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Beth’s Big Art Show Debut
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As long as I can remember, I wanted to go to art school. The option was strictly forbidden for me, strange when I consider that my mother, an excellent oil painter, took lessons from Group of Seven artist, Arthur Lismer. But the concern, I believe, was connected to the fear that many first generation…
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Taking a risk at the public library
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I rarely visit a library in the city. With all the technology we can endure at home, plus books I’m certain procreate when we’re not looking, there’s hardly the need. When I do drop in, in spite of the “new” look of today’s libraries, these are still subdued, conservative places. Upon entering, you can’t…
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Waking up to smell the coffee
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The silence is what I listen for, if that makes any sense. Driving north, it’s not until the rock cuts north of Gravenhurst that I even believe this is possible, given the chaos and noise I’ve left behind in Toronto. It’s not just the traffic and the construction. My ears are still ringing from the…
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There’s a raccoon in my attic and she’s got Bette Bandit Eyes
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It’s an urban horror story. In the middle of the night it starts, incessant chewing above your head. Then you realize it’s probably on your roof and something is trying to get it. At first, you can only hope it’s a wild critter. Maybe the fact that your house is being consumed particleboard by particleboard…
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My New York love affair: with the city not a person
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So someone hands me a bag of money and tell me I have to spend it all on traveling. It’s enough for an extra long weekend, not a summer vacation. I don’t hesitate. I book a trip to New York City. “But haven’t you been there many times before?” my Canadian friends ask, as if…
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Private time with J.M.W. Turner
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I recently visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art with one objective in mind—19th century European (including British) painters. I even narrowed my focus down to J.M.W. Turner. Having just seen the movie, Mr. Turner, it gave me the perfect excuse to make a pilgrimage to see 3 paintings displayed there. I made my way…
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Parker’s Toronto: Drawing Henry Moore, Beth Parker No. 9
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I was eleven years old when my parents loaded me, my grandmother and aunt into our ‘65 Buick and drove downtown from Toronto’s west end to see “that sculpture.” Henry Moore’s The Archer had just been installed in front of the new Toronto City Hall. It was 1966. Within a day of the ceremony, one…
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The Well-Travelled True North Feline
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Our son headed back to Toronto from Yellowknife early in January, this time with a cat handily packed in a pet carrying bag that looked like he was travelling with a duffle bag which moved. Weather delays in the North West Territories (surprise surprise) meant he missed his flight from Calgary to Toronto. He was offered standby but in Thomas’…
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Parker’s Toronto, Hot fashion and hot tamales, Beth Parker no. 8
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An impromptu search for the perfect dress to wear to my book launch turned out to be an advertisement for Toronto as the best “livable” cities. Like a well-seasoned New Yorker, we found our treasures in out-of-the-way corners not likely found on a tourist map. Ryerson Public School First stop to pick up my…
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Slowing Up Time, And Now for Something Completely Different, Beth Parker 4
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Some researchers suggest that the reason most of us have such strong memories from childhood is that first time experiences remain distinct in our minds. They also appear, at least psychologically, to stretch over a longer period of time. But as we age, we start to repeat experiences. We return to the same places,…