You are knitting MG into our days and souls Bill. How to thank you? We had similar Saturdays, but with croissants and the hardware store with our father, and afternoon children's "matinee"s. Sticky floors and popcorn. Oh! That Paul Verlaine and his thumpety poems. My sisters and I can recite Chanson D'Automne as a party trick and do so far more frequently than we are asked.
Damned fine ART, Bill. My first piano teacher was Mrs. Shaw who lived across the street from the Marpole Theatre (now the Metro Theatre - so much classier, more citified than Marpole, don’t you think? ) Mrs. Shaw was the sister of Doris, one of the women in my mother’s bridge club. Doris was a divorcee and and considered risqué and excitingly decadent by the seven other wives who all arrived in fur coats. My dad cooked kippered herring on Saturday mornings. It stank up the whole house and drove my mother crazy which, from the vantage point of many years removed from that house on 60th Avenue, I think was the reason he fried up those sad-eyed kippers.
My gosh, yes. Every Saturday, fresh Chelsea loaf and hot cross buns from Cross' Bakery. (Gramma made our round loaves.) And the age when one gets double entendres: I was just a few years older than you and had that experience at Spring Thaw (Barbara Hamilton, Peter Mews, Jack Duffy, Dinah Christie...) Mom took me for years when I was little; I didn't get the jokes but loved theatre. Then one year I started to laugh -- at which point, ironically, she stopped taking me til I was over.
Thank you for those song links. I especially loved Le Bolduc. Fantastic lyrics. Oh so true.
You are knitting MG into our days and souls Bill. How to thank you? We had similar Saturdays, but with croissants and the hardware store with our father, and afternoon children's "matinee"s. Sticky floors and popcorn. Oh! That Paul Verlaine and his thumpety poems. My sisters and I can recite Chanson D'Automne as a party trick and do so far more frequently than we are asked.
Damned fine ART, Bill. My first piano teacher was Mrs. Shaw who lived across the street from the Marpole Theatre (now the Metro Theatre - so much classier, more citified than Marpole, don’t you think? ) Mrs. Shaw was the sister of Doris, one of the women in my mother’s bridge club. Doris was a divorcee and and considered risqué and excitingly decadent by the seven other wives who all arrived in fur coats. My dad cooked kippered herring on Saturday mornings. It stank up the whole house and drove my mother crazy which, from the vantage point of many years removed from that house on 60th Avenue, I think was the reason he fried up those sad-eyed kippers.
My gosh, yes. Every Saturday, fresh Chelsea loaf and hot cross buns from Cross' Bakery. (Gramma made our round loaves.) And the age when one gets double entendres: I was just a few years older than you and had that experience at Spring Thaw (Barbara Hamilton, Peter Mews, Jack Duffy, Dinah Christie...) Mom took me for years when I was little; I didn't get the jokes but loved theatre. Then one year I started to laugh -- at which point, ironically, she stopped taking me til I was over.
Thank you for those song links. I especially loved Le Bolduc. Fantastic lyrics. Oh so true.