Christmas 2010

2010 was an exciting year, full of change, travel and new beginnings. Mid-February, I was admitted to hospital in Utica, NY for a gastric bypass. The surgery itself took longer than my Mom would’ve liked, but I was grateful to have Dr. Fitzer’s time well spent getting everything ‘just right’. I’m relieved to have a new lease on life: one without pain, or the mobility issues that had become a way of life, or the looming threat of diabetes.

May was another beginning in my life, with the birth of Brain Power Studio, headed by Beth Stevenson. A lifelong childhood friend and creative powerhouse, Beth had a vision to create great children’s programming, educational content and publishing. Thankfully, she also pictured a certain writer-artist in the mix: me! The studio launch happened in June and we received excited accolades and many toasts. ‘Overhead Bob’, our stalwart figurehead was present, as was ‘Team Zero’. We posed, were quoted and made toasts of our own.

At the end of July, my Mom and I headed to the States once more. We crossed into Vermont, drove through the breathtaking mountains of New Hampshire and into Maine. We stayed in Bangor (and even visited Stephen King’s house!) We headed back into Canada near St. Stephen. The Duty-free store had a back window where you drove around to collect any alcohol you’d picked up, to ensure that the booze was Canada-bound. It felt like something from the old ‘prohibition’ days!

We visited lovely St.Andrew’s-by-the-Sea, caught the ferry from Saint John to Digby, then drove to Lunenburg. We had great travel luck and enjoyed tasty food and friendliness wherever we went. Thanks to our GPS, losing our map in the States didn’t set us back too much. We caught the Ferry to PEI and made our way to Charlottetown, the ‘Birthplace of Confederation’ There, we caught up with Troy, Carol, Alicen & Hayden, met new friends and enjoyed great music. I was able to share the lovely beaches and scenery with Mom and enjoyed wonderful Island Hospitality shown by Troy’s folks as they hosted a delightful brunch for us. We left for Miramichi that afternoon and had a great time reconnecting with Robbie, Bobbie, Chloe, Piper and Briar.

Mom and I had a blast going on a few mini-road trips with the Stewart-Anderson clan, up to Escuminac for fresh lobster, then to Cape Enrage the next day to explore the cobble beach. Everyone found cool fossils! After far too short a stay, we headed west, spending the night at Riviere-du-Loup. It wasn’t long before we negotiated the traffic snarl of Montreal and were safely home, backs slowly unkinking with tasty drinks in hand!

It was so nice reuniting with Clayton and of course Hank! Hank has enjoyed being fostered during all my trips at the cottage with Vicki, Anders, Emilia and Dan. We’re very lucky that he has his ‘home-away-from-home’ available and such loving people to spoil him rotten.

October 13th was a momentous day, as the ever-youthful Clayton turned the ‘big 5-0’. We celebrated over delicious dim sum at our favourite place in Kanata. Clayton and I shared a birthday gift of a PS3 game system and he received lots of new games. We’re still trying to figure out all the controls; but are having fun! Getting a new toy when you turn 50 is probably the best way to describe Clayton’s outlook on life: “13 going on 50”.

I was fortunate this year to receive a pass to the Ottawa International Animation Festival. I enjoyed meeting lots of creative and cool people, catching inspiring animated films and also testing my endurance at several industry parties. It was delightful being able to walk everywhere without worrying about stairs, distance or pain… although by the end of it I was happy to get a rest! It was a thrill getting to be a part of the festival and helping to get Brain Power’s name out there.

Clayton and I continued to coordinate the monthly Ottawa Comix Jam at the Shanghai Restaurant. The Ottawa comic scene is vibrant and the people are fun. We were happy to see a lot of new faces turn up at the gatherings and some great artwork produced. The Shanghai has offered to host an art show for our group next April and we are planning how that will come about. It should be a blast!

