For the past few months Thelma and I have been taking a Taoist Tai Chi class for beginners. The beginner's course is over now and, while Thelma has opted to continue on to the next course, I have decided not to carry on with tai chi. The simple answer to why I'm quitting is that I took the beginner's course to see what it was about, gave it a fair shake and decided that I'm not enthusiastic enough to keep on with it.

The more complicated answer is steeped in conflicting feelings that the classes stirred in me. Our instructor set out to teach us 108 moves over 3 months, which meant the classes progressed at a fast rate. In one sense that was a good thing, because it meant we were never bored by too much repetition on the same move. On the other hand, it was difficult to keep the order of the moves clear in my head and if, at any point, I was not facing someone who knew what they were doing, I was utterly lost. By no means was I the only one with this issue and our instructor always made it clear that it took her two years of practice to remember the moves.

Therein lies part of the problem for me. Outside of the class I never made an effort to practice the moves. The reasons or excuses aren't important, I just didn't do it. What I decided to try was to not actually think about the moves in class, but follow the instructor in the hopes of somehow learning them by rote. That worked to a small degree, but, more often than not, what I discovered was a sense of vulnerability I had not expected. That's not such a bad thing, but I suppose my ego rebelled to such a point that there were times the whole thing seemed like punishment more than exercise. Whatever meditative benefits I was supposed to be reaping tended to be offset by my ego's derision for not being able to get it right. I suppose that's why I never worked on it at home, and if I'm not disciplined enough to work on it at home, perhaps it's better not to carry on with it at all.   

I realize how defeatist all this sounds. Who knows, maybe I'll miss tai chi at some point. Maybe I'll even decide to try it again. For the moment, though, my ego has staked out its turf and it ain't giving up an inch. Don't judge it too harshly. It has enough to deal with in fending off rejection letters, first draft disappointments and the general insecurities of the writing life. I like to think that whatever spurt of spiritual growth tai chi may have taught me hasn't been totally wasted. Even my ego knows that progress is spiral-shaped. What might look like a step backward can sometimes be used to propel us ahead.  

It was our first year in PEI. Thelma and I had moved here on May 1, 2001 with a car full of stuff packed around a cage with two crying cats in it. All our other stuff came by moving van. We were living in the bucolic splendor of Foxley River in a log cabin (with green siding that has now been stripped off). Our 2nd anniversary was coming up in September. We met on September 11, 1999 at a mutual friend's birthday dinner at an excellent Italian restaurant in Toronto called Grappa. Our anniversary celebration that first year in PEI was going to be quite simple. We were going to go out for an Island treat called fries with the works (a plate of french fries covered in gravy, peas and chopped up hamburger meat!). Needless to say world events had different plans for us.  We were glued to our TV and radio all day and night in our leafy little corner, feeling both isolated from yet very much a part of the world.

There are so many things about September 11th that make me angry.  That so many people had to lose their lives.  That a few radical extremists were able to grab the world's attention with such a heinous act.  That  governments around the world were able to use fear to manipulate the people under the guise of protecting them. That the current racism against Muslims is still justified by this fear. Even today there is an ignorant reverend in Florida who believes he is justified in burning another religion's holy book as a message to a radical minority. I am angry that radical minorities get all the media attention while the majority of sensible, law-abiding people are cast in the shadows.

When I asked Thelma to marry me on our anniversary, September 11th, 2005, I specifically requested that we get married in exactly one year so that our official anniversary would be September 11th. It was important to me to have this date be about something other than violence, fear, madness and mourning. I needed to remember that life is worth living. I needed to find a way (as Bruce Cockburn so eloquently put it) to kick at the darkness till it bled daylight.  We live in the shadow of September 11th every day of our lives. I'm glad to say that I also live in a ray of hope with my darling Thelma here in our little corner of the world. Every day of our lives.

