December 8, 2012
London, ON
It’s another grey and rainy day in Sweetland. ‘Tis the season. I confess, I’ve come to secretly love this in-between time of year, in all its glorious sodden decay. My Sweetlandish garden is mostly magnificently dead, with the exception of my brave roses, still blooming surely but slowly. The last bud of the year is threatening to burst on my “Love Grandiflora” rose bush. How wonderful. I am going to take it as a sign…
In another corner of my magical garden I’ve been enjoying my latest artistic experiment, the Rotten Pumpkin Project. One by one I’ve offered up all my gourds (mostly left over from the Halloween show) to the great outdoors, and observed with interest, their respective demises. The ruby pumpkin I bought at the farmer’s market has been nibbled to its last crumb by Chocolate, Hazelnut, and Fudge – the three black squirrels who live in the weed trees above my patio. All other gourd offerings have disappeared mysteriously in the night, with the exception of the one nobody wants to eat, or steal. Hmmmm. Poison, peut-être? A case for Sherlock Sweetland to solve, I reckon.
And speaking of love, death, and detectives, I’ve been curled up in front of the television all afternoon getting my Film Noir on. Currently, it’s Bogart and Bacall in The Big Sleep. Those two have an eternal place in my romantic little hard-boiled heart. As does Raymond Chandler’s saucy shamus Philip Marlowe. I always did like the boys with character best. Fortunately, and unfortunately. And even in the noir-est of classic film sagas, love always seems to win out in the end… sigh.
In the book I’ve been reading, “A Natural History of Love,” author Dianne Ackerman argues that love is not a choice, but a biological imperative. Apparently, just as evolution favoured humans who could stand upright, it favoured those who could feel love. Because love, it seems, has great survival value. It urges us to protect our children from sabre-tooth tigers, and our femme fatales from stray bullets. But we also know, as so eloquently put by Buffy the Vampire Slayer, “Love makes you do the wacky.” Ain’t it the truth. I think everyone in this movie would thoroughly agree.
And in musical news, said four-letter word will be the topic of an exciting collaboration between myself and the Ladies In Waiting in the coming New Year… Stay tuned for more info on that front soon. In the meantime, if you’re in the Toronto area you should come out to the annual Ladies in Waiting Christmas Show this Tuesday, Dec 11 at Not My Dog. It’s sure to be an evening of scintillating bling, with performances by Andrea Ramolo, Faye Blais, Melanie Brûlée, Sahra Featherstone, Tricia Foster, Sarah Burton, and Jadea Kelly. And of course, yours truly. There may even be a secret Christmas pageant performance… Or not. You’ll just have to come and find out. For more info on all my upcoming holiday shows visit my tour page.
Until then I’ll be hibernating in Sweetlandish Suburbia, puppysitting Ursa the family beast for a spell. I shall be endeavouring to teach her some fancy tricks before my folks get home from their trip. We’ll see how it goes. I will keep you posted.
Until then…
Bogey and bourbon,
x
K
