Look for Raylene to release this CD in Halifax in September, and further afield later in the fall. I’ll keep you posted.

Christmas window displays in department stores seem to suspend time, stopping us in our determined shopping tracks and sending us into a revery of memory and a bit of nostalgic longing.  Simpson’s in Halifax, Eaton’s in Toronto, Ogilvie’s in Montreal, Woodward’s in Vancouver. Elves, toy maker’s shops, Santa and the missus checking lists, baking cookies, animals on Hans Brinker skates seeming to  glide on mirrored glass, one leg pinned to the ice, the other stretched out behind like a scarf in a stiff wind. All animated. Hammers gently up and gently down on a train car or a doll’s shoe,  a bunny pirouetting on a skate, defying the laws of physics in its languid speed or lack thereof , a woodsman in an eternal effort to chop down a Christmas tree with a tiny hatchet that always falls short of the tree trunk. A dozen alternating up-down-sideways and back movements, jerky and stiff – enchanting to kids and a lift to the hearts of adults.

And then there’s Mill Brothers in downtown Halifax,  the clothing and cosmetics store, not the singing group.

Our first Christmas season in Halifax lacked snow but was gripped with cold. I was walking home late one December night on the street side opposite to Mill Brothers store, and from a half block away, I saw the lights in the window and some small figures moving in the familiar slow manner of  old clockwork animations. I felt a lift and a brightening of my mood which has been less than sunny that first year home. A Christmas window display. I bounded across the street.

Some swear by instinct to save them from undue unpleasantness, but I lack that gene. If I had it, I would not have crossed that deserted street and trotted up the sidewalk to gaze in at the display. I would have kept on walking down the silent street, on to my home and its abundant creature comfort.

When I reached the window, I was buoyed  by the thought of a cheery little tableau. What I saw was a snowy scene of misery. There, in a little coffin, lay an almost dead Snow White, hands folded just below her heart which every seven or eight seconds would rise up briefly and fall back into her still body. Around her, seven distraught dwarfs silently grieved. Tiny fists were curled up close to their bright eyes as if to stop the teardrop crystals that had been glued to their cheeks. Snow White continued to lie in her chilly repose, her breast thumping out a weak swelling every three or four imagined breaths.  A few animals gazed on, bewildered and frozen.  It was horrible and sad.

I walked home pondering what kind of thinking compelled a merchant to say yes to that. Santa’s Workshop – no. Skating Bunnies – no. Victorian Family Decorating Christmas Tree – no. Dying Snow White – yes. Just the ticket.

When I reached the corner of my street, I cut across on a diagonal to save a second or two of time. As I stepped on a manhole cover, I looked down and read the embossed name on it. “Silent Night” it read. It was somehow sweet, and made up for the Mills Brothers Christmas Window, but I wondered how it came to be. “Silent Night” – a wish and a promise, I guess.

A wish and a promise, I guess. Before Christmas, I’m going to try to snap some pictures of the aforementioned scenes. Please write me if you have similar stories and/or pictures. It can’t just be Halifax, can it?

Shameful. Those who rub elbows with this sort of man should either scrub their arms with antiseptic or cut them off.

So sue me.

Have you met Danny? What a goof. Who does he think he is? Big shot producer, wine snob, Scotch snob, wanna be tennis pro. Oh, and he thinks he can cook. What a goof.

Well, ok…maybe not such a goof. Great producer, generous friend, fantastic dinner companion, oblivious to weight gain in others (likewise changes in haircuts), all-round good fellow. Great dad and partner, from what I can see.

I love the guy. Happy Birthday Danny Greenspoon. I will toast you and your gang tonight.

Readers, forgive the specificity of this blog. But, it’s his birthday, after all.

Here’s how it unfolded (abbreviated version):

All ducks were corralled and set in a straight line – studio, producer, engineer, musicians, manufacturer, and all the other details required to record and manufacture a CD. Photos – done. Artwork, design – ready to go. Printing of jackets (done in Quebec because of good prices, good service, guaranteed on-time delivery) all lined up.

Everything was ready. Final step –  the jackets. As promised, they were shipped on Thursday night and arrived in the local depot at 07:00 Friday morning…where they sat until Tuesday morning. We finally took receipt of the jackets and were able to get the whole project packaged and ready to hit the road with us.