Mom and I enjoyed a couple of lovely trips to Belleville: in October to celebrate Uncle Dale’s 70th birthday and in December for the family’s annual Tree Trim. It was such fun getting to catch up with all the cousins, sisters and aunts ;-)

November, I spent illustrating ‘Momma’s Magic’, another children’s book by local author Bobby Salvin, which is at the printers. Once that was completed, I was ready for my next adventure…

LAS VEGAS! Mom and I skipped town Dec 9th and winged west on Westjet’s inaugural non-stop flight to Nevada. Complete with showgirls, an Elvis impersonator, free drinks and prizes, the flight was a hoot! We stayed at Bugsy Siegel’s famous hotel ‘The Flamingo’, where Hunter S. Thompson had penned ‘Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas’. It was a beautiful place with a bird sanctuary and marble opulence everywhere. But, the main attraction for us was across the street at Caesar’s Palace. Saturday night, we attended the last show of Leonard Cohen’s 3 year tour at the Coliseum. What a treat! This 76 year-old, full of grace and generosity, love and heart, backed by some of the most talented musicians in the industry, wowed us for over 3 hours. Ovation followed ovation and encore followed encore. He dusted off songs from 30 years ago and rolled out his hits. Polka-dot blouses fluttered in the air and the crowd breathed sighs of amazement as ‘Hallelujah’ soared over us. It was an incredible, memorable night—where everyone wore fedoras and roses cascaded over the stage.

We spent a day recovering, then ventured to Arizona to see the Grand Canyon. Words and pictures fall short of describing the natural beauty of this place. I was shocked seeing people far past the ‘safety barricade’, posing with small children inches from the precipices however. Apparently around 15 tourists plunge per year. We kept our distance, and used up the batteries in both our cameras shooting a pile of pictures.

We also spent time at the slot machines, and a couple of nice wins paid for my tour of the Canyon and also a Burlesque show! We hoofed it all around, rode the monorail and the bus, explored the Luxor’s display on “Bodies” which was intense and humbling. We also paused at the famous Gold and Silver Pawn shop and poked around. No deals there, but plenty of great history my Dad would’ve enjoyed.

I realize that this year’s traveling would’ve been impossible for me last year. The little things had the biggest impact: doing up a seat belt on a plane without an extender, walking up a flight of stairs without a cane; walking up stairs on a double-decker bus, sitting in a booth at a restaurant. Simply having the energy to do all of these things. Surgery is partly to thank for this, but the other part is the support and love from my family and friends during the long road to healing and losing over 100 lbs.

I send our best wishes out to you for the season, may it be one of happiness, relaxation and peace. However you celebrate the holidays, may you spend it in love, held warmly and firmly in the embrace of people who care for you and keep you close to their hearts. May the New Year bring equal measures of goodness, luck, health and beauty your way.

Big hugs and plenty o’ love,
Suzanne & Clayton

For the record

It's been a few months since my surgery and I thought I'd update how I was doing... I've had a few trips back to Utica, NY for check-ups, and apart from my usual border-crossing anxiety (which is only equalled by my Mom's bridge-crossing anxiety) all has been well.

It took some time getting used to my new physionomy I can tell you. At first it was pretty easy to strictly adhere to my laminated sheet that was on fridge. The sheet was the food bible that would help my new stomach (a pouch that in its infancy could only hold about a teaspoon or two of food) heal and grow a bit more robust.

The toughest part at first was remembering to drink. The pouch was so small and tender, so nascent, that glugging water was impossible. If you forgot to drink enough, you just had to really pay attention the next day and remember to sip all day long to ensure that you eventually got your 64 oz. fill in. I still don't drink enough, but it is not because I can't physically do it. It has to do with how liquids and solids interract in the small stomach.

