tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174544092011-07-29T00:54:21.875-04:00These are my rants and bemusements, my random rhetorical ramblings and idle disjointed thoughts. Moreover, this is my writing and my photography. Where I borrow from someone else I acknowledge them, or, when I don’t know whom to acknowledge, I state certain content isn’t mine. This is respect for both my and their intellects and creative work. Show your own respect, please.blackcraghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11562032414744991149noreply@blogger.comBlogger181100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17454409.post-9043831619878049972010-06-29T15:29:00.001-04:002011-03-07T02:26:38.449-05:00

blackcraghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11562032414744991149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17454409.post-53860967324183821792009-06-09T13:40:00.000-04:002009-06-09T13:40:43.021-04:00

When I recently watched Jaime’s Ministry of Food, a four-part series documenting chef Jamie Oliver’s attempt to combat British obesity by teaching Rotherham, a northern English mining town, to cook and share recipes I could understand how some people were turned off by cooking.For the last two months, I haven’t cooked. My temporary abode has a microwave and a toaster as a kitchen component, with

blackcraghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11562032414744991149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17454409.post-41530450723521239412008-05-06T16:51:00.006-04:002008-05-08T01:51:02.651-04:00

The day has eased into evening; the brazen blue afternoon sky relaxed into the textured blue-grey of evening. The city’s daily bustle has calmed to a stillness in the air as the evening pauses to paint the sunset vivid hues.The city never hibernated—it couldn’t, no matter how cold the winter was—but there is still a sense the city is stretching after a slumber, easing the stiffness out of its

blackcraghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11562032414744991149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17454409.post-5049520758753280922007-08-02T03:03:00.000-04:002007-08-02T03:03:37.025-04:00

Each night after work, I walk home between midnight and one in the morning. I take a very secluded path along a little creek, which is practically a direct line between my work and my residence, rather than walking the long belly of a ‘D’ the roads make between hither and yon.If I walk this path during the day, it is quite cheery and pleasant. The creek burbles away, carrying mother ducks and

blackcraghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11562032414744991149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17454409.post-1159132418877060972006-09-24T17:10:00.000-04:002006-09-24T17:13:38.913-04:00

Inspiration is a coy mistress, giving me firefly ideas with a flirtatious smile, and false starts with a flutter of her eyelashes. Inspiration is a storm of ideas on the horizon. The desire to write is a cloud in my head, waiting for that lightning strike to translate the vague, amorphic fog to a rain of words on the page.The storm may be pent up inside me, but I never know what the lightning rod

blackcraghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11562032414744991149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17454409.post-1156818659731568442006-08-28T22:26:00.000-04:002006-08-29T18:22:43.230-04:00

The sun slants a little lower these days, leaving the afternoon shadows draped over halfway across whatever object that casts them. The afternoon heat is still muggy, but tinged with an slight orange glow, normally found in sunsets, which itself didn’t occur before till the late hours, and now creeps on the busier times of day.The sky takes on a white haze, neither cloudy nor clear. The birds

blackcraghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11562032414744991149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17454409.post-1155761689672629792006-08-16T16:48:00.000-04:002006-08-17T17:19:13.310-04:00

When I last told you about my journey to Calgary in April 2005, I left you at the B.C./Alberta border, where Mt. Robson Provincial Park gives way to Jasper National Park. We spent the rest of the day driving through both Jasper and Banff National Park down to Calgary. The two parks are stacked on top of each other, running contiguously about half the length of Alberta and almost a quarter of the

blackcraghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11562032414744991149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17454409.post-1151654287629613042006-06-30T13:40:00.000-04:002006-07-01T16:58:30.196-04:00

I have fondly recounted to you, faithful readers, the brewery tour that started the week I spent with my birth-mother last year. But the tour was barely the beginning. There was an afternoon spent toodling around Vancouver as I showed B-mum my favourite parts of the city, the afternoon after the brewery tour spent wandering Stanley Park (honestly, I could have left her at Second Beach for three

blackcraghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11562032414744991149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17454409.post-1149839090017210182006-06-09T03:25:00.000-04:002006-06-12T10:23:25.840-04:00

You didn't know beer was an adhesive, did you?In my last post, I mentioned the Granville Island Brewery, my favourite microbrewery. Their Gastown Amber Ale is my favourite brew of theirs, but the English Bay Pale Ale, the Island Lager—all of them, actually—are good beers. I don’t think they make a bad brew.I also drank their Winter Ale one night, when my journalism class went out after our last

blackcraghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11562032414744991149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17454409.post-1148588716093938042006-05-25T16:22:00.000-04:002006-06-01T04:30:35.856-04:00

