrZvDPAuG6oTYl3d0mBxzuFW24NO1v/s1600/IMG_8953.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKdjBXF3n3g1dGRCIO3qg2ZwFe2TKkY_E7XppYbhmK4Yowee9xiJkcfKUzYRDPXPTlynxJv2486kucIF_GGlp74SYqSaJ70eUTcpWsOJXmg-HsntKrZvDPAuG6oTYl3d0mBxzuFW24NO1v/s1600/IMG_8953.JPG" height="278" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17.920000076293945px;">On August 21st, 2014, at 8:00 p.m., 51 years to the day that Peggy wrote her first letter, to Art, she will be launching the paperback version of her book, ‘Such Little Time: A Collection of Love Letters’, in the building where they first met, on <a href="http://lakeonthemountain.com/">Lake-on-the- Mountain</a>, in a dance hall (affectionately known as the, ‘Bucket of Blood’), which is now, <a href="http://lakeonthemountain.com/dining/the-miller-house/">The Miller House Cafe-Brasserie</a>. Please join us for the celebration as Peggy, at 86, becomes an author for the first time.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17.920000076293945px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17.920000076293945px;">For more information <a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/1523599544536048/">click here</a>.</span>Colin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8524713885310204209.post-10919045554149796392014-07-09T09:56:00.000-04:002014-07-13T15:11:53.940-04:00Being Human<div class="MsoNormal">
There was something that Pope Francis said a while ago, something
like, “You can’t be human alone. You need others to be human with you.” That
stuck with me. Isn’t that what many seek, someone to be human with? Isn’t that
why we read stories? In the pages we find people who aren’t too frightened to love.
Who aren’t afraid to be human. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The world often seems filled with cruel manipulations,
thoughtless, uncaring people so removed from the human condition that you have
to attempt to explain to them what it’s like to feel. You can’t. You can’t break down what being
human is. What it’s like to see someone you care about sick, ageing or dying and
feel their pain and the ache inside you that demands you do something, or at least be there for them in
whatever way you can.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You can’t explain to someone what loyalty is, or the pain of
betrayal, or how much a broken heart hurts. You can’t quantify and qualify
mercy or compassion or what it’s like to be alive on an emotional level. You
simply can’t. If you get angry or upset when watching the news because of all
the pain and needless suffering that people inflict on people; if all the
indifference makes you feel a little ill and someone doesn’t get it because,
hey, it doesn’t affect you directly so who cares? Or that sometimes you need to find a way to laugh at it all, because if you don't laugh it will break you, only to be condemned for being inappropriate. You can’t explain what it’s like to be human. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I heard once that Jesus (who was Jewish, btw) didn’t come to teach us how to be gods;
he came to show us how to be human. That so many misuse his teachings to remove
themselves from their own humanity, and sit in the seat of judgement, is a
discussion for another day. But, maybe, Jesus let himself be tortured and brutalised
so horrendously in hopes to shock us into caring, to touch our heart and make
us appalled by our own brutality, disturbed that people could do this to
someone who did nothing but preach love and kindness, give out free health
care, feed the poor and demand a more equal sharing of wealth; and say that we
should treat each other with the same respect we want for ourselves. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the
story goes, God so loved the world that he gave his only son. If we were a
little more human, we never would have killed him—or so many others since. The
sacrifice would have been unnecessary. He died for our sins and our sins were
fear and indifference. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
I’m rambling now, getting away from my original point. Life
is an emotional journey and what I think most people want is someone to share that
journey with, someone who allows them to feel, allows them to care and who doesn't belittle
them for it. A person who won’t take advantage of our trust or kindness;
who will give us the strength and courage to be vulnerable. Someone to be
human with. Colin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8524713885310204209.post-53619392271014866422014-06-26T09:53:00.000-04:002014-06-26T10:00:08.773-04:00Love Letters Cross the Ocean Once More<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhECDWE8lcrP4MKsyb5lHB-SZJm_RpY7Y-OMCRmptQZQtoSJVWNbSYHcjKEgegN91bQx8BPhyASzuj3X1v12WvfjJnB1q8ZR6__MM7iEWq760HCnwIZAt1SAqQSkod6X3DqTLPwUI09P7KI/s1600/Gazette+Full.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhECDWE8lcrP4MKsyb5lHB-SZJm_RpY7Y-OMCRmptQZQtoSJVWNbSYHcjKEgegN91bQx8BPhyASzuj3X1v12WvfjJnB1q8ZR6__MM7iEWq760HCnwIZAt1SAqQSkod6X3DqTLPwUI09P7KI/s1600/Gazette+Full.jpg" height="289" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px;">Mom and Dad's love letters cross the ocean once more with, </span><a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.ca/Such-Little-Time-Collection-Letters-ebook/dp/B00KRK5AE4/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1403788299&sr=8-1&keywords=Colin+Frizzell" href="http://www.amazon.ca/Such-Little-Time-Collection-Letters-ebook/dp/B00KRK5AE4/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1403788299&sr=8-1&keywords=Colin+Frizzell" style="background-color: white; color: #21759b; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; outline: none;">'Such Little Time: A Collection of Love Letters'</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px;">, getting written up in both hometown papers: The </span><a data-mce-href="http://www.pictongazette.com/" href="http://www.pictongazette.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #21759b; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; outline: none;">Picton Gazette</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px;"> and the </span><a data-mce-href="http://www.newtownabbeytoday.co.uk/" href="http://www.newtownabbeytoday.co.uk/" style="background-color: white; color: #21759b; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; outline: none;">Newtownabbey Times.</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px;"> To read the full article from the Times </span><a data-mce-href="http://www.newtownabbeytoday.co.uk/news/local-news/long-distance-love-letters-are-published-1-6141209" href="http://www.newtownabbeytoday.co.uk/news/local-news/long-distance-love-letters-are-published-1-6141209" style="background-color: white; color: #21759b; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; outline: none;">click here</a>. <span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px;">To read the full Gazette article click on accompanying photo.</span>Colin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8524713885310204209.post-18957460197752044592014-06-06T12:39:00.000-04:002014-08-27T17:40:02.049-04:00Such Little Time: A Collection of Love Letters<div style="margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
<div style="line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
<div style="line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