The gastric bypass ultimately is a tool that you can use to help you lose weight. It is a permanent tool that patients will always have access to, and if used the right way, the weight does come off almost miraculously. I can attest to it because every day I hop on my scale and wonder if this is really happening. I weigh now, what I did when I first went to college, back in 1997. I've dropped about 80 lbs. since February 10th and it continues to drop at a fairly steady rate. I feel like I look the same, since I see myself every day, but people who don't see me that often have commented that there is indeed, less of me.

Over the last few months since surgery, I had to slowly rebuild my tolerance to certain foods. When I began, my new stomach not only could not handle large amounts of food, but could only handle specific textures of it as well. Think soft. UBER-soft, if you will. After almost three weeks of yogurt, oatmeal, apple sauce and cottage cheese, I was really ready to graduate! It was a relief to move to semi-solids and protein that didn't come in a shake! Again, after another three weeks of tuna, salmon and for a change, more tuna and more salmon, I was very relieved to note that my laminated food guide said that I could try moist proteins (ground beef, chicken), bread(!), fruit and VEGGIES. Raw, crunchy veggies were what I think I missed the most.

So now I can eat pretty much what everyone else eats, except that it has to happen very, very slowly and the quantity is about 1/4 the size of a regular meal. Food has to get chewed extremely well and doesn't get accompanied with liquid. The reason this happens is so the small pouch stays full longer. If you have a drink with your meal, basically whatever you ate turns into 'soup' in your stomach and dribbles out the tiny aperture at the bottom. Then you are hungry pretty much instantly. The gastric bypass doesn't de-calorify the foods you eat, it just helps you feel full faster (because it is very tiny). The message gets to your brain quickly and you have to comply (and stop eating). Even though my new stomach can only hold about 1/2 - 1 cup of food at a time, when it gets full, it feels as though I've been to a buffet and am pushing plate #3. You know when you realize you should've worn your stretchy pants and not your jeans? That's the feeling you get!

The first six months after a gastric bypass is called the 'honeymoon' period, since it is the time when the weight drops off the fastest. The clinic in Utica has been very happy with how I'm doing and super supportive. I've dropped 25% of the weight that I'm supposed to (they have a mystical number in mind, and 18 months in which you're expected to do it). Some people drop 30% in the first 3 months, and some less. What I'm really happy about is that my blood sugar is normal and all my other functions appear normal as well (blood pressure too!)

The absolute best thing about dropping 80 lbs.? I can walk. Without pain. I can climb stairs, cut the grass, kneel (not for long) and take my dog around the block. This time last year, I could only shuffle and then, only with the assistance of a cane. I was borderline diabetic (was actually getting insulin when in hospital for surgery!). All of this has cleared up with the gastric bypass surgery, which I firmly believe has saved my life. What life I get to enjoy now...will be of the highest quality and with the most grateful acknowledgment each day for my fortune.

Now I get to start ramping up my excersize programme. I'm anxious to get back into weight-lifting (free weights, not my Self!) Also I want to get back on a bicycle. These are things that had just fallen away from me as I my health degraded... the idea of reclaiming the things I really enjoy doing is exciting to me. Who knows, perhaps in the next 6 months I'll be back belly-dancing and doing those deep knee bends in T'ai Ch'i.

Cheers,
Suzanne.

(Below, some Googled images of what 80 lbs. looks like...)

The Incredibly Shrinking Sue

Hi Everyone,

It has been a bit of a while since I posted (although truth to tell, I do have a lot of drafts languishing in the bin). I've found if I'm keeping a traditional journal, I don't blog as much (and vice verse). So, sorry for the long silence. Recently I had to go out of country for surgery and there have been a number of questions about that, so I thought doing a blog would help clear up some of the mysteries. (OOh!!)

February 10th this year found me in Utica NY at Faxton-St.Luke's hospital, being prepped for a Roux-n-Y gastric bypass. I had to get up at 4:30am to be at the hospital for quarter to 6, which was about as pleasant as it sounds! As well, this was day three of my 72 hr liquid fast, so I was not in a pleasant frame of mind. Plus I was scared shitless (no kidding!)