I recently spent an afternoon in contemplation. No, I haven’t joined a monastery. Last Friday I spent the afternoon in the Glenbow Museum in downtown Calgary.This is the second exhibit I’ve seen there this year. The first exhibit was called Petra: City of Stone, but I took too long to blog about it, and so inadequately expressed the wonder, awe, and thoughts the exhibit inspired in me.The current

blackcraghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11562032414744991149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17454409.post-1147430014236399942006-05-12T03:22:00.000-04:002006-05-12T06:43:03.593-04:00

Today is International Nurse’s Day. I sent my older sister, Squidge, a card this week because she is a nurse. She left a message thanking me last night while I was working. The front of the card had six words on it: compassion, commitment, kindness, dedication, caring and knowledge.Squidge has all these qualities. They are part of what make her a great mother, but she they also help her excel at

blackcraghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11562032414744991149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17454409.post-1147080790090537332006-05-08T05:22:00.002-04:002006-05-11T14:34:11.933-04:00

Have you ever been pierced by longing? Has simple desire ever seared your heart and mind? We’re not talking about lust here—that’s just about sex—this is more visceral and more encompassing than a roll in the hay.We’re talking about an atavistic yearning for someone, where you feel the promise of the potential relationship on all levels, where you feel all the alternate possibilities tumbling

blackcraghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11562032414744991149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17454409.post-1145238858956494332006-04-16T21:52:00.000-04:002006-04-16T21:54:18.986-04:00

A little while ago chloe asked what her reader’s top ten destinations were. I now have to add Petra, Jordan to my list of must-sees.I caught the last day of the Glenbow Museum’s Petra: Lost City of Stone, exhibit two months ago, and I was fascinated. I went with Farmgirl and her husband, but they were impatient with the crowds and skipped their way ahead and along the exhibit without giving it

blackcraghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11562032414744991149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17454409.post-1144825690165976922006-04-09T03:04:00.000-04:002006-04-16T21:09:55.833-04:00

I am finding it hard to blog about my mother. I’m not sure why, as she and I are very similar, in both our temperaments and sensibilities.My mother is an artist. My mother is a painter, to be exact. She would say ‘was an artist’ as she gave it up years ago, or calling her an artist was putting too fine a point on it, or some such self-depreciating thing. (I learnt this habit from her.)One day,

blackcraghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11562032414744991149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17454409.post-1142819836176996022006-03-19T20:56:00.000-05:002008-02-06T17:51:08.681-05:00

(My sister organized a scrap book of memories for my parent’s 50th anniversary last year, garnering submissions from old family friends, relatives, and more recent acquaintences. This was my submission.)For your 50th anniversary, I am trying to think of a single memory which sums up the two of you, or how I feel about you. But there are too many memories to choose from.As a kid, I loved sitting

blackcraghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11562032414744991149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17454409.post-1142376381468007862006-03-14T17:44:00.000-05:002006-03-14T17:48:48.160-05:00

WWWWAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!! They made me serve!It was a con-job from the get-go, I swear. Last Saturday, I was scheduled to do set-ups, getting rooms ready for the next function—setting up tables, making sure there were enough chairs, etc. Pretty basic and boring stuff. Over the walkie-talkie I hear one banquet captain asks if he can borrow me from set-ups to bartend because someone didn’t show. “

blackcraghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11562032414744991149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17454409.post-1141977798503408492006-03-10T03:00:00.000-05:002006-03-10T03:03:18.553-05:00

(originally written for a college journalism radio assignment two years ago)When I think of my father I invariably think of clocks. Specifically, I think of pendulum clocks—except I call them tick-tock clocks. I find a clock’s ticking comforting; it makes a room feel friendlier.There must be a dozen tick-tock clocks in my parent’s home. My father fixes old clocks, rebuilds them and makes them

blackcraghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11562032414744991149noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17454409.post-1131699572599210732005-11-11T04:00:00.000-05:002005-11-11T20:11:38.920-05:00

Today we remember the wars that our grandfathers and great-grandfathers fought in, and perhaps, died in. The principles that took them to Europe to fight for and protect others are still alive today. That much we haven’t forgotten. Canadian soldiers are stationed around the world, protecting and defending residents of other countries as if they were their own countrymen. We should remember these

blackcraghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11562032414744991149noreply@blogger.com