This is a personal project that has gone through many stages to get to this point. As a writer, as with many jobs in the arts, only the most fortunate (and funded) get to do it full time. Since I discovered and began working with the original love letters I've worked as an usher/bartender at the <a data-mce-href="http://www.stlc.com/" href="http://www.stlc.com/" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">St. Lawrence Centre for the Arts,</a> an office PA on <a data-mce-href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm4712351/?ref_=fn_al_nm_1" href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm4712351/?ref_=fn_al_nm_1" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">Resident Evil: Apocalypse</a>; I became a member of the <a data-mce-href="http://www.dgc.ca/en/index_intro.cfm" href="http://www.dgc.ca/en/index_intro.cfm" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">Directors Guild of Canada</a> (after getting the necessary signatures and completing their training course), and worked as a director's/producer's assistant on <a data-mce-href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0445945/?ref_=nm_knf_i3" href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0445945/?ref_=nm_knf_i3" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">Confessions of an American Bride</a>.</div>
<div style="line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
I received a grant, for <em><a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.ca/Just-J-Colin-Frizzell/dp/1551436507/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1399377627&sr=8-1&keywords=Just+J" href="http://www.amazon.ca/Just-J-Colin-Frizzell/dp/1551436507/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1399377627&sr=8-1&keywords=Just+J" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">Just J</a>, </em>from the <a data-mce-href="http://www.torontoartscouncil.org/" href="http://www.torontoartscouncil.org/" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">Toronto Arts Council</a>; was accepted, as a writer, into <a data-mce-href="http://www.tcu.gov.on.ca/eng/employees/selfEmployment.html" href="http://www.tcu.gov.on.ca/eng/employees/selfEmployment.html" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">Ontario's Self-Employment Benefits Program</a>, which gave me both business training and the time to complete and submit two novels, (<a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.ca/Chill-pb-Colin-Frizzell/dp/1551435071/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1399300490&sr=8-1&keywords=Chill+Colin" href="http://www.amazon.ca/Chill-pb-Colin-Frizzell/dp/1551435071/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1399300490&sr=8-1&keywords=Chill+Colin" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;"><em style="outline: none;">Chill</em></a> and <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.ca/Just-J-Colin-Frizzell/dp/1551436507/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1399300129&sr=8-1&keywords=Just+J" href="http://www.amazon.ca/Just-J-Colin-Frizzell/dp/1551436507/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1399300129&sr=8-1&keywords=Just+J" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;"><em style="outline: none;">Just J</em></a>) which were published by <a data-mce-href="http://www.orcabook.com/searchproducts.cfm" href="http://www.orcabook.com/searchproducts.cfm" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">Orca Book Publishers</a>. With the books being published I was then able to join the <a data-mce-href="http://www.ireland-writers.com/" href="http://www.ireland-writers.com/" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">Irish Writers' Union</a> and the <a data-mce-href="http://www.writersunion.ca/" href="http://www.writersunion.ca/" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">Writers' Union of Canada</a> (allowing me the opportunity to do manuscript evaluations). <span style="line-height: 1.714285714;">I've had a screenplay optioned by friend and filmmaker </span><a data-mce-href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ed_Gass-Donnelly" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ed_Gass-Donnelly" style="color: #21759b; line-height: 1.714285714; outline: none;">Ed Gass-Donnelly</a>;<span style="line-height: 1.714285714;"> an audio play produced by </span><a data-mce-href="http://festivalplayers.ca/" href="http://festivalplayers.ca/" style="color: #21759b; line-height: 1.714285714; outline: none;">Festival Players</a>;<span style="line-height: 1.714285714;"> worked as a writer-in-residence for six semesters with </span><a data-mce-href="http://www.descant.ca/now-hear-this" href="http://www.descant.ca/now-hear-this" style="color: #21759b; line-height: 1.714285714; outline: none;">Now Hear This!'s S.W.A.T. (Students, Writer's And Teachers)</a><span style="line-height: 1.714285714;"> program; completed </span><a data-mce-href="https://www.secondcity.com/training/toronto/coursecatalog/117/" href="https://www.secondcity.com/training/toronto/coursecatalog/117/" style="color: #21759b; line-height: 1.714285714; outline: none;">Second City'</a><span style="line-height: 1.714285714;">s improvisation program (which has been helpful for both writing and presenting); was named poet laureate for </span><a data-mce-href="http://www.smallpondarts.ca/" href="http://www.smallpondarts.ca/" style="color: #21759b; line-height: 1.714285714; outline: none;">Small Pond Arts</a><span style="line-height: 1.714285714;"> annual Stick Festival, and worked for </span><a data-mce-href="http://www.rosehallrun.com/" href="http://www.rosehallrun.com/" style="color: #21759b; line-height: 1.714285714; outline: none;">Rosehall Run</a><span style="line-height: 1.714285714;"> winery (if you'd like to see, and even try, some recipes I wrote for their blog </span><a data-mce-href="http://rosehallrun.wordpress.com/category/recipes/" href="http://rosehallrun.wordpress.com/category/recipes/" style="color: #21759b; line-height: 1.714285714; outline: none;">click here</a><span style="line-height: 1.714285714;">.)</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
While doing that (there's more, and I'm still working at multiple places, but I think that's enough to give you a sense of the time that has past), I was always creating and being a part of other people's creative endeavors. But, these letters were never far from my mind and always in my heart. All things in their own time, they say, and the ebook version of these love letters couldn't have come into being at a more perfect time—what would have been Mom and Dad's 50th wedding anniversary.</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhYUizwjbrOBj9xMbkcIHOpqoyN4q-UERHK2Waq6ZsluX2mUURZAFAkLU0E9bVcsek-FyPh1rgcXz4ubaLMnU-3KCnt2qca_5Ot-sVFUPB61YlNp0iz2HO3nzOpy6aW5_YhdgS0hWtFeJI/s1600/Such+Little+Time+Cover+E-book+to+send.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhYUizwjbrOBj9xMbkcIHOpqoyN4q-UERHK2Waq6ZsluX2mUURZAFAkLU0E9bVcsek-FyPh1rgcXz4ubaLMnU-3KCnt2qca_5Ot-sVFUPB61YlNp0iz2HO3nzOpy6aW5_YhdgS0hWtFeJI/s1600/Such+Little+Time+Cover+E-book+to+send.jpg" height="320" width="193" /></a></div>
The books journey began 11 years ago after my dad died. I knew that Mom and Dad got engaged after only knowing each other for 4 days. I think I even knew that they had written each other during their engagement. What I didn't know was that my dad had kept all of Mom's letters and that Mom still had a few of Dad's. I didn't find that out until after his passing.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
I read them all. I missed my dad and these letters help keep him close and allowed me to get to know more about him.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
There's a bitter sweetness in trying to get to know more about your father after he died; on the one hand you're grateful for the chance, on the other you're filled with regret of not taking more time to do it when he was still alive. You're left with more questions than answers, left in longing.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
I knew these letters were a treasure, something that could be handed down through the generations, for the grandchildren that were too young when he passed, and the ones that were yet to be born. Maybe even for great-grandchildren, great-great grandchildren, and so on. I took on the task of typing them all out.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
