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Kathy Dawn Lang

A heavenly heavenly day. It has been colder than usual, to the point that riding home from a concert a few days ago in a wool jacket and beret, I wished I had gloves. Gloves, in August! But today there’s heat with a cool breeze, and the garden is in full bloom, especially the fall-blooming clematis, like little white stars, bursting out all over. I went to the market this morning to get apples, but there aren’t many yet, so I had to make do – sigh – with peaches, peppers, and blueberries. And multi-seed sourdough. And – of course – corn.

In the early eighties, when my parents were living in Edmonton, a colleague of Dad’s invited them out one night to hear a friend’s daughter sing in a bar. The young singer’s name was Kathy Dawn, and my parents were bemused but impressed. She was wearing strange cowgirl clothes and was very funny, they said, but with a magnificent voice. That voice took her places, and the other night, Kathy Dawn, now known as K.D. Lang, was at the Sony Centre where I went to see her.

I have to say – the concert was not my favourite, didn’t hold a candle to Bonnie Raitt for warmth. It turned out the tour was to celebrate the 25th anniversary of her album “Ingenue,” which is full of moody young woman songs. It took an hour before she warmed up and began to sing something lively. She was barefoot, wearing a most unflattering square suit, looking like Wayne Newton. (When I told Carol that, she exclaimed, “I saw her a few years ago and thought exactly the same thing – K.D. is turning into Wayne Newton!”)

Many people in the audience were ecstatic, however. Canadian audiences are starting to become an embarrassment, I have to say. If an actor actually remembers his lines – if a singer like K.D. holds a note longer than normal – people explode into rapturous applause and even standing ovations. Phooey.

Okay, enough, crabby old lady, on this stunning day. Yesterday I went with Anna and the boys to the beach near Sunnyside – we ate at the restaurant on the boardwalk, our summer ritual, and played in the sand. Oh little boys and water and sand, nothing better to watch. Now there’s the chip chip chip of the cardinal – time to fill the bird feeder. Wayson is having a little nap on the deck, the willow is swaying in the breeze, and life does not get much better than this.



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About Beth

I began keeping a journal at the age of nine. Nearly fifty years later, I started this online journal, sharing reflections, reviews, updates, and the occasional secret.

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