2020, The Year of Multiple Mediums
The pointy end of the year is here. So soon? I say this every year at about this time. Time. I think about it more and more as my mother fades, as I move closer to menopause with each month that passes sans menses. Yesterday I listened to this poem 'Dearly' by Margaret Atwood . You might enjoy it. Enjoy may not be the right word but then again it might, if you like your poetry slightly melancholy with a touch of black humour. "So hard to describe the smallest details ... of how we used to live/We wrapped garbage in newspaper tied with string/What is newspaper?/You see what I mean?" I reference Atwood in my biography of SIARAD. She and my mother share the same Christian names - Margaret Eleanor. Atwood's husband, like my mother, was diagnosed with dementia. He died a few years ago. "Don't think this is morbid. It's just reality." writes Atwood in her poem. Totally. I mention this because time is passing too quickly and I forget which mo