Then I thought that they might interest others, too. In a world where love seems robbed of its devotion, loyalty, friendship and strength, reduced to a fleeting and meaningless emotion that flees when difficulties arises<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.714285714;">—and</span><span style="line-height: 1.714285714;"> if you expect more you're a hopeless romantic, a dreamer</span><span style="background-color: white;">—</span><span style="line-height: 1.714285714;">I thought some people might like to see that a lasting love can be very real, and to share in the journey. I talked to my mom, she was okay with it. However, publishers, although taken by the story, didn't feel the letters would draw enough interest. They might be right.</span></div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
So, I took the letters and turned them into a book for the immediate family and gave it to them on Christmas in 2008. It might have ended there but the letters wouldn't leave me alone.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
Loving another human being is a courageous act, it makes you vulnerable and holds in it the possibility of being hurt with a pain that runs so deep few can honestly talk about it outside of music, fiction and verse; to stay the course, through thick and thin, is nothing short of heroic. When anyone manages to make that commonly held, and so rarely realized, dream come true through their efforts, courage and devotion, I feel, it's a story worth sharing. <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.714285714;">Though, I'm aware that my opinion isn't, exactly, unbiased. It's my mom and dad, after-all, without their love I wouldn't have life. That's a big debt to pay. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: Open Sans, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714;">The audience might not be wide enough to interest a traditional publisher, but that doesn't matter. The letter's could still </span><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714;">mean something to a few feeling hearts. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: Open Sans, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: Open Sans, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714;">So, I posted them on my blog and got some very positive feed back. Then the idea of an ebook came up. I pondered the notion, thought about making it available to a wider readership and how Mom, now 86, would </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714;">get to see them published. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714;">Also, whenever I work on the letters I feel Dad closer to me, as I often do when I work in the barnyard.</span></div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
<div style="line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
Dad died less than a month after Mom and his 39th wedding anniversary. Today, June 6th, 2014 would have been their 50th. To mark the occasion the letters are being released as an <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.ca/Such-Little-Time-Collection-Letters-ebook/dp/B00KRK5AE4/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1402014519&sr=8-1&keywords=Colin+Frizzell" href="http://www.amazon.ca/Such-Little-Time-Collection-Letters-ebook/dp/B00KRK5AE4/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1402014519&sr=8-1&keywords=Colin+Frizzell" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">ebook</a>.</div>
<div style="line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
Mom found out on Mother's Day that her and Dad are now authors. There were tears shed. She has now pressed the button to make it official, making their letter's available to the world. Below you'll find the synopsis, forward and a letter from Peggy and one from Art. You can purchase the full book through <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.ca/Such-Little-Time-Collection-Letters-ebook/dp/B00KRK5AE4/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1402014519&sr=8-1&keywords=Colin+Frizzell" href="http://www.amazon.ca/Such-Little-Time-Collection-Letters-ebook/dp/B00KRK5AE4/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1402014519&sr=8-1&keywords=Colin+Frizzell" style="color: #21759b; outline: none;">Amazon</a>. If there is interest it will be coming available in other formats. If not, well, some stories just need to be told. Love stories especially, because the world needs more of them.</div>
</div>
<div align="center" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
<i><span data-mce-style="text-decoration: underline;" style="text-decoration: underline;"> </span></i><strong><em><span data-mce-style="text-decoration: underline;" style="text-decoration: underline;">Such Little Time:</span></em></strong></div>
<div align="center" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
A Collection of Love Letters</div>
<div align="center" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
<b><i><span data-mce-style="text-decoration: underline;" style="text-decoration: underline;"> </span></i></b><i>“The beginning of love is the will to let those we love be perfectly themselves.”</i></div>
<div align="center" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
<span data-mce-style="line-height: 1.714285714; font-size: 1rem;" style="font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714;">— Thomas Merton</span></div>
<div align="center" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
<i data-mce-style="line-height: 1.714285714; font-size: 1rem;" style="font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714;">“Love consists of this: two solitudes that meet, protect and greet each other. ”</i></div>
<div align="center" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
— Rainer Maria Rilke</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: right;" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; text-align: right;">
<div class="WordSection1">
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<b><i><u><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">FOREWORD</span></u></i></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">When I set out to write
the introduction to these letters I went to the library to research 1963: the
civil rights movement in the United States, the election of a new Liberal
government in Canada after a non-confidence vote against Diefenbaker’s Conservatives
over nuclear weapons, the Provisional Irish Republican Army (IRA) had yet to form
in Northern Ireland, but the FLQ (Front
de libération du Québec) were active in Quebec. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I was going to
talk about how people had faith in being able to change the world and hope for
a better future. Kennedy was in the White House, the Beatles had released their
first album (<i>Please, Please Me</i>), <i>Lawrence of Arabia</i> was at the Oscars,
Bond was at the box office, television was sending its first images by
satellite and Martin Luther King made his <i>I
have a dream </i>speech. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But, this
story isn’t about that. This story is about a simpler dream. A dream which is
shared by everyone and that, it seems, you have to give up on in order to find;
once you find it, you have to take a leap of blind faith to have it and give it
everything you’ve got to keep it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">It began, as I’m sure
you’ve surmised, in 1963—August to be exact. Peggy Strain was a 35 year-old
Irish schoolteacher who had been single for the ten years since her first
marriage was annulled—her faith in men had been dissolved with her vows. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She was on
vacation with her mother, Elizabeth (Lily). After having visited Lily’s brother,
Bill, his wife, Florrie, and their family, in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, they went
to Prince Edward Country, Ontario, to visit Lily’s cousin, Martha, or Mrs.
