O Canada!

I love you. I love you. I love you, Canada!

So, today, a 10 minute walk from my apartment in Peterborough, Ontario, Canada, this is what happened . . .

It was a beautiful sunny day on our Trent Severn-Waterway, a 240 mile-long canal route connecting Lake Ontario to Lake Huron. Its scenic, meandering route has been called "one of the finest interconnected systems of navigation in the world".

 This is Peterborough's famous Lift Lock built on the canal in the early 1900's. The lock's dual lifts were the highest hydraulic boat lifts in the world up until recently, raising boats 65 feet! Conventional lifts at that time had about a 7-foot rise.

Today, we had some Canadian-style fun with this old lift . . .

Yup - we all crammed into the lift.

The gate closed . . .

And up we went!

  

Ha! Bring on the Molsons!

Do You Believe In Six Degrees Of Separation?

Six degrees of separation is the idea that all living things and everything else in the world are six or fewer steps away from each other so that a chain of "a friend of a friend" statements can be made to   connect any two people in a maximum of six steps. 

Remember this guy? Yup, the infamous Tobias McGregor from my novel "Because We Could" - the great musician David and I befriended in Key West in the 70's. 

Well, Toby resurfaced in my life today in the form of a comment posted by his son on my blog - of all things! "Hi Marni, my name is Amos and my father is Tobias McGregor. We are down here in Key West. We are sitting here telling Keller stories. Toby sends Hi regards."

How many steps was that for Toby and I to reconnect? Less than six, I would say. How can you not believe in six degrees of separation?

If you have read my book, you will know that Toby and David did a little dreamin' and schemin' of the somewhat illegal nature, ready to tempt fate. That was a long time ago, and I knew very few people back in the 70's who weren't either growin', movin' or sellin' so that  the rest of us could 'get down and party.' The related incidents I wrote about represented only a tiny snippet of our lives together. The rest was simply flat-out-fun - of the legal nature. 

I am sure that some of the stories the McGregor boys were sharing were about the sheer delight that making music together, both on the boat and in the bars, kindled. Toby could play boogie-woogie like nobody's business. I can still see him sitting at the old upright piano, on a Sunday afternoon at the Sands Bar - just-a-banging it out. And we would all, bathing suit clad, be dancing. We couldn't help ourselves! Boogie-woogie is mainly associated with dancing. The lyrics of one of the earliest hits, "Pinetop's Boobie-Woogie", consist entirely of instructions to dancers:

'Now, when I tell you to hold yourself, don't you move a peg.
And when I tell you to get it, I want you to Boogie Woogie!'

Have a listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kjx_W5dFUPs

And catch Toby boogie-wooging on the Hammond organ: 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ks3WUOO4M80

This man has also become a very accomplished artist and can often be seen painting in front of the Oyster Bar. 

I was thrilled to find Amos's little note. I remember him as a boy, living with Toby and his brother in a funky old converted school bus. Rumour has it the three of them enjoy jammin' together in Key West bars now. And, you can purchase Toby's CD,  "Yes Indeedy" on Amazon. But hurry, apparently there is only 1 left! That is sooooo Toby! 

A warm "HI" back to all the McGregor boys.

Marni








                                                                                        
                                                                    

Is Time Re-Writing Every Line?

Are you wonderig where I went? The last time you heard from me, I was in the midst of scripting a life-chaging jucy sex scene. But, you must have assumed that, when thrown into the memory of being in the unexpected arms of a hot rock star, resurfacing would naturally take a long time. 

This is true, to a point, but what was much more time consuming and poignant about this writing experience, was being thrown into the contemplation that, as time passes, time itself has possibly been re-writing every line. Is a story really true or just a fresh altered version – a version much more complicated than the smiles and the flirting; a version where loss is dulled or exaggerated; a version where the simple outcome of a hook-up is embellished?

With regards to writing a sex scene, could any of us honestly remember all the details of making love to a particular someone for the first time, thirty-five years ago? Try searching through the files of your memories for how your lover's naked skin felt against yours; who said what and how; the mingling scents; how you moved together; the last kiss's intention – and on and on. I’d say, that as memoir writers, we should own our artistic licenses - go for it - re-write every fuckin’ line!

And that takes time.