It was cold and dark and the wind was up when we pulled into Parking Lot A of the hospital. Parking is free, which is nice, considering the hours that my Mom spent driving back and forth from our little room a the Red Roof Inn and back to the parking lot. I had my shoulder bag with all my paper work with me (no idea if I'd need it or not!) Plus over the other shoulder, my CPAP machine (sleep apnea therapy device) that the folks in Utica said I'd need to bring. Mom had my clothes' bag, the bag with all my drugs in it and a half bottle of distilled water (didn't know if I'd need it for the CPAP machine, but better safe than sorry!)

In no time, I was getting prepped. Shucked off clothes for a stylin', backless robe (arg), all my clothes went into a bag. It looked a bit pathetic seeing my stuff in a plastic bag with a tag on it. Like I'd possibly never see them again and they would be all that was left of me. Pretty much all the stuff we'd toted up to the hospital through the howling wind was unnecessary, so Mom ended up having to hump it back to the car. Sigh!

We waited in a small ward and I got fitted with an IV port. (*expletive deleted*) It hurt like hell getting that rammed into my left hand. And that is the hand with the nerve damage in it, so you can imagine how it would've felt in the right hand! I was eventually encouraged to hop up on the bed and just tried to breathe a bit. Finally a friendly orderly wheeled me out into the hall and Mom followed along, until she was directed to the 'waiting room'. At least they are fairly pleasant rooms with comfy chairs and no fluorescent lights...

Now I was in the 'Holding Tank', the room you are to lie in until you're queued up to be wheeled to surgery. People asked me questions, ticked off ticks, checked me and waited for Dr. Fitzer to appear. It was 8:20am and I was full of immense dread, doubt, fear, second thoughts, cold feet... well, actually my feet WERE cold, so that explains that...

Dr. Fitzer arrived and explained once more about the procedure and about post-op care of the pouch that he was going to try and make. He basically laid everything on the line about the dangers of not over-filling the pouch (which leads to pouch failure and death). Way to go! Thanks for helping me feel even more terrified right before surgery. But, I have to say, these guys were utter pros and let you know everything up front. I could've said "No" right there and hopped off the table, but I recommited to the damned thing. It was a no-brainer at this point and I had fought so hard to get to where I was lying, I knew that I had to go through with it.

Finally I was wheeled to the elevators, then down one level (no! Not the basement!) It was hushed and the orderly wasn't making any more jokes. I was quiet and apprehensive. The doors to the surgery swung open and I was in a large room chock full of machines and monitors. The lights directly above me put me in mind of the opening to the 'Six Million Dollar Man'.

There were also some lovely flat screen TV's surrounding the surgery area. At that moment I'd completely forgotten that I was to receive laparoscopy surgery and the nature of the TV's eluded me. I was about to pipe up that they must enjoy watching movies during surgery when I finally clued in! Yeahhh.... ok... :-) (Laparoscopic surgery uses cameras to guide the surgeon in their work..they watch via television).

The bottom of the gurney I was on was an inflatable matress. With the touch of a button, the mattress inflated with a wooshing sound and lifted me up from the gurney. With the help of the team, I was moved onto the surgery table, riding the air mattress and making the transfer a snap. What a great idea!

Finally a familiar face from the Holding Tank appeared; it was the anaesthesiologist. Ahh, how nice... finally I could leave the hammering heart panic of a rabbit with its leg in a clamp and just ease right out. I wished the surgeon well (in my head) and followed the directions of the fellow with the gas. A few half-hearted prayers vaguely directed to my Dad and any other supreme power that might be taking an interest wafted out of me as the anaesthetic took hold, then all was black.