Jarvis as she is referred to with proper respect in the letters.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">While in
Canada they were staying with Mrs. Jarvis’s son, Jack, his wife Grace, and
daughters, Jeanne and Janice. Peggy had been over for visits before and those
visits were greatly welcomed, especially by Janice who just loved her “Aunt”
Peggy. Janice also very much loved her Uncle Art, her mother’s brother.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Art was a bit
of a rogue and, at 40 years old, a confirmed bachelor. The youngest in a family
of four, he had stayed on the farm to look after his mom, but he did so more
out of obligation than a love of the land. His real love was people and he
surrounded himself with them constantly and enjoyed the odd drink, for it
helped keep the party and conversation flowing.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Art was foot-loose and
fancy free, as the saying goes, and he was quite happy to be that way. So, when
his niece got her mother, Art’s sister, Grace, involved in setting him up with
some strange Irishwoman that he’d never met, well, he wasn’t too keen. And
Peggy, she went along with it as much to be a gracious guest as anything. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">There was to
be a dance at the <i>Lake-on-the-Mountain</i> hall, which was owned and
operated by Art’s older brother Hugh, and his wife Bernice. Art’s oldest
brother, George, and his wife, Betty, were also going to be there. Grace would
bring Peggy. Art would come with his brothers. But Art, having never meet Peggy,
decided that she wouldn’t be his “type” and went into town to have a few drinks
with, “the boys”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">After a few
hours, Peggy was none too amused with this Canadian hospitality. Meanwhile, Art
was getting pretty bored with town and decided to head home. Since <i>Lake-on-the-Mountain
</i>was on his way he saw no harm in stopping by—this was when the small town
country boy first learned of an Irish temper. He was instantly captivated and,
though she didn’t show it, so was she.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Four days
later they got engaged. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The catch was
that Peggy had to go back to Ireland and stay there for eight months before she
could return. The extra little wrinkle was that Peggy didn’t own a phone so the
only way they could communicate was through letters. They wrote each other
faithfully and often. Their obstacles became our treasures.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">This is the story of Art
and Peggy. It’s a tale of what all stories worth telling are about: love. Not
just any kind of love, but a love which blooms in almost the first moment your
eyes meet and lasts until your last breath and beyond. I grew up knowing this
story but never appreciating its wonder, its rarity, and the courage that they
both had in order to bring it to life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Despite
knowing the story, while reading the letters I still found myself wondering
what the outcome would be, if they’d get together, if it would last, what was
going to happen? Even though there are only seven of the seventy odd letters
Art wrote—because of a pact that they both made and that Art, fortunately,
broke and Peggy only partially held—the story still comes across. It not only
shows the love and the longing that they had for each other at the time, but it
echoes the longing that would return nearly four decades later when they were
once again torn apart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The letters
didn’t just keep my attention; they also kept me calling my fiancée—who was 200
kilometres away at the time—and telling her how much I loved her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">My own
marriage not working out has only made me appreciate this love story all</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">the more. I understand, now, just how much care, work, and mutual
devotion a loving marriage takes to survive—and how rare that truly is.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I hope that
you not only enjoy these letters as much as I do, but that you get as much from
them—and more. That you squeeze your loved one’s hand just a little harder or
give them an extra goodnight kiss. Most of all I hope you find the courage to
do what is the bravest thing anyone one can do: give yourself, fully, to another,
without losing who you are, while letting them be, fully, who they are—as Dad
demanded in one of his letters.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">A lasting love
isn’t for the fickle or the faint of heart.</span></div>
</div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="mso-break-type: section-break; page-break-before: always;" /></span> 1d Bracken Way</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: right;" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; text-align: right;">
<span data-mce-style="line-height: 1.714285714; font-size: 1rem;" style="font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714;">Rushpark</span></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: right;" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; text-align: right;">
Newtownabbey</div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="text-align: right;" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; text-align: right;">
<span data-mce-style="line-height: 1.714285714; font-size: 1rem;" style="font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714;">Co.Antrim</span></div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="text-align: right;" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; text-align: right;">
<span data-mce-style="line-height: 1.714285714; font-size: 1rem;" style="font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714;">N. Ireland</span></div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="text-align: right;" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; text-align: right;">
<span data-mce-style="line-height: 1.714285714; font-size: 1rem;" style="font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714;">21 August 1963</span></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; text-align: left;">
<span data-mce-style="line-height: 1.714285714; font-size: 1rem;" style="font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714;">Dear Art,</span></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; text-align: left;">
<span data-mce-style="line-height: 1.714285714; font-size: 1rem;" style="font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714;">I find it hard to believe that so many miles are separating us when it is such a short time since we were together. How I would just love to be able to call up and hear your voice—you see I miss you already. Yesterday morning in Picton I moved into mother’s bed as I felt cold (thermostat not working again) and when I woke up I felt something touching my back. For one wonderful moment I thought that we were married and that you were there beside me. Art, I do love you so. Ireland doesn’t seem home to me any more because you are not here. It is true when they say home is where the heart is.</span></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; text-align: left;">
<span data-mce-style="font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714;" style="font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714;">We had a very pleasant flight back and other than waking up to eat supper and breakfast I slept most of the way. We were only 8 3/4hours in the air but when we landed at Belfast airport we had to remain on the plane for another hour as Customs and Immigration lounges were so busy. However, even so, we were back at the flat before 8 a.m. We’ve had breakfast and Mother has gone to lie down as she did not sleep last night at all and very little the </span>previous<span data-mce-style="font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714;" style="font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714;"> night.</span></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; text-align: left;">