It's been a lovely Labour Day three-day weekend.  Things looked a bit dicey Friday night when we were preparing for the arrival of Hurricane Earl, in whatever form he might take. We were lucky that when Saturday rolled around we suffered very little.  The wind was strong and we got a nice downpour of rain (which our garden sorely needed).  There was a hairy moment when we found water dripping from a kitchen light fixture (on my mother-in-law's side), but that subsided when the rain stopped. A few small branches got blown off, but luckily there was no major damage. We didn't even lose our power (which usually happens to us). I know that many areas across Atlantic Canada were not as lucky and I hope things are slowly getting back to normal for everyone concerned.

After the previous week of muggy, uncomfortable weather, Earl left gentle cool temperatures in his wake.  Sunday was crisp and sunny and was spent having a sociable lunch with friends at the Dunes Cafe in Brackley Beach, where my dear Thelma bought me a small statue of Ganesh for my office. Today being Labour Day Monday, I felt some kind of labour might be in order and so a long-needed clean up of my office took place. We moved our fax machine (do people still send faxes?) into the basement and shifted the printer off my desk, giving me more room (for the Ganesh!).  The place where I spend most of my day looks more or less orderly.

An orderly work space, cool weather... I'm starting to get that autumnal feeling, that strange sense of renewal I used to feel when I was a mere shirt-tail tad getting ready to start to school. I'm hoping this feeling carries me into a more productive period. Not that I've been entirely idle, but ever since July I seem to have been finding one reason or another to not get started on the play I've been saying I will write since July. The need to do some research was the main excuse, but I think there is something else: that moment of panic in the pit of my stomach just before embarking on a new project. Facing the blank screen is one thing, but putting fingers to keyboard always involves a certain leap of faith, not unlike walking into a new classroom. It's nice to know that I don't take these things for granted and I hope I never will. All the same, I think I will savor the orderliness of my office before I step off the cliff.

Of the five members in my immediate family,  only my sister and I are alive.  She lives in England and I on PEI.  Those passed on also lived and are now buried in different areas. My mother in Montreal (before her death she and I lived for a short time in Scotland and were supposed to eventually settle in London), my father in North Carolina (where my step-sister lives, although he last lived in Florida) and my brother in New Jersey (although he spent the last years of his life in Las Vegas).  Recently I have come to feel that this geographically scattered family history, more than anything else, connects me to my Jewish identity -- something I never gave much thought to before I moved to PEI in May 2001.

I suppose it began when Thelma and I first moved to the Island.  We were in Charlottetown looking around inside a store (can't remember the name) that had various home items and quaint bric-a-brac.  There Thelma found a rather handsome menorah and purchased it.  I had not lit Hannukkah candles for many years, but we started a tradition of doing so that December.  Thelma, who is not Jewish, quickly added such Jewish fare as latkes, rugelah and kasha varnishkes to her already considerable culinary repertoire.  Later on, when we visited Royal Glass Design in Stratford, PEI, which creates a lovely collection of Judaica, we purchased a beautiful glass mezuzah to affix to our door post as a wedding present to ourselves. On a visit to Montreal I purchased the requisite parchment, which must be inserted in the mezuzah in order to give it the power to keep out evil spirits.

But what I think really forced me to think about my Jewish identity was the fact that PEI has no synagogue (the nearest temple of worship being in Moncton).  I hadn't set foot in a shul since my bar mitzvah, roughly 30 years earlier, and had never shown any inclination to during the whole time I lived in Montreal and Toronto.  Add to that the difficulty of purchasing Hannukkah candles and even a decent box of matzo on PEI, despite the diverse ethnic products to be found in the Atlantic Superstores.  Thankfully, one can purchase Montreal bagels at Brighton Clover Farm in Charlottetown.  

I eventually did discover that there is a good-sized Jewish community across the Island, whose members take turns celebrating the Jewish holidays at each other's houses.  Although I have received invitations to join these celebrations, I have never done so.  Interestingly, when I attended the Jewish Literary Festival in Hamilton, Ontario last year, I did go to a shabbos service in a shul, and felt a strong sense of community there.  That seemed to disappear soon after I left Hamilton, so my Jewishness seems to have a mind of its own and makes its presence felt whenever it pleases.  

