Pricks and Stones

We all had nicknames growing up. Mine was Peanut Head, mercifully truncated to Peanut by about grade four. Through Rich I’ve realized that nobody does nicknames like the Brits. He went to Sir Montgomery of Alamein, an all-boys school, so you can imagine. His soubriquet was Liam, a Delphic reference to a particular left-legged play-hogging footballer. There was also a kid who had a plummy voice. He’d been christened John Simpson, but Monty’d Nom Nimnom. Apparently, he did not care as he was a popular chap. He was also the fastest runner at the school. Fortissimus Quisque Tantum Superstes, dear boy.

Inspired by Such Potential. Painting—Harrow School Football Field—by Thomas M. Henry, 1887.

Such Potential

Roger often thought about the band, and what they could have been, if creative differences hadn’t derailed them. They always argued over everything. Even their name. At the very beginning, Johnny inexplicably insisted on “The Cuddles,” but that sucked for a bad-boy thrash metal band. The other guys came up with some great ideas. One Eyed Snake. The Hairy Reems. Wank. The Wad. Spunk. Spunkwad. Peter and the Pud Pullers. But they just couldn’t decide. If only they’d settled on one, and got on with the music. They peaked one Saturday in ’84, playing air guitar down in Eric’s basement.

Inspired by Star Bright. Image by Virginia Turbett.

Knitting World

She was in love with the wool—not so much the knitting. Or maybe it was the idea of crafting something into life. She didn’t delve too deep. She just bought: canary yellow merino, blue sky mohair, Aran creamsicle prints—colours and textures you could sink into piled high. Imagine the cozy afghan for the couch in her mountainside cottage; the chunky sweater she would make for him; the tiny baby booties; the striped scarf for her daughter-to-be. It was worth learning the patterns for that—no matter how many times she has to unravel her stitches and start again.

Inspired by Star Bright. Photo by Delpixel.

Star Bright

Confidence is abundant without awareness of self. This is what propelled me into auditioning for a play in Grade 9. I had no talent, and was blissfully oblivious. Even my dad’s shaming raised eyebrows deterred me not.
     I rehearsed my dance routine to Lucky Star for weeks under the direction of my then 11-year-old sister. I didn’t get the part. But there was so much joy in creating the choreography and endless singing to Madonna; we still laugh about it today. By Grade 10, my ego enveloped me like an Alien from the Body Snatchers. I never auditioned again.

Inspired by Sibilance. Image By Dzmitry Habrus.