<span data-mce-style="line-height: 1.714285714; font-size: 1rem;" style="font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714;">I can’t remember if I thanked your mother for giving us such a wonderful engagement party. If not will you give her my thanks now. I will treasure the memories of that important day all my life, together with the happiness I feel. I hope that you feel the same way, too. I wonder when we will be together again? I hope it is soon as I feel I will be impatient with any delay for moments we are apart seem wasted.</span></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; text-align: left;">
<span data-mce-style="line-height: 1.714285714; font-size: 1rem;" style="font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714;">I have so many thoughts in my head, but I am finding difficulty in putting them down on paper, so I hope that you understand all that I am trying to say.</span></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; text-align: left;">
<span data-mce-style="line-height: 1.714285714; font-size: 1rem;" style="font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714;">The weather here is cool and breezy just as I thought it would be. The sky is overcast and I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some rain. What a change from the beautiful weather we left in Canada.</span></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; text-align: left;">
<span data-mce-style="line-height: 1.714285714; font-size: 1rem;" style="font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714;">I will write again at the beginning of next week when I find out the details about how long I’ll have to work. Of course, this doesn’t mean that you are not to write until after you receive my next letter. I am waiting eagerly to hearing from you, so please write very soon. By the way I’m still known here as Mrs. Peggy Strain—but not for long I hope.</span></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
All my love forever</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem; text-align: left;">
<span data-mce-style="line-height: 1.714285714; font-size: 1rem;" style="font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.714285714;">Peggy.</span></div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</div>
<div align="right" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
Sunday Aug. 25/63</div>
<div align="right" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
RR#4</div>
<div align="right" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
Picton</div>
<div align="right" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
Ont.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
My Darling Peggy,</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
I received your wonderful letter yesterday morning. I can’t tell you how happy I am to know that nothing has changed. I sometimes think it must have been just a wonderful dream. I guess I’ll not really believe it’s true until I hold you in my arms again. I love you very much and think of you constantly. If you feel as strongly as I do I am wondering how you can concentrate on your school work. My work on the farm requires very little concentration, it’s work I have done so much I can just do it more or less automatically.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
Well honey I’m late again as usual. It is 12 o’clock Sunday night. I went church to-night and after church Betty and George and the boys came over. We had a lunch and have been visiting. They just left so I thought I had better write you to-night so I could send it by to-morrow’s mail. I only hope this letter means as much to you as your letter meant to me. I took quite a razzing at church to-night, but I find I rather enjoyed it. Cressy is still recovering from the shock of its No.1 bachelor getting engaged. However, I am sure when they meet you they will understand.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
There has been very little going on around here since you left. How I wished last night that you could be here to go to the dance with me, but since you were not I had no desire to go, so I watched television. My darling I am so anxious to know how soon you will be able to come back to me, I miss you so much. I do hope it will be soon. The Cressy people are all very anxious for you to get back too. I don’t know whether they are thinking of our happiness or just want to have a party. There has been no marriage in Cressy for a couple of years and the natives are bubbling with anticipation. Betty got your address from me to-night. She wants to be able to inform you if I misbehave, but you know she doesn’t have to worry about that. Maybe she doesn’t realize the effect a love like ours can have on a wayward bachelor.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
Like you Peggy there were many things I wanted to say, but since starting to write I can’t seem to bring them out. However since we both feel the same I guess it’s not necessary because we both know without saying. I do love you very much and Long for your safe return.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
I have been trying to make some plans for our future, but I can do nothing without you. Sometimes things work out better if there are not too many plans made in advance, so I am just waiting until you are with me again. The weather has been very nice here lately and I wish you could be here to share it. To-morrow I will be picking tomatoes. I am sure then I will think of a thousand things that I wanted to tell you but right now it is like when we were together, I can only think of how much I love you. When I put the ring on your finger I would love, liked very much to have made a pretty speech and told you what was in my heart but the lump in my throat wouldn’t let me have said much even if I could have thought of it. I am sure you understand Peggy Darling. Well Peggy I guess this will have to do for now. I will try to do better next time.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
Write soon. I love you.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
Art.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
P.S. I suppose I’ll have to address this as you instructed but I hate to think of you as Mrs. anybody. Except Mrs. Art Frizzell.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
Love and Kisses</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
Art</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.714285714; margin-bottom: 1.714285714rem;">
To read more on Kindle please go to</div>
</div>
Colin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8524713885310204209.post-80214718763278840292014-05-29T09:03:00.002-04:002014-05-29T09:03:55.654-04:00Maya Angelou (R.I.P.)A brilliant conversation between <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=08zXTyAb6TY">Dave Chappelle and Maya Angelou</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And Maya Angelou on the liberating force of love.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/cbecKv2xR14?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Colin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8524713885310204209.post-90763641112876718632014-05-16T11:38:00.001-04:002014-05-22T08:42:20.110-04:00Memories of Daisy Bell<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">My newsfeed
brought me videos, yesterday, of contemporary artists (<i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pWIhWImL4iw">Nick Cave</a>, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IrLlEiTIGb4">Danny Elfman</a>, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JZlKDHDvduY">Katy Perry</a></i>) covering the song ‘Daisy Bell’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I clicked, I
listened and, as music often does, it brought back memories.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">My grandma, Lily,
taught me ‘Daisy Bell’, or, 'Bicycle Built for Two' as it's sometimes called. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I remember her
singing it in the kitchen while making her French toast, which was the best
French toast, in the world, EVER.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Daisy remained in
Grandma’s mind when the Alzheimer’s progressed into it like an invading army
killing her loved ones by erasing them one by one. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I remember the
day when my grandma no longer recognized me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Mom and I went
