Thank you to CBC for including my Here and Now appearance as part of this week’s Toronto This Week podcast. You can hear it by going here and scrolling down to Toronto This Week where you can subscribe.

Where do we go from here, you ask? Well, I’ll tell ya. National, baby! Tune in to Freestyle, Tuesday November 28, to hear me speak once more about this here venture, Seen Reading.

When lunch is over and the end of the workday is still a speck on the horizon, you need a little pick-me-up. Tune in to Freestyle for a healthy dose of the best contemporary music ever made, as well as amusing and fascinating topics and people from all over the country and around the world.

Weekdays at 2 p.m. (1 p.m. in Winnipeg, 2:30 p.m. NT) on CBC Radio One.

If I’m correct, Toronto doesn’t get the second hour, but you can hear it from CBC’s site. Considering I once thought Halifax was the capital of Vancouver, I thought it best to rip the times from the show’s page:

Weekdays, 2:00 p.m. - 4:00 p.m. Newfoundland & Labrador
Weekdays, 1:00 p.m. - 3:00 p.m. Toronto Region
Weekdays, 2:00 p.m. - 4:00 p.m. Canada
Weekdays, 1:00 p.m. - 2:00 p.m. Manitoba
Weekdays, 2:00 p.m. - 3:00 p.m. Calgary Region
Weekdays, 2:00 p.m. - 3:00 p.m. Edmonton Region

Or visit CBC’s site for additional instructions. I’ll be on at the beginning of the second hour of the show.

Good luck!

Caucasian woman, late 20s, died red hair tucked behind ears under a green knitted cap, wearing high cuffed jeans, a black hooded jacket and gold shoes. A tiny stud adorns her right nostril.

What We All Long For, Dionne Brand (Vintage Canada)

Page 208:

It was the face of a boy, a baby, innocent and expectant. There was something wrong about it. It didn’t go with the rest of his body–something she’d suspected when photographing his back. Binh clapped. Then they turned to watch the celebration in the street and Tuyen kept clicking her camera at them until the roll ended.

From “Gregg”:

Gregg noticed the dragonfly stuck between the slats of the deck. On its back, its legs kicked, its wings sputtered, delicate, fluttering like waking eyelashes. Its tail curled up in a yawn, quivering into something he’d only seen in alien video games. (So that’s where they get that shit from.) Then with an arch it crossed its arms. Gregg descended into the woods, returning with a length of branch he snapped into pieces. Securing two twigs with a reed, he wedged the cross between the deck planks adjusting it until it cast a fitting shadow. Inside, he rummaged through the kitchen cupboard, knowing he’d seen the camera with the flashlight and cement glue. Back outside, Gregg rested his chin against the deck, turning the ring until the dragonfly came into focus. The shutter snapped closed and open in an instant and Gregg felt at peace. His eye still trained on the frame, Gregg reached out to move the cross just so. The structure toppled forward, light, but heavy enough. The insect sighed.

Caucasian woman, late 30s, over blown bleach blonde hair, long black overcoat, flared black pants, stilettos, wearing tinted sunglasses at 8:30am. Stands in one doorway, then moves across to the other, inching me out of my spot, one eye on the page, one seriously trained devil’s eye on me.

The World and Other Places, Jeanette Winterson(Knopf)

About 35 pages in:

When she sheds she sheds it all. Her skin comes away with her clothes. On those days I have been able to see the blood-depot of her heart. On those days it was possible to record the patience of her digestive juices and the relentlessness of her lungs. Her breath is blue in the cold air. She breathes into the blue winter like a Madonna of the Frost. I think it right to kneel and the view is good.

Every winter I decide to take up running. At night. It’s an en route kind of running. I’m at your place and then I leave and it’s night–and winter–and I run. I feel my breath. I feel myself speeding past things I can’t see. Something burning slightly into my cheeks. The gentle thud of my feet on the pavement convinces me that these whispy sneakers are good for something other than piling up in the corner. Two minutes and I sincerely believe I could be this person. But I don’t want to clock or catalogue how many houses or dog walkers or dogs, for that matter, I pass by; I just want to feel the night breeze. Like riding Space Mountain at Disney World when I was ten. We’d been wretched back and forth, upside down, twisted so that purses and passports were lost to the darkness. I walked out with a sprained arm and ankle, more alive than I could recall.

You can find the Eye Weekly article here. I’m a bit amused by the picture. I’m holding Freaky Friday.