The real paradox about living in PEI is that my status as being "from away" is what makes me feel at home here.  A sense of belonging and not belonging at the same time.  In the depths of my convoluted imagination I can imagine PEI as being my very own Promised Land.  Maybe I connect the Island's "redness" to the literary tradition of portraying Jews as having red hair (watch out Anne Shirley!).  I expect this concept will find its way into my fiction sooner or later.  As for my own private Diaspora, my sister's final resting place will no doubt be somewhere in England. And mine... well, I have my eye on a few places.  I like to think there's still plenty of time to make a decision.

Well, here I am back on PEI, sick in bed but happy to be home. My second week in Montreal was filled with family enjoyment and some professional disappointments and triumphs.  There really was only one disappointment and the finger of blame points right at me. The next time I book a reading I will make sure to check the calendar more closely to make sure some other event, such as Mother's Day, will not be occurring!

Such was the case for my Ottawa reading at Collected Works.  It was a cold and windy day when my sister and I arrived in our nation's capitol and we weren't exactly sure where we were going, so we took a bus from the train station and got off where we thought we were supposed to.  But after walking around for a good twenty minutes it was clear that we were lost. Spotting a police cruiser in a parking lot, I went and asked for directions. The cop checked his computer, saw that we were actually not too far from the book store and told us to hop in the back.  Even though there was next to no leg room (due to a large metal casing), my first ride in a police car was definitely a high point of this trip. 

Collected Works is a cozy community-supported bookstore.  They had set up chairs and a podium in their back space.  Alas, had the podium been an omelet station I might have enticed a few Mother's Day brunchers to come hear me read.  As it is, my cousin Florence and her two daughters showed up.  I hadn't seen Florence in years and had never met her daughters, so my initial disappointment was easily assuaged by this familial reunion.  After thirty minutes passed and it was clear the reading was a bust, my sister and I decided to cut our losses by going to the National Gallery, which we enjoyed immensely, before catching the train back to Montreal.  My sister is an avid amateur photographer and loved taking pictures of Moshe Safdie's architecture, as well as seeing the Karsh portraits.  Her favourite (and mine) was the photo of Peter Lorre.

The next afternoon was my interview with a journalist from The Link, Concordia University's student newspaper.  It was a warm and sunny day and I met Pascale Licinio at Cafe Santropol. We sat on the outside patio, where she set up a recorder and proceeded to ask thoughtful and intelligent questions.  It was obvious she had read the book (and liked it, thankfully) and I felt very comfortable chatting with her about my work.  The interview will be published in their June edition.

On Wednesday I read at the Visual Arts Centre.  As with my launch at Casa del Popolo a week earlier, this reading was attended by some of my cousins and one friend who I hadn't seen in years.  It was a long evening with six readers and a jazz trio.  I was the penultimate reader and I must say I think it was one of my better performances.  I read "Smoke And Mirrors", a first-person account of a struggling actress' experience as a stripper, so already the audience had their work cut out for them suspending their disbelief.  But they quickly got into it and laughed at all the right moments.

Before I started, I mentioned that the last time I read in Montreal was when I used to go to open mics at the Vehicule Gallery back in the late seventies. Two women immediately began to laugh and one said I didn't look old enough (bless her cotton socks!).  After the reading a woman came up to me to ask about a character mentioned in the story, a dance teacher named Madame Voronov, and asked if she was modeled on a woman of the same name who had taught at the National Theatre School. I was astonished as she indeed had been modeled on the real teacher, who had given this woman's daughter dancing lessons.  If that weren't enough, the woman's husband was a childhood friend of PEI's poet-laureate, David Helwig.

Thursday marked my very first television interview for the show Focus Montreal, hosted by Montreal news anchor Jamie Orchard at Global Quebec. I had asked my publisher to send Jamie an advance copy of Fatted Calf Blues, but had stupidly supplied them with a wrong address, so she never got to read it before the interview.  But she did read all the on-line info and blurbs, so we proceeded from there.