into the nursing home, after school (Mom was a teacher).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Grandma was
sitting alone in the front common area. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">She was staring
straight ahead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Mom crossed in
front of her and Grandma watched Mom as she sat down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Mom put left hand on Grandma's right hand and turned to face her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Grandma hadn’t
recognized her daughter in some time, but the personal contact didn't bother Grandma, her </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">expression was warm and welcoming.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Perhaps the touch
felt familiar.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">“Colin’s here,” I
think I remember Mom saying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Grandma looked up and then turned to me, I was now seated on her left hand side.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Her face didn’t
light up the way it normally did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Her lips curved
into a smile showing her false teeth, and her Irish eyes sparkled, but it was a
<i>‘Nice to meet you’</i> smile not a <i>'So glad to see you'</i> glow. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">There was none of
the excitement of recognition behind it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I was the last to
go. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">She had forgotten
everyone else before me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I should have
known my day would come, but I was young, naïve or maybe just hopeful. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Strange looking
back at it now, it was like she knew she didn’t know and had accepted that
everyday she’d be in a strange place surrounded by strangers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">But she kept
smiling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I don’t remember
her talking, but I do recall her singing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">For years to
come—Alzheimer’s is neither quick nor merciful—if Mom started to sing Daisy
Bell, Grandma would sing it with her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Daisy Bell wasn’t
the only song Grandma still sang, there was also, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">
‘Oh dear, what can the matter be,</span></i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">
dear, dear, what can the matter be,</span></i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">
Oh dear, what can the matter be,</span></i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">
Johnny’s so
long at the fair.’</span></i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I’m almost
certain she sang Molly Malone and Black Velvet Band.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">When she couldn’t
sing, anymore, she would hum. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I can’t recall if
I sang along. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I’d like to think
I did, but I don’t know. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I wish I could
remember.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">It hurts not to
remember.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I can’t imagine
what it must have been like for her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">But music stayed
with her, it comforted her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I am grateful to
it for that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">When all that we
think of as being us<i> </i>is gone, when all we were is erased, something
remains and that something responds to music, love and touch. <span class="apple-converted-space"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Those things
endure and they bring pleasure and peace; they allow us to communicate when
words lose their meaning; enable us to stay connected to each other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Even as I write
this I can’t trust that my memory is giving me all the correct information but
there’s a feeling that stays steady, like a boat’s keel unseen below the
surface but helping us deal with the stormy seas. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Like love, this
feeling can’t be explained but it can sometimes be relayed in a touch and found
in music; a frequency, energy, just beyond the reach of our five senses or even
the tools we use to heighten them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">If we let our
self be sensitive toward it, it can be felt. It’s the . . . something more. In
that <i>something more</i> Grandma is there and she’s still singing. Maybe in the
notes themselves or in the silence between them, but in that place, beyond our
senses, beyond mind and memory, somewhere in the mystery, she remains. And
all it took was a song on my newsfeed to remind me that those who I miss are
never far from me. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
</div>
Colin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8524713885310204209.post-78281240210977994592014-05-09T07:10:00.002-04:002014-05-09T07:10:37.144-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjYMiAP70mm-VSdoxBn7fmSG_rmuh62OmagsIMcTiWkpH63kfEsadbWuz08MpFRe2NMIXuDl775mHhVzxUdPl8zy8qyf7WTTGx8jqUDrfwmod8RaJN9_qnvesB0YKrPhUxfJ1ObQChtvj9/s1600/Spring+Pruning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjYMiAP70mm-VSdoxBn7fmSG_rmuh62OmagsIMcTiWkpH63kfEsadbWuz08MpFRe2NMIXuDl775mHhVzxUdPl8zy8qyf7WTTGx8jqUDrfwmod8RaJN9_qnvesB0YKrPhUxfJ1ObQChtvj9/s1600/Spring+Pruning.jpg" height="320" width="272" /></a></div>
<br />Colin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8524713885310204209.post-47835154520597882872014-04-28T12:36:00.001-04:002014-04-29T13:33:27.637-04:00How To Live With Yourself (a free 10 point psychiatric evaluation)<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was a kid, I think about twelve, I heard my parents
and neighbours laughing in the kitten. I entered to discover that they were
listening to a cassette tape of a comedian telling jokes—as comedians tend to
do. After the neighbours left I got my hands on the tape and played it for some of my
friends. We listened to it several times. I don’t think any of us, as kids, fully
realized that through, and between, those jokes we were learning some basics in
psychology from <em><span style="background: white; font-style: normal;">psychologist
</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white;">Dr.
Murray Banks.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white;">I still have that tape and have listened to it many times since. I even
played it for some of my students during my first year as a writer-in-residence
with Now Hear This!’s magnificent S.W.A.T. (Students, Writers, And Teachers)
program. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white;">I have no idea how much this recording has influenced me or my writing
but trying but understanding the psychology of your character, the reason they
do what they do, is important in understanding them as it is important in
understanding yourself. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white;">The other day I decided to do a search for Dr. Murray Banks on-line and
was pleased to discover that someone had posted his recordings on Youtube. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-size: 12pt;">Here’s
a clip from, <i>How To Live With Yourself,</i> where Dr. Banks begins to give the
listener a free 10 point psychiatric evaluation.</span></span><br />