Back in the waiting room, Mom had been patient over the time that a normal procedure would normally take; about 1 1/2 - 2 hrs. Finally, a little after lunch, Dr. Fitzer came to her, looking tired. It had taken over 4 hours for the work to be done and he let her know that I finally had my 'pouch'. I'm not sure if it was simply my weight, of the way my body is put together with all of the organs and fat very much centralized (I'm a potato/apple shaped person) or what. Thankfully, these guys are the best, and I was in professional hands the whole way through. The Dr. told Mom I'd be in the recovery room for a few hours, so she headed to the Hotel to rest and get a bit of lunch.

I don't remember much of the Recovery Room. It was brighter than the Holding Tank, and I felt a bit raw. My throat was dry as a bone and sore as hell. I felt a bit numbed out. During the stay people would often ask for my full name before proceeding to either give me drugs or do various things. Two hours seemed to pass very quickly for me, and once again I found myself traveling on the wheeled gurney, under the guidance of a different orderly and possibly a nurse?

They brought me to the bariatric patients' area of St.Luke's and lost my admiration by whanging the gurney into the doorjamb of my room. The pain that came up from my belly was unlike any I'd endured. I let out a protesting howl of agony and glared at twinkletoes who'd pulled the move. The nurse(?) had a few tart words for him, but I don't recall any apologies. Hmm, one can tell that we're not in Canada any longer...

The room was small but well appointed with medical gear, a bathroom, a broad window facing the parking lot and a tall spruce. I was pretty disoriented and sore and unsure of what was going on. A woman took that opportunity to stick her head in the door and say "TELEVISION??" with a foxlike face and bright eyes darting back and forth. I said "No thanks", and got a surprised look in return. It took her 3 days of trying to finally give up on me. I was happy to be in a land with no TV.

Mom appeared soon after that and it was wonderful seeing her. Just squeezing her hand and knowing that it was over and I was safely on the other side felt like a million gold sparkles. Her face was tight with worry, but I let her know I was ok. I'll never be able to make up that time for her that she spent worrying over me in the Waiting Room, but at least now, on the other side, she could see I was alright.

An enormous bouquet of flowers and a balloon from Chester's Flower Shop was brought in shortly after that. It was from Fiona, with the card reading "Love doesn't accept distances. Hugs and love, Sue -- FI". Well, I got all teary seeing the beautiful roses, daisies and carnations. Mom set up all my cards of encouragement from everyone around the flowers and then pressed a fuzzy stuffed animal in my arms. It was a red-brown dachshund. "What do you want to call him?" She asked. I thought for a second, petting the plush ears and looking into the cute face of the critter "Hank Jr.?" We both laughed, and of course it hurt.


Now began a series of days involving not drinking enough fluids, getting my IV taken out (and then put back in), learning to walk without pain, learning to haul myself out of bed without having to rely on a nurse. Getting asked if I had peed or passed gas (critical things when people mess with your insides I suppose). I regarded my wounds curiously; there were six of them, and of those six only one had been 'bad' (leaking a little for the first few days). The time was a blur of rotating nurses and care attendants, always with thermometers, blood pressure machines (that didn't work on me), blood sugar monitors and then injections of insulin (at this point I was borderline Diabetic --sigh!) There were also injections of blood thinners to avoid the danger of blood clots, and the Spirometer in which one inhales deeply to help the lungs recover from the anaesthetics during surgery.

What I still can't figure out is why these poking, prodding, injecting and taking of readings has to be done in the middle of the night? Like 2:30am? 4:00am? Are these women (98% women anyway) trained in the art of sadism? Why is my 4:00am temperature so important? It was annoying. It was very difficult to sleep anyway, and finding yourself being woken up to have your blood pressure measured didn't help.


Asking for pain medication became a game as well. If it was under the allotted time (4 hrs.) the nurses simply ignored the request. Sometimes, they did that even though 4 hrs. had passed. I was on percocet and was later told by Dr. Fitzer's weekend replacement that I wouldn't be released as long as I was on the narcotic. So, once I clued into that, I stopped asking for pain medication. Unfortunately, the hospital didn't seem to believe in an interim pain reliever, like percocet..then to Tylenol 3 or something? Or even extra-strength Tylenol? I just rode it out and knew it was worth it, if it meant I'd get out of the place sooner.