The interview lasted around six minutes.  I have to say I am not at my most comfortable in a studio environment.  First of all, when you walk in the entire back wall is a screen, enigmatically colored a retina-scarring green. The place looked like in was painted with plutonium.  The interview went along pleasantly enough, and though I tried to speak directly to Jamie, my peripheral vision kept seeing images - such as my face or the book cover - on the monitor.  The following Saturday I watched the interview with my sister, cousins and aunt and uncle. To me, I looked every inch uncomfortable as I had felt, but of course everyone assured me that I had done well.  Isn't that what family is for?  I couldn't ask for a better one.

So the Montreal leg of this promotional tour is behind me.  I sold a little less than half of the books I had brought with me, so I can't complain too much. Photos from the readings can be viewed at the Fatted Calf Blues group page on Facebook where you can also see the promotional video of me reading my story, "Elephant Rock."  Or just go straight to Youtube. 

Now I have a little less than two weeks before I'm off to Toronto.  There I can look forward to two readings in one day, the Jewish Literary Festival in Hamilton,  my Toronto launch, as well as meeting my agent and dinner with various friends.  In the meantime, I plan to do some sorely needed work on my novel-in-progress.  So I'll talk to you next when I'm in the Big Smoke.

I have been in Montreal since Sunday, May 3 and it has been quite a whirlwind. My sister, Rena, flew in from England and we are staying at our favorite B&B, Le Gite de L'ecole, which is very close to the Jean Talon Market and Little Italy in the city's north end.  

On Monday, May 4 I had my Montreal launch for Fatted Calf Blues at Casa del Popolo. The reading was slated to start at 5:00 p.m., which probably accounted for the trickle of arrivals, but soon people did show up.  Mostly it was friends and cousins.  The atmosphere was very laid back and it felt more like a reunion (probably because that is basically what it was).  The restaurant is very funky and relaxed.  The stage had a sofa and some armchairs on it, which made the whole reading feel very intimate, like being in somebody's living room.  That of course had a good effect on my performance and I felt quite relaxed.

Photos of the reading can be seen on the Fatted Calf Blues group page on Facebook, where you can also view a video of me reading my story "Elephant Rock" (filmed at North Cape, PEI).

My sister and I did a bit of wandering around the city already and our dance card has filled up quickly. We are seeing cousins and friends and taking a day trip to Ottawa on Sunday, May 10 where I will be reading at the book store Collected Works at 2:00 p.m.  During my second week in Montreal I will be doing an interview with a reporter from the Concordia student newspaper, The Link , reading at The Visual Arts Centre, May 13 at 7:00 p.m. and appearing on Focus Montreal on Global TV.

I'm already feeling a bit frazzled from the schedule, so I better learn to pace myself. We are going to a poetry reading tonight and to a club to hear some music on Friday.  I'll be posting more about my visit, but first I better get a quick nap in.

The Fatted Calf Blues machine is starting to roll and there seems to be a lot of elements I have been juggling to promote the book.  

I did an interview on the CBC Radio One Charlottetown afternoon show Main Street with Matt Rainnie.  This was my second interview with Matt and I think it turned out well.  Matt is very friendly and laid back and knows how to put his interviewees at ease.  All the same, I have a tough time listening to myself (like many people do, I think) and find it's easy to be self-critical when I hear how I stumbled over some answers or felt I could have been more concise.  I could also hear the nervousness in my voice (which tends to pitch a bit higher under stress). Before going into the studio, I sat in the car and listened to Jian Ghomeshi on Q interviewing Leonard Cohen.  I can only hope that someday I can approximate the Cohen’s eloquence and wisdom. 

While I was in Charlottetown I saw copies of Fatted Calf Blues on the shelves of The Bookmark. It made this whole experience all the more real for me like nothing else has so far.  I also saw posters for my upcoming book launch at the Confederation Centre Library on April 23rd (Canada Book Day) at 7:00 pm.  I have to admit I'm feeling nervous about it.  First of all, I'm wondering how many people will show up even though there has been a bit publicity so far with the CBC interview and a nice mention in The Buzz. Thelma and I put together a media release and faxed and emailed it to various newspapers, radio and TV stations.  No responses yet, but hopefully something will happen closer to the time.