<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/kLwIIKmjKS0?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></span>Colin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8524713885310204209.post-91376813066453740102014-04-23T21:15:00.003-04:002014-04-24T08:16:17.797-04:00Leaving the Door Open<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I love this. I came across it through Upworthy on facebook. If you don't like facebook, you're using it wrong. Bored with your newsfeed? Like more interesting things. Your friends are boring you? Get new ones. Or, maybe, the fault isn't with your friends. But I'm being negative, I'm saying what's wrong with you and not what's wrong with me. There are many faults to choose from. That is one of the beautiful things about this piece. It's not about being right, or wrong, it's about being you, being honest about who you are and, hopefully, finding someone who will love you for that. And, until that happens, finding the courage to leave the door open. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/vnKZ4pdSU-s?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Colin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8524713885310204209.post-6029658864234708512014-04-11T14:26:00.002-04:002014-04-24T08:15:48.415-04:00Sham-A-Ling-Dong-Ding<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">One of my favourite all-time songs. Whenever the world seems cruel and unkind, this is where I go to be reminded of gentle souls. Today the world lost one of them. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">R.I.P. Jesse Winchester.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> T</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">hank you.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/5uKGWpqnS8E?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>Colin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8524713885310204209.post-16674783447011114092014-04-04T15:56:00.000-04:002014-04-11T14:27:24.834-04:00April: National Poetry Month<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>A Poem by Colin Frizzell</i><br />
<i><u><br /></u></i>
<i><u>Bridging the Void</u></i><br />
<i><u><br /></u></i>
Poetry,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
prose, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
film,<br />
music,<br />
dance,<br />
painting,<br />
sketching,<br />
sculpting,<br />
carpentry,<br />
architecture,<br />
gardening,<br />
landscaping,<br />
culinary arts,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
photography:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
communication </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
attempts<br />
to try<br />
and</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
bridge<br />
the void;<br />
create<br />
a state of wonder<br />
where we are<br />
touched</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
without touching;<br />
experiencing<br />
the unseen<br />
through feelings,<br />
not feeling;<br />
broken open,<br />
exposed;<br />
outside<br />
our self<br />
we become<br />
one <span style="font-size: 12pt;">—</span><br />
comfortable,<br />
together,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
in<br />
silence.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;"> © 2014 Colin Frizzell</span></div>
Colin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8524713885310204209.post-24668438457334917512014-01-22T17:19:00.001-05:002014-01-22T17:25:40.624-05:00Bill Gates/CBC Radio, As it HappensI heard Bill Gates in an interview last night on CBC radio, <span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.cbc.ca/asithappens/features/2014/01/21/interview-with-microsoft-founder-bill-gates-on-ending-poverty/"><i><span style="color: blue;">As it Happens</span></i></a>,</span> talking about<span style="color: blue;"> <u><i>3 myths that are blocking progress for the poor</i>. </u></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">I found it interesting and thought I'd share. </span>Colin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8524713885310204209.post-59443644079666533242014-01-18T14:40:00.000-05:002014-01-22T15:35:36.465-05:00Writing and Money<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; line-height: 18px;">After a presentation I did in front of a large 80+ group of elementary school students, for the </span><a data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/page.php?id=17572765228&extragetparams=%7B%22directed_target_id%22%3A0%7D" href="https://www.facebook.com/torontopubliclibrary" style="background-color: white; cursor: pointer; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: blue;">Toronto Public Library</span></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; line-height: 18px;">, one of the students ran up to me afterwards with a small group in tow. They looked so excited I couldn't help but feel like a bit of a celebrity.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">"So," she said, "are you, like, rich?" </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">"No," I said.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">"Oh," she said. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">Her and her friends turned their backs on me and walked away.</span><br />
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="color: #37404e;">I was reminded of that autobiographical story this morning after reading an article in </span><i><a href="http://www.theguardian.com/uk"><span style="color: blue;">The Guardian</span></a></i><span style="color: #37404e;"> about how little writers get paid. And we do, most of us. I'm going to save my </span></span><span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">tirade on </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">the subject since it would be set off by the comments section and not the article. Anyway, read and enjoy. If you are thinking of becoming a writer, consider. If you are driven to write then nothing is going to stop you so read and prepare. </span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/jan/17/writers-earn-less-than-600-a-year?CMP=fb_gu"><i><span style="color: blue;">Most writers earn less than £600 a year, survey reveals</span>.</i></a></span></div>
Colin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8524713885310204209.post-76731647049014747012014-01-06T15:21:00.000-05:002014-01-22T15:37:39.085-05:00Ice StormPhotos from the pre-Christmas Ice Storm.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzhmJtAzByylvA_oOsV1BZmeViUqY-2Zbn75SQ3t4i3zmVLmdI_AubZHusdoZAhs-d2Tzg0Ffu2ylIGjF70U3Izn7RCSvCODW7gpWKiW4f8_1rQAosaLUlBsQHuMfXAIYLM4RceZabdnB1/s1600/IMG_3599.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzhmJtAzByylvA_oOsV1BZmeViUqY-2Zbn75SQ3t4i3zmVLmdI_AubZHusdoZAhs-d2Tzg0Ffu2ylIGjF70U3Izn7RCSvCODW7gpWKiW4f8_1rQAosaLUlBsQHuMfXAIYLM4RceZabdnB1/s1600/IMG_3599.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi14MG6i73JDUmm_vMh8K1FPRTuqh_Hznk5RVcKZzfmOpeGdXgpXsXz0NcMUgUMUve6OQvzLIGKTz3vOQ1ebUei322czKkXJeHySTDpVGUhKjMBobGhtczNcbFTOnWCtvAiT_LV5JZN5CbU/s1600/IMG_3608.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi14MG6i73JDUmm_vMh8K1FPRTuqh_Hznk5RVcKZzfmOpeGdXgpXsXz0NcMUgUMUve6OQvzLIGKTz3vOQ1ebUei322czKkXJeHySTDpVGUhKjMBobGhtczNcbFTOnWCtvAiT_LV5JZN5CbU/s1600/IMG_3608.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ5BTrhC4Cbt4RICqlLLE6r9x87BehnpSmY4_RWSiQz3XSpCtP0iuaI8L3759ZEqY1UZDTkZFVGkFi0SWbN4brInE66i3sBDRUYTC2ZvQu2E-SCaFkVkhDPBfBQlAg00tf7pPePXHECWUw/s1600/IMG_3643.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ5BTrhC4Cbt4RICqlLLE6r9x87BehnpSmY4_RWSiQz3XSpCtP0iuaI8L3759ZEqY1UZDTkZFVGkFi0SWbN4brInE66i3sBDRUYTC2ZvQu2E-SCaFkVkhDPBfBQlAg00tf7pPePXHECWUw/s1600/IMG_3643.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUDJLkP-Y1FnHLsfOpY78jRuo1YTco8r5ap9qmKFdu14H6XmPiPbh9bwSS5UYUqG-AC5mbwlJqmPaHiIjQIuVIxqe9mrCPTNMlMl1XulGFRFiewfDzV-XpmDFI08y0BkT1kqaZ3UXctJff/s1600/IMG_3684.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUDJLkP-Y1FnHLsfOpY78jRuo1YTco8r5ap9qmKFdu14H6XmPiPbh9bwSS5UYUqG-AC5mbwlJqmPaHiIjQIuVIxqe9mrCPTNMlMl1XulGFRFiewfDzV-XpmDFI08y0BkT1kqaZ3UXctJff/s1600/IMG_3684.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA3XxaWkZGdOEG26KHi7XM5G0okw60KQB7f7BYlXDkJoAw-1TtEJP94Qg_wvXPEhdndw1RX2gMrGStUDBfqUuFQ3Sv3OXnNvUAEnVR3IuJQs5GXEfMvfHkN4LrF9pU8GgVMS22ECisNw9D/s1600/IMG_3693.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA3XxaWkZGdOEG26KHi7XM5G0okw60KQB7f7BYlXDkJoAw-1TtEJP94Qg_wvXPEhdndw1RX2gMrGStUDBfqUuFQ3Sv3OXnNvUAEnVR3IuJQs5GXEfMvfHkN4LrF9pU8GgVMS22ECisNw9D/s1600/IMG_3693.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3mSXkSsB6yQZlejIF_Bm4JtdGDha8ctXinZZboSHpoR6N247ap8ceNQkk_qVmIWJVLoaTnKpLvL3bNyi0i03dG3A9Zra5J8NhP4GLn-s7t0DZ2BEQJ6X4dO74cZEAwMXXrOth8DGlhDE3/s1600/IMG_3724.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3mSXkSsB6yQZlejIF_Bm4JtdGDha8ctXinZZboSHpoR6N247ap8ceNQkk_qVmIWJVLoaTnKpLvL3bNyi0i03dG3A9Zra5J8NhP4GLn-s7t0DZ2BEQJ6X4dO74cZEAwMXXrOth8DGlhDE3/s1600/IMG_3724.