figs

I've re-installed the daily blatherpicture because Beckett said she misses it. :) I took it out because it was too much of a pain to change everyday, but I figure it won't kill you all to look at the same picture for a few days in a row, right? :-) Today's blatherphoto is of Beckett's husband, Paul Kwinn, in his younger (and much more shy, obviously) days. Their music group, Puzzlebox, has a NEW CD debuting at OVFF next weekend, by the way. You must all buy a copy!! (And I'm not just saying that because Urban Tapestry is on it :))

Spent most of yesterday doing workshop prep. Jeff picked up our office mail keys and checked our mail for the first time...sadly, there was only mail for the old tenants. I hereby send out a plea for postcards! We won't be officially moving in for a couple of weeks, but I'll still be checking the mailbox at least once a week. My office address:

Inkspot
67 Mowat Ave., Ste. 239
Toronto, ON
Canada M6K 3E3

More About Figs

I feel compelled to share a blatherchat comment from Luisa on my fig paragraph yesterday:

All about FIGS!! I know all about figs... my parents grow them (yes, in a Canadian climate!!). My dad first planted them for my grandmother, I think, who missed them much since she moved to Canada from Italy. They're planted behind the garage and he lovingly bends them over and covers them every winter. It's a big deal when they're ready in late summer. The figs he grows are green. They're quite soft, and you open them by grabbing them with thumb and forefinger on either side of the top pointy end and tearing them appart. They're chock full of slippery seeds with little black things on the end. So they look exactly like a squirming mass of maggots. (Suddenly, the romantic image I've painted turns nasty, eh?...). Which is why I can't eat them. "Here...", my dad says excitedly every summer, "have one!" as he tears it open and hands over a small green package filled with wriggling maggots. Then he starts laughing when I remembers I don't like them. (They actually taste nice if you can bring yourself to putting one in you mouth.) He says he regrets not taking me up north for a weekend, bringing nothing but figs to eat. The same regret he often mentions to my brother, only it features tomatoes - my brother can't stand tomatoes.

Luisa, by the way, is the one who got me hooked on anchovies. At one of her house parties, she made me a celery-anchovy stick (celery stick with anchovies on top). Looked pretty gross. But tasted great! So good that I went home and bought a tin of anchovies and a bunch of celery, and devoured the entire tin that evening. Wow, did I ever feel sick afterwards.

When we were visiting Luisa and Reid a couple of weeks ago (when our friend John Swain was in town; I mentioned this in my blatherings, I think), I was snooping around in their kitchen when I noticed their calendar had scribbled appointments, etc. on some of the dates. Overcome by a need to vandalize, I grabbed a pen and added a few "extra" appointments. One was something about sending me anchovies.

A couple of days ago, I received a small package in our mailbox, obviously hand-delivered. Inside was a tube of anchovy paste and a note that read: "Mon. Oct. 18, 1999, 1:10 pm -- Deliver anchovies to Debbie, as per instructions on calendar. Substituted Anchovy Paste for Anchovies ... more versatile. Please forward any complaints to (Luisa's e-mail address here)". I've never had anchovy paste before, and had the opportunity to try it on a pizza that Jeff and I ordered the next day. Looks even more gross than regular anchovies (I actually typed what it looked like here, at least to me, but decided to erase it). Tasted great on pizza, though.

Hmmmm...I just realized that I can't remember what other "to do" tasks I added to Reid's and Luisa's calendar. I think I'm scared.

Not sure how much time I'll have to blather tomorrow, if any. I have an early afternoon flight to Vancouver for the Surrey Writer's Workshop. My workshops are on Friday morning and Sunday morning...wish me luck!