I'm also constantly working out in my head what to say at the launch, what points I want to make about the stories, the process of writing them and getting them into a book, how PEI has helped shape my writing, etc.  Also, I keep changing my mind about which story or stories to read.  One long one or maybe a couple of the shorter ones? Thankfully I have decided to limit myself to 20 minutes, so that should help me decide closer to the time.  The one thing I am looking forward to is the food.  Thelma and her mom will be making sandwiches and baking brownies, cheesecake squares and cookies.  

Thelma and I also put together a small promotional video of me reading a postcard story called Elephant Rock, at North Cape (where the story takes place).  It was fairly chilly the day we shot the video. We did two takes of me reading the story with different backgrounds and then Thelma shot some footage of North Cape.  When we watched it all at home, it was obvious that we couldn't use the audio, so I recorded the story on Garageband.

When it came time to mix the video with the audio, the elements didn't all sync up as well as we would have hoped.  In fact, if it weren't for Thelma's editing skills (she is by far the Thelma Schoonmaker  of home made videos) it would look a lot worse than it does.  As it is, I think it has a kind of rough charm all it's own.  We had a few issues with finding the proper format in which to save it (again solved by Thelma's resourcefulness) and will be uploading it (as soon as we can access some hi-speed) onto Facebook (as a virtual launch) and on YouTube.  I doubt that it will go as wildly viral as the performance by Susan Boyle on Britain's Got Talent, but I do hope it garners some modest attention and helps promote the book.

Putting together the video seems to me symbolic of the whole promotional effort for the book. There are a lot of elements to sync up, all of which Thelma and I have been doing to the best of our ability, but what it all adds up to in the end owes as much to luck as anything else.

Today is the 7th anniversary of Thelma and I coming to to live on PEI. We found ourselves in Charlottetown for the day and ended up having lunch at Italian eatery, Sirenella. Thelma had been there many years ago and this was my first time. The decor and atmosphere reminded us of when we were in Florence (way back in 2003). We both had the special, which was fettucine with prosciutto and mushrooms in a cream sauce. Very delish!

Walking back to the car, we noticed a crowd near Province House (home of the provincial legislature and The Birthplace of Canadian Confederation) and remembered that it was a rally to bring attention to the plight of PEI farmers. Some speeches were made by politicians and farmers, but the best part was an impromptu protest song in which all the crowd got to join in by chanting "May Day! May Day! May Day!"

In 2001, when Thelma and I first moved here, my goal was to focus solely on my writing. It is fitting, then, to have a very nice profile of myself published in this month's Buzz (PEI's arts and entertainment newspaper) as reminder of how far I have come as a writer (and how far I still have to go) since making this island my home.

I returned a couple of days ago from my 3 weeks in Europe. A bit frazzled, but happy to be home, especially to find no snow. Well, a bit of snow, but it seems to be melting fast.
 
After Amsterdam, my sister and I returned to England. I had a couple of days to catch up on my rest and let my poor tootsies get a break from all that walking. But Rena was off with some of her work colleagues for an exercise weekend at Potters, a resort hotel that is a bit like the holiday camps that were so popular in England in the ‘50s. She had gone last year and had booked to go again this year, but had forgot all about it when I told her I was coming. Oh well… Anyway, while she was going to exercise classes I took it easy, reading Anne Simpson’s wonderful new novel, Falling, and watching some fine British telly. Much of the television in England seems very Americanized (as does Canadian TV) but there still some excellent panel shows such as Have I Got News For You and QI  (with host Stephen Fry) as well as one of the best music programs ever, Later…with Jools Holland.
 
The day after my sister returned from her exercise weekend we were off to Scotland. By this time it seemed we were spending as much time on buses, trains and airplanes as we were on solid ground. First stop – Glasgow, where our Uncle Leonard lives. In the 50s Len studied art at the Montreal Museum of Fine Art with none other than famed member of the Group of Seven,  Arthur Lismer. He later went on to study at the Academia in Florence and finally settled in Glasgow to become a teacher at Jordanhill. He retired a few years ago but still paints in the studio in his flat. The next day Rena and I went Edinburgh to visit our cousins Sasha and Michaela. Sasha and I are quite close and used to stay in close contact when she lived in Montreal. But I hadn’t seen Kaela in years, the last time being around 1993 when she was in Toronto singing with the Scottish group Mouth Music. It was amazing to see both of them again and made me wish that we all lived a bit closer.
 