One of the nicer events was having a shower. It felt good to walk carefully down the hall with the attendant to the Shower Room. It was full of home-made giant PVC chairs on wheels, designed for people who were not in the normal range of weight (say 300 lbs. +) The shower was delightful. It was quiet and I got to just spend time in the warmth, getting clean and feeling the grime and ick of the last few days go away. I wandered back to my room when I was done and of course there were a bunch of people wanting to take my temperature waiting. I dried off and tried to comb my hair but had to wait for the nurses to do their thing.

Sunday, I was finally given the go-ahead to go home (after abstaining from my pain meds for far too long). I was given yet another scare speech about the dangers of pushing my pouch before it was ready. And that it took 3 weeks, not 2, not 2 1/2 weeks for the tiny pouch that Dr. Fitzer had made to heal. If I broke it, the results would be fatal. At least I was in a better frame of mind to accept the speech than when I was on my back in the Holding Tank.

The outside air smelled cold and fresh. I was so happy to be out. It was snow/freezing rain, but I didn't care. Mom pulled the truck up to the front doors and I gingerly climbed up and inside. Every jounce and bump on the road translated to instant pain in my belly. It was curdled with pain and I wanted an acetaminophen (Tylenol). The ones I had were simply to big for me to handle and when we got back to the hotel I used a pill splitter with moderate success on one of the pills (which turned into 3 shattered and pointy fragments). I took the biggest one with a bit of water and juice mixed together.

The hotel was heaven compared to the hospital. The bed was huge and comfy and once I set up my CPAP device, I was ready to nap. I was still extremely tired and sore from the drive down. We watched a bit of the Olympics (skiing) and parts of movies. My attention span wasn't that great. Finally we settled on competitive cooking shows and that was mindless fun. I propped myself up on cushions and snuggled down under the blankets and watched chefs try and make wonders of the world out of chocolate.

I wasn't hungry at all, I sipped my juice/water, later had 1/3 of a Popsicle. This has continued since I've come home. I have protein/soy for my meals, and am slowly integrating soft foods into the rotation. I'm taking B12, 2 multis, a pill to help with my blood pressure and a couple to reduce the effects of stomach acid (to help protect the pouch). I also had to self-inject the blood thinner medication for the first 5 days at home, which was awful. I suck at self-injection (and trying to pretend I was William Burroughs didn't help--thanks Troy!)


Over the last two weeks, I've lost an average of 3 lbs. a day, this morning it's a total loss of about 40 lbs. My legs actually look pretty good (have had continual problems with them for the last couple of years) and I am walking better, and with less pain in my joints. I still fatigue quickly though, but that is because I'm continuing to heal.

I want to thank everyone for their kindness, support, love and hope during this very scary ordeal. It means a lot to me that your thoughts were with me, that your flowers came and uplifted my spirits, that your cards and words helped me get through some of the fear and doubt of the surgery. It is love that lifts us up and the light that sees us through. More news to come! (I hope ;-)

Cheers
Suzanne.


Resources & Info
Dr. Graber & Dr. Fitzer
Dr. Bishop's Ottawa Weight Loss Center
Ottawa Weightloss Support Group
British Obesity Surgery Patient Association

Illustration of William S. Burroughs by Robert Crumb.
Sue with flowers photo courtesy of Keith Savage.

Troy Little and Nick Cross OIAF with Angora Napkin

I know, it is no secret that I have a fondness for Mr. Little and Mr. Cross. That being said, my obsession with their extremely creative, irreverent and FUN creation; specifically ANGORA NAPKIN knows no bounds!


Angora Napkin not only exists in comic form, within the pages of the lovely hard cover graphic novel from IDW, but also the girl rock-band trio exists in bouncy toon form as well. If you have not had the pleasure of seeing this amazing spectacle, then it is now your chance to get out and catch it.


