I spent from Thursday to Sunday in Ottawa, visiting my 85-year old mother and her nearly-89 year old sister, Do. Do had a bad cold which my mother promptly caught, so I spent much of my time serving tea and making vats of Jewish penicillin – chicken soup. There’s always the difficult push-pull of going home – just walking in the door overwhelms me, the items I lived with in childhood, my grandmother’s vase, my Dad’s Inuit sculptures, pictures of him, of myself as a child, my brother, Mum as a young woman … I look at everything as if I’m hunting for clues – what does this photograph say about the way we were?
Summer continues, bewildered but happy Torontonians out in tank tops, shorts, flipflops. On October 1 Lynn and I swam in