![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
radiantfractureFor example, I discovered last night that our library, like all high-quality libraries, runs a drag queen story time. C. called and told me all about it while I sipped beer in the corner of a patio in the square.
For another example, the Sunshine Coast Festival of the Written Arts. Last week, I returned from my yearly pilgrimage to the fest, which also serves as a mini-family-reunion (this year short one uncle and one aunt, who had a wedding to attend).
This is the festival set in a verdant little park, mostly pathways, that unspools itself down a steep hill, with a rustic semi-open-air theatre as the speaking venue.
Thursday I drove up-island with A., a friend from work (one of several A.s, but never mind that now). I say "I drove" but really A. drove and I lounged or played with the dogs -- there are two, one small and one very very small, and both absurdly cute.
We went the long way around, driving two hours up-island and then taking two ferries, one directly after the other. You have to take two ferries no matter which way you go, but you can take them either one-on-either-side-of-Vancouver or back-to-back. Generally I find it faster, when solo and afoot, to go through Vancouver, mostly because the other ferry just isn't very frequent, but A. wanted to avoid the city traffic, so we went the scenic route -- and it is very freaking scenic around here.
It was a beautiful sunny day and I enjoyed the trip a lot. Five stars. Would do again.
I paced myself this year, taking lots of breaks, and I have to say that's the right way for me. Thursday night Richard Van Camp launched the festival. On Friday I went to the first talk -- by Adam Pottle, whose book Voice is about his experiences as a deaf writer and educator. He told a highly relatable story about not wanting to ask for "extra" support like transcription of student questions, because as a sessional instructor he sorely felt his employment's precarity.
The talk left me with a lot to think about, and I didn't go to another until Rachel Giese at 4pm. Her book, Boys, is about cultures of toxic masculinity and how they damage boys and their relationships. I bought a copy for my brother, but I've been too chicken to give it to him yet.
I sat outside with colleagues A. and A. (I told you -- lots of As) for Elizabeth Hay's talk, enjoying the August twilight. From our table, it sounded as though Hay's new book, about caring for parents with dementia, was good. I didn't like the sole novel of hers I read, but I can see liking the memoir.
The day ended with Terry Fallis -- I sat out because I'm not interested in his work, but there was much laughter from within.
On Saturday, I saw Seth Klein interiew his father, Michael Klein, about his activism as a family doctor. Later, I gave my pass to my nephew to see Eden Robinson, and sat out Peter Robinson, but attended Lee Maracle's Bruce Hutchinson lecture. She is, of course, a great orator, and offerred a useful critique of Hutchinson's views.
On Sunday I attended the first three talks -- Ann Hui speaking about Chop Suey Nation, Keith Maillard, whose Two-Strand River meant a lot to me and whose preoccupations appear to have stayed about the same, and Alicia Elliot, interviewed by Daniel Heath Justice, whom of course I know a bit. That conversation I enjoyed very much.
There were still afternoon and evening talks to come, and the final musical performance, but at lunchtime we tapped out -- which was fine with me.
This felt like a good year, though a little quiet -- at least, our lot agreed that it seemed subdued.
I stayed over an extra day to see my aunt and uncle, then went back Tuesday by way of Vancouver, stopping in at the Vancouver Art Gallery to see the Alberto Giacometti, Vikky Alexander, and Robert Rauschenberg exhibits.
I found myself liking best the works by British artists like Elizabeth Frink that were shown in dialogue with Giacometti's work. Her Birdman -- that riven back! Devastating.
{rf}
For another example, the Sunshine Coast Festival of the Written Arts. Last week, I returned from my yearly pilgrimage to the fest, which also serves as a mini-family-reunion (this year short one uncle and one aunt, who had a wedding to attend).
This is the festival set in a verdant little park, mostly pathways, that unspools itself down a steep hill, with a rustic semi-open-air theatre as the speaking venue.
Thursday I drove up-island with A., a friend from work (one of several A.s, but never mind that now). I say "I drove" but really A. drove and I lounged or played with the dogs -- there are two, one small and one very very small, and both absurdly cute.
We went the long way around, driving two hours up-island and then taking two ferries, one directly after the other. You have to take two ferries no matter which way you go, but you can take them either one-on-either-side-of-Vancouver or back-to-back. Generally I find it faster, when solo and afoot, to go through Vancouver, mostly because the other ferry just isn't very frequent, but A. wanted to avoid the city traffic, so we went the scenic route -- and it is very freaking scenic around here.
It was a beautiful sunny day and I enjoyed the trip a lot. Five stars. Would do again.
I paced myself this year, taking lots of breaks, and I have to say that's the right way for me. Thursday night Richard Van Camp launched the festival. On Friday I went to the first talk -- by Adam Pottle, whose book Voice is about his experiences as a deaf writer and educator. He told a highly relatable story about not wanting to ask for "extra" support like transcription of student questions, because as a sessional instructor he sorely felt his employment's precarity.
The talk left me with a lot to think about, and I didn't go to another until Rachel Giese at 4pm. Her book, Boys, is about cultures of toxic masculinity and how they damage boys and their relationships. I bought a copy for my brother, but I've been too chicken to give it to him yet.
I sat outside with colleagues A. and A. (I told you -- lots of As) for Elizabeth Hay's talk, enjoying the August twilight. From our table, it sounded as though Hay's new book, about caring for parents with dementia, was good. I didn't like the sole novel of hers I read, but I can see liking the memoir.
The day ended with Terry Fallis -- I sat out because I'm not interested in his work, but there was much laughter from within.
On Saturday, I saw Seth Klein interiew his father, Michael Klein, about his activism as a family doctor. Later, I gave my pass to my nephew to see Eden Robinson, and sat out Peter Robinson, but attended Lee Maracle's Bruce Hutchinson lecture. She is, of course, a great orator, and offerred a useful critique of Hutchinson's views.
On Sunday I attended the first three talks -- Ann Hui speaking about Chop Suey Nation, Keith Maillard, whose Two-Strand River meant a lot to me and whose preoccupations appear to have stayed about the same, and Alicia Elliot, interviewed by Daniel Heath Justice, whom of course I know a bit. That conversation I enjoyed very much.
There were still afternoon and evening talks to come, and the final musical performance, but at lunchtime we tapped out -- which was fine with me.
This felt like a good year, though a little quiet -- at least, our lot agreed that it seemed subdued.
I stayed over an extra day to see my aunt and uncle, then went back Tuesday by way of Vancouver, stopping in at the Vancouver Art Gallery to see the Alberto Giacometti, Vikky Alexander, and Robert Rauschenberg exhibits.
I found myself liking best the works by British artists like Elizabeth Frink that were shown in dialogue with Giacometti's work. Her Birdman -- that riven back! Devastating.
{rf}
no subject
Date: 2019-08-24 07:09 pm (UTC)Lucky you! o)
no subject
Date: 2019-08-24 07:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-08-25 04:48 am (UTC)