Molly, Mallory and Beatrice will grace the stage of the Arts Court Theatre October 15th at 11:30pm. I was fortunate to catch the initial screening of the Teletoon sponsored "pilot project" when Troy brought the gals to the Shanghai Restaurant in the spring. All I can say is that come hell or high water, get yer arses down town and your bottoms into the theatre seats to soak in the jovial pop rock candy that IS Angora Napkin. You won't be disappointed!

For the curious, check out my initial horn tooting here. If, like me, you are over-the-top with excitement, you can listen to CUB's "My Chinchilla" song on YouTube. (My Chinchilla is expertly animated in Troy Little's section of the Angora Napkin pilot. Beware--this will become and ear worm...) Here's a ukelele cover of My Chinchilla. CHINCHILLA!!

In Nick Cross' section of the pilot, the girls are animated beautifully to CUB's "Go Fish". Yeahp, you can listen to it here!

BUY the book! Get 'er signed! Read, enjoy, repeat...

Later..
Ok I went trolling: you can watch a quickie preview of AN here!
Enjoy >^_^<

Shoot

"Yet there is a strength implicit in such a situation, for having no one on which to rely, we relied upon no one." --_The Ferguson Rifle_, Louis L'Amour (c) 1973

It is one of those utterly beautiful days of summer; sky like the eyes of a 16 year old blond, sweet wind playfully eddying at 22 C. The thick plum, cherry and oak glisten chlorophylle dreams. The sun bakes the deck and flies hum in cadence with John Keats' verses.

It is wasted on me. All this beauty, and quietude; not even the low roar of a lawnmower to screw it up, or the blatant howl of a leaf blower. No kids mewling and petulantly dropping fire bricks on shiny red car hoods. No dogs in choral bayance. No neighbourly "how-do" "how-do" "how-do".

It is perfect for a pulp novel on a chaise longe, a glass of moderately alcoholized lemonade in a sweating plastic cup. It is perfect for cats, 19 year old skinny with grey tufty fur and bones poking out of non-existent hips and shoulders to lay pancake flat on pavement: drawing in solar power. It is a day crafted for exuberant sloppy bouncy dogs to chase-chase-chase and lie in the shade, sucking on a stuffed plush lobster from Rainbow Valley.

It is one petal of one flower opening, showing a bruised purple face to the sun. Crepe red petals crinkling into memories. It is the antidote to the wet weather, of foul tempered Nature spitting and shitting on suburbia.

It is possible that in rolling my self in this radiance that all the horror, fear, hurt, loneliness, poignant loss, hopelessness, frustration and angst is burnished away: one sandpaper swipe at a time. Until there are just these hands, typing these words on this machine, pointed at the eastern window. The wind flutters eyelids, the leaves chuckle against one another and the neighbourhood is drowsing, drowsing.

It is a prayer against the run of shit luck that has dogged my heels this summer, this year: a barrel-of-monkeys game, where each piece of ill-luck was crazily grinning and clomped eagerly arm-to-arm, tail-to-tail onto the next piece. So, drawing the multicoloured plastic icons from their barrel one winces again and again and again.

It is hanging on to the only good things that are steadfast in this hurly-burly time: family, friends that are as close as family, friends that are on the other side of the country, and a grinning ginger Corgi.

There is pain, desolation and worry in the world five hundred times the height of my sorriest lot. And I know this. But I can only live in my world; my space in my way. The pain is personal, and the News must be set to mute, or off entirely. There is still time to dance in the sun, before she rolls her burning chariot into the blur of November. There is still time, before the time clock strikes 4-0. There is time to love, and laugh and get giddy; pointing at the hapless churning of the great skewed pot, filled to the brim with molding comic books, dripping art work, plastic wasted bric-a-brac riding the coattails of the desolation.

So, this was to be a nice deep wallow. And it is a