Back in England, Rena and I made the most of my remaining couple of days. We and her son, Gareth, and his wife, Julia, went to London for the day. We got an excellent deal from British Rail of 4 roundtrip tickets, which doubled as travel cards for the Tube, for around £70. First we saw an exhibition of artifacts from Tutankhamen at the O2 (formerly the Millenium Dome). It’s a massive structure and the exhibition was top notch with archival film footage of the discovery of King Tut’s tomb in the Valley of the Kings and comprehensive history of how Akhenaten introduced monotheism to Egypt, only to have Tutankhamen, the Boy King, bring back polytheism. At one time it was thought that his early death at the age of 19 was a result of murder, but that was later disproved by modern forensics. CSI: Thebes anyone?
 
After the exhibition we took a rather long and circuitous walk on a pathway along the Thames. After walking for about an hour or so (hard to believe my Blundstones didn’t disintegrate by this time) we discovered a water taxi. Our travel cards got us a discount on the fare, so we took it to central London. There Julia and Rena went clothes shopping on Regent Street, while Gareth and I checked out the Apple Store. A very cool place. On the top floor a GarageBand workshop was in progress where an instructor was demonstrating all the cool functions while people in the audience followed along on their laptops. Made me wish I had had my iBook with me so I could sit in with them. Gareth and wandered all over, drooling over iPhones and latest iBook Air. I ended up making a very impulsive purchase of one of those super-thin aluminum keyboards.
 
On my last day Rena and I took her new Mazda out for a spin. For many years she had driven a VW Golf, which she had dubbed Pippi (after Ms. Longstockings). But Pippi had begun to rust and so this new Mazda (purchased just before we went to Amsterdam) is now her mode of transport. She is calling it Kiku. We drove to Felixstowe for a nice two hour walk along the beachfront boardwalk, which is lined with small colorful beach huts used by British families since the early 20th century. Later that evening we went to see Shine A Light, the new Rolling Stones concert film by Martin Scorsese. I had read some lukewarm reviews and wasn’t expecting much, but it’s a terrific film and it is nothing short of amazing to see that the Stones still got their mojo working after all these years. My favorite parts were the cameo appearances by Jack White, Buddy Guy and Christina Aguilera, who did a scorching duet with Mick Jagger on that Stones classic, Live With Me.
 
The long trip back home, starting with an early train to London, the Tube to Heathrow (2 ½ hours total), and 6 hour flight was uneventful, that is until I landed in Halifax, where I was detained by Customs. When I filled out my declaration card on the plane I didn't bother to  declare any of the gifts I brought, which is what I usually do because I'm always under the limit of what I'm allowed to bring. Anyway, this time they decided to take me aside, asked me again if I had bought anything. I confessed to some books I had bought and they x-rayed my bag. The guy asked me again - or as he put it: "The way you answer now will decide on how we proceed" -  so I had to fess up to the rest of the stuff – the Apple keyboard, some gifts I bought in Amsterdam and a number of museum souvenirs. I felt pretty foolish, like a little kid caught red-handed, but the Customs officer was actually quite nice to me. He said he could confiscate everything legally because I didn't declare it, but he just let me go. I have to admit I felt pretty dumb, but happy as hell to get on the plane to PEI.

Just spent three days and nights in Amsterdam. My sister and I stayed at the Barangay B&B, which is very close to the train station. The B&B is owned by a couple, Wimmo and Godwin, who were very gracious and accomodating hosts. We were actually greeted at first by their friend Ron, who made us tea and provided us with a map and a visitor's guide. He immediately set about marking up the map for us, pointing out the Jordaan (an arty section of shops and cafes), the Red Light District, some museums and some of his favorite restaurants. He also gave us a discount coupon for a boat ride.

