Well, yes. I won on Saturday night. Canadian Folk Music Awards – English Songwriter of the Year.
Lots of good wishes afterward, in addition to lots of this: You didn’t know? Really? Well, no, I didn’t. Turns out there was a leak the night before and the names of winners had been released to the press so that press deadlines could be met. And turns out there was talk of it at the concert at the National Arts Centre the previous night.
We didn’t go to the concert. We stayed in the hotel, ordered room service, and watched a movie. I wish I could tell you that we watched something darkly evocative – something deep and edifying – but it was Shrek III (the III lends some gravitas that a plain 3 would not deliver). As a result, I missed the chatter about the leak and had no clue what was in store. I’m glad of that. If I had heard the night before, I would not have had as much fun with it the following night.
When Shelagh Rogers announced my name (thank you, Shelagh for the delight of your pure enthusiasm), I was surprised. Really surprised. As I walked to the stage, I was in some suspended state of credultity. I’m glad I hadn’t prepared any remarks. There were no bon mots in my words of thanks.
I’m glad it went that way. It was a very pure delight. I’m as grateful for that as for the awards. Great honking chunk of glass, but the way, with a maple leave suspended in the centre. In disbelief, I expect.
More when I get home. Thanks for tuning in.