Today, the 25th of November, I sit and wait for another package (that requires my signature before it is released). I can track the steps this parcel has taken since it’s departure from the warehouse. It started it’s journey in Shanghai on the 19th, made its way to Dieppe NB, the 22nd, by way of Anchorage, Alaska, Louisville, Kentucky, Mount Hope, Ontario.  Since the 23rd, it has been sitting in the local depot in Dartmouth waiting to be delivered.  Well, I presume that, because I see in the tracking info that it’s there and has not moved since arriving there. In the interest of fairness, the 23rd brought the first snow of the season and people stayed put. But yesterday was beautiful and still no delivery.

I picture a person going into a warehouse, looking at the parcels that wait to be delivered (need to be delivered, should have been delivered), scratching his or her head while muttering “Geez, thems a lotta boxes – gotta think on this for a day or two”. I know it can’t really be like this, but the image does pop into my head in a bitter, unkind fashion.

Say what you will (and do) about Canada Post, but they usually get parcels to me. And if they attempt delivery when I’m out, they either try again, leave it with a neighbour or hold it at the post office outlet, which is four blocks away, and easy stroll from my house. This is a breeze, compared to the 45 minute drive (which requires crossing a toll bridge twice) into an industrial and commercial maze.

I will leave the house today around noon, and I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts that the courier will arrive at about 12:15. When I get home tomorrow I’ll find a little notice in the mailbox letting me know that I can pick my parcel up on Monday because the depot is closed Saturday and Sunday.

Just checked the tracking info for my estimated delivery time. Last updated: Yesterday at 09:44.  Shoulda guessed…

Well, what a whinging post this is. Some days are like that.

This record was a joy to make. Jamie Robinson was the studio producer. When I speak of his work, I can’t praise him more highly. Great players:      Kim Dunn, Jamie Gatti, Kevin Breit, and Jamie R., too. Solid song choices.

The star of the show is Raylene’s voice, though. Mature, expressive, closer, more intimate. The whole thing feels natural, and the real character of         her voice in evident from the first notes.

This is a great CD. I’m proud to have been involved in it. Nice cover, too. Kelly Clark took the photo Jason (Evul) Otis did the design.

Hope you buy it. Hope you like it.

It’s raining. The red tile roofs and the golden trees are a dramatic contrast to the grey sky. Very beautiful. The anthemic music, the handsome uniforms, the solemn faces and the picture perfect architecture of a Tuscan town are like a scene from a movie- an evocative foreign film starring no one in particular, just people who ride bikes through the piazzas, stop to remove their hats and continue to the alimantari to buy groceries.

But our apartment is six flights up, overlooking a quiet(ish) piazza. With the windows open, we can hear the chatter and the music, but when the windows are closed, only the church bells and the occasional clanging of loading and unloading can be heard.

We are right above Crispino’s gelatari, which is rumored to be the best gelato in Rome. Apparently, it had a small bit in the film of “Eat, Pray, Love”. All I can say about that is: how unfortunate that anyone would find that somehow meaningful. The gelato is great, but I had to force myself across the threshold, knowing that Julia Roberts (or her eating stand-in-I’m not certain she actually eats) had done the same.

Around the corner is Tazzo D’Oro, the coffee place. Also very good. A block away is St. Eustachio coffee bar. The coffee there is indescribable, in the good way. But, there are always tourists lined up looking for a full cup of dishwater, and they are disappointed by the thick sweet thimbleful of espresso.

There is no mistaking me for a Roman. I try my limited Italian, often thoughtlessly touch the merchandise in shops (crude), and make weak attempts to dress with a casual elegance that turns out more shabby (very shabby) chic than anything resembling an Italian woman’s birthright to style.

But when it comes to coffee- save the dishwater; give me the thimbleful of a creamy espresso.

And save me from Eat, Pray, Love. Please.

After Virden, we forged on to Pinawa, and then to Manitou. in Pinawa, we stayed in the comfortable, clean, welcoming Pinetree Lodge. Actually, it’s closer to Seven Sisters Falls, on Dorothy Lake. Pinawa lost its hotel to a fire last year.

Manitou has the great fortune of having a population that worked to save the old Opera House, and what a worthwhile venture. Beautiful.

We were blessed with good weather throughout our tour and even found a few good meals. I like those western provinces – very much.

Big thanks to James Logan for being such a boon companion to us. Good player, good man.

Back in two weeks, when I’ll post some photos. Stay healthy.