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSK0tvKBB8uP5Y7TkKbpqr2sbgysDJPg-9W9JtkC_Znk_Tggji0dHSlejMtjCq4okyxWf6nlgUAKevcw_GjbD3IcJ-I07j2MEOq1hvWmPcyWus1VgBgsgVo0JIuP-88lDO1p1AzFFPM7Ey/s1600/IMG_3780.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSK0tvKBB8uP5Y7TkKbpqr2sbgysDJPg-9W9JtkC_Znk_Tggji0dHSlejMtjCq4okyxWf6nlgUAKevcw_GjbD3IcJ-I07j2MEOq1hvWmPcyWus1VgBgsgVo0JIuP-88lDO1p1AzFFPM7Ey/s1600/IMG_3780.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Colin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8524713885310204209.post-64975352946664977502014-01-01T12:36:00.002-05:002014-01-22T15:36:45.963-05:00Top Six 2013<span style="font-family: inherit;">My attempt at a top six favourites list. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Album: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aK59GDfWvsg"><span style="color: blue;">‘Push the Sky Away’, Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds</span></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Single: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v2o0nCLLDUQ"><span style="color: blue;">‘Daring to Love', Ane Brun </span></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Book: <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/books/video/2013/oct/11/booker-prize-2013-colm-toibin-the-testament-of-mary-video"><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;"> '<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 115%;">The
Testament of Mary',</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 115%;"> by </span></span></span></a><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.theguardian.com/books/video/2013/oct/11/booker-prize-2013-colm-toibin-the-testament-of-mary-video"><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;">Colm Tóibín </span></a><span style="color: #444444; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Film:</span><span style="color: #444444; font-size: small;"> </span><span style="color: blue; font-size: small;">'</span></span><em><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-style: normal;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eUdM9vrCbow"><span style="color: blue;">Django Unchained', Quentin Tarantino</span></a><span style="color: #444444;">, or </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ufsrgE0BYf0"><span style="color: blue;">'Gravity', Alfonso Cuarón, Jonás Cuarón</span></a></span></em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><em><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-style: normal;">Television Show:<span style="color: blue;"> <u>'</u></span><span style="color: blue;"><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0903747/"><span style="color: blue;">Breaking Ba</span></a><u>d</u>'</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">, </span></span></span></em></span><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0319213/?ref_=tt_ov_wr" itemprop="url" style="background-color: white;"><span class="itemprop" itemprop="name"><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;">Vince Gilligan</span></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<em><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Favourite
Recipe: <a href="http://www.taste.com.au/recipes/24360/one+pan+mexican+chicken"><span style="color: blue;">One-pan Mexican Chicken</span></a><span style="color: #444444;">. I love things that only use one dish. </span></span></span></em></div>
Colin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8524713885310204209.post-5692381732418513702013-12-04T13:38:00.002-05:002013-12-04T15:07:20.629-05:00Snobbery and Young Adult and Children's Literature <span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">I share this only to address
the too commonly held snobbery, which this <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2013/dec/04/children-fiction-not-great-literature-kent-university?CMP=fb_ot">article</a><span style="font-size: small;"> perpetuates, that says a
book written for adults is superior to one written for children, or young adults,
simply because it was written for adults. By that reasoning, </span><i><a href="http://www.eljamesauthor.com/books/fifty-shades-of-grey/">Fifty Shades of Grey</a></i><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.eljamesauthor.com/books/fifty-shades-of-grey/"> </a>is superior to </span><i><a href="http://www.annefrank.org/en/Anne-Frank/The-diary-of-Anne-Frank/">The Diary of Anne Frank</a></i><span style="font-size: small;">, </span><i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/To_Kill_a_Mockingbird">To<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></a></i></span><em style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/To_Kill_a_Mockingbird">Kill a Mockingbird</a></em><span style="font-family: inherit;"> or </span><i style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.thehungergames.co.uk/">Hunger Games</a></i><span style="font-family: inherit;">. Dan Brown is superior to </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Cormier" style="font-family: inherit;">Robert Cormier</a><span style="font-family: inherit;">,
<a href="http://www.scholastic.com/teachers/contributor/e-b-white">E.B. White</a>, <a href="http://www.tolkiensociety.org/tolkien/biography.html">J.R.R. Tolkien</a>,<a href="https://www.cslewis.com/us"> C.S. Lewis</a> or</span> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roald_Dahl" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;" title="Roald Dahl"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Roald Dah</span><span style="background: white; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">l</span></a><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">. </span><i style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.sparknotes.com/lit/flies/">Lord of the Flies</a> </i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">is a YA novel, so is </span><i style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/c/the-catcher-in-the-rye/the-catcher-in-the-rye-at-a-glance">The Catcher in the Rye</a></i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">;
should they be dismissed as inferior to </span><i style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Hunt_for_Red_October">Hunt for Red October</a></i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small; line-height: 115%;"> or </span><i style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carrie_(novel)">Carrie</a></i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">? I
don’t know why this snobbery </span></span><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">exists</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">, maybe it’s because children’s and YA
books, similar to sci-fi, fantasy and horror, tend to address issues in a more
subversive way (<a href="http://www.online-literature.com/hans_christian_andersen/">Hans Christian Anderson</a>’s </span></span></span><i style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">The Emperor's New Clothes</i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">, </span><i style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">The
Ugly Duckling</i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">) and some adults don’t see it because they aren’t looking. Or,
perhaps, it’s because some adults see themselves as being more important than
children and therefore anything made for them is by extension more worthy. If
that is case they would do well to remember the wise words of <a href="http://www.seussville.com/">Dr. Seuss</a>, “Adults
are just obsolete children and the hell with them.”</span><span class="apple-converted-space" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span>Colin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8524713885310204209.post-15319444868558484362013-11-26T18:19:00.001-05:002014-01-22T15:38:26.330-05:00Grateful <span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I’m grateful for having a keen ear. I’m grateful for fire extinguishers. I’m grateful for the telephone. I’m grateful for, and to, close neighbours and friends with fire extinguishers. I’m grateful for, and to, a fast responding fire department. I’m not grateful for an electric furnace that bursts into flame. I’m grateful for back up heating sources, even though it’s still a little chilly. I’m very grateful no one and nothing but the furnace was hurt.</span>Colin Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06775415952952025913noreply@blogger.com0