This is the second in a series of visual love letters to Smiths Falls, one of my favourite towns in Eastern Ontario.
You can find the first installment here.
For the past few years, I’ve been struck by intermittent doubts about whether we’re raising our children “right.” Our house is filled with a gaggle of teenagers. As our eldest nears university, his upbringing is a done deal, the question a moot point. As for the others, it is said that parents have a diminishing influence over their children around the age of 12, when peers take the upper hand. Continue reading Love Your Children Well
I love living in a place with distinct seasons. What I particularly love is that just when I start to really, really enjoy something – swimming in the river, gardening, snowshoeing, falling leaves – it’s gone. Skating on the Rideau Canal in Burritt’s Rapids is like that. And its fleeting and unpredictable nature makes me appreciate it that much more.
This is the first in a series of visual love letters to Smiths Falls, one of my favourite towns.
I’m from Vancouver, and while there are great things about the westcoast, I have called rural Ottawa home for the past 20 years.
The single best thing I love about living in the east is the riches of small towns and villages, roads that lead everywhere, chalk-full of opportunities to stop, talk to people, poke around and discover. Smiths Falls, just 20 minutes from where we live, has been my second home since the birth of our first child, when my in-laws sold up in Sudbury and moved to be close to us. Continue reading What I See When I See Smiths Falls
I love riding New York’s subway system – just not as much as I love walking the city.
Riding necessitates paying attention to lines and stops and tracks – my mind can’t wander for fear of ending up in who-knows-where – but walking favours mental and corporeal freedom, especially when time holds no sway.
However, my penchant for perambulation has its downside: walking New York means I’ve all but missed the MTA Underground Art Museum, an Ali Baba-on-steroids-sized treasure trove. Continue reading New York and the MTA Underground Art Museum
Every Christmas since I’ve been an adult, I’ve used my mom’s recipe to make bottle upon bottle of homemade Baileys, which I’ve distributed to friends and neighbours.
The original recipe card is so well-used it’s begun to look like an ancient artifact. You’d think I’d have memorized it by now, but every year I pull it out of the drawer and diligently check that I’m getting everything right. The stuff is so damn good as is, I leave no room for improvisation.
For everybody who’s ever asked me for my ‘secret’ recipe over the years and to whom I’ve replied “If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you,” I have a Christmas gift just for you.
Here it is:
1 cup Eagle Brand sweetened condensed milk
1 cup lite cream (coffee cream)
1 1/2 cups rye
2 tsp cocoa (frys)
1 1/2 tsp. instant coffee
2 medium eggs
Put in blender in same order as above and mix. Makes 32 ozs. Keep in fridge (Note: it lasts @ 3 weeks if refrigerated).
This leaves you two choices: Try out the recipe for yourself, or wait until I show up at your door with my annual bottle. Because – ready or not – here I come! (ps. If you haven’t returned last year’s empty bottle, now is definitely the time)
A very merry Christmas to all my friends and family near and far and those interesting souls with whom I have yet to cross paths.
All the best,
It’s more fun than Pez and more addictive than crack.
I nearly lost my mind when I stepped into District Taco and spotted the Art-O-Mat® against the wall. It’s a refurbished cigarette machine, but instead of vending cancer sticks, it dispatches micro art pieces for five bucks a hit.
Of course, I immediately started plugging it with money and pulling the levers. Continue reading My Brain on Art-O-Mat®
It’s curious how one can routinely walk the same path for so long, then alter a single element and watch the common unfold in an uncommon way.
This night (and day) I put aside my camera bag – a constant – and tucked my iPhone in my vest pocket. Without the weight, my body felt lighter and my step quicker. I was free to simply look, feel and shoot instead of forever adjusting, adjusting.
The place I’ve known since childhood transformed into dots and streaks and lines and colours, shadows and refracted light. Graininess replaced the sharp, movement the ever-steady, drifting into the abstract unknown. Continue reading Walking the White Rock Pier
Reading to children is inextricably intertwined with the idea of home, comfort and love. These five children’s books by authors better known for their adult writing, are available in first edition form from Peter Harrington, London’s leading rare book firm. And because we all love a good backstory, the home lives of the authors prove as interesting as the books themselves.
This piece is reproduced with permission from its author, Rachel Chanter, and Peter Harrington Rare Books. Continue reading “Too fancy and ingenious”: Children’s Books by Adult Writers
I didn’t so much as meet Larry Racioppo as find him. Home from NYC and working on this piece, I admired his photographic work on the 9/11 Memorial & Museum site and he agreed to lend me an image. Turns out, he’s lived a fascinating life; he’s been a NYC taxi driver in the early 80’s, staff photographer for the Department of Housing, Preservation and Development during the city’s lowest (and scariest) point, and a well-respected photo documentarian and keeper of knowledge of life, pre-gentrification, in Brooklyn, Queens and Manhattan. Check out his site at www.larryracioppo.com. Continue reading Larry’s Christmas Cards