The B&B wasn't cheap (about $500 for 3 days, which is still cheaper than hotels), but it was very comfortable. My sister and I had a floor to ourselves. Both our rooms were large and comfortable, decorated in a funky tropical theme. On the floor below there was a communal breakfast room stocked every day with fresh breads, muffins, cereals, meats and cheeses. We made our own breakfast and washed our own dishes, which Rena found odd for a B&B, but I liked the homey atmosphere of it.

Amsterdam is definitely a walking city and pedestrian friendly. The city seems to be an interesting mixture of old world austerity and a modern upbeat vibe. This was most evident in the constant flow of sturdy Vermeer-black bicycles and whizzing Day-Glo Vespas. On our first night we walked through the more touristy section which led to the famous Red Light district and then into Chinatown, where we had a couple of fine meals. Both my sister and I are hopelessly direction-challenged, but she was determined to understand the map and managed to guide us (in an often-roundabout way) through the city and get us back to the B&B. I, on the other hand, was happy just to wander aimlessly. After a bit we stopped for a coffee and quickly discovered we were in one of the many cafes where more than just coffee is available. My sister, who doesn't partake of that sort of thing (or hasn't for years) was the designated walker for the evening, while I had a "special treat". It went well with my cappucino and I felt quite at home with the city's laid-back sensibility.

Most of the time was spent walking along the canal streets - the Herengracht, the Prinsengracht - and ducking down small streets. My sister is a budding photographer and found plenty to shoot, some of which should be posted on this site soon. We did manage visits to the Van Gogh Museum and the Rijksmuseum, which was huge, so we restricted ourselves to the Rembrandts, Vermeers and Steens. But the real work of art as far as we were concerned was the city itself. The buildings towered with a sturdy beauty and my sister fell in love with the huge windows. Whenever I go to a city or town I always wonder to myself if I could live there. I think I could definitely see myself living in Amsterdam. It would probably be a challenge to learn Dutch, but on the other hand the place seems so laid-back and easy-going that it might be easier than I think.

I have been in England for a couple of days now visiting my sister, Rena, in Ipswich. Today we had our big outing to London, which l we always do when I visit. It's our time to hit the museums together. First it was the Tate Modern to see an exhibition of Man Ray, Marcel Duchamp and Francis Picabia. I was familiar with the first two, but had never heard of Picabia before. The three were close friends and sometimes collaborated on each others' work. As painters, photographers, scuptors and poets they were pioneers in the Dada and Surrealist movements.

My sister and I like to play a game when we go to the museum. We are each allowed to choose our favorite work of art which we can bring home. Because this was an exhibition of three artists we could choose one piece from each. One of my choices was Duchamps' most famous painting: Nude Descending a Staircase #2. I'd seen it in books before, but to see the real thing up close was fascinating. When it was first exhibited it caused an uproar because people thought a nude shouldn't be shown doing something as prosaic as walking down some stairs. But for Duchamps it was a study of movement.

The painting is often referred to in Anais Nin's novel, A Spy in the House of Love. The main character, Sabina, feels a connection to the many nudes in Duchamps' painting because she believes she herself has many separate selves.  

After the Tate Modern we walked along the Thames to the National Portrait Gallery where they were having a retrospective of Vanity Fair photographs throughout the magazine's history. It was amazing to see photographs of Virginia Woolf, GB Shaw, Hemingway. One of my favorites was a beautiful black & white photo of the opera singer, Jessye Norman. Another - interestingly enough connected to the earlier exhibition we had seen - was Man Ray's photos of La Nijinska (the sister of the great dancer, Nijinsky) done up in dramatically grotesque face make-up.

My sister, who has recently started taking photographs herself, fell in love with all the Annie Leibovitz photos. And with good reason: they are stunning!! She has a way of manipulating light that makes her work look like paintings. Amazing to see the real things up close.

Afterward we went to Chinatown and shared a plate of crispy aromatic duck, fried noodles with prawn and pork dumplings. Yum!!! Finally we made it just in time to catch the 9:30 train back to Ipswich. After 7 hours of being on our feet it was good to get back home. We have a couple of more days to chill out and then on Monday we are off to Amsterdam. Tell you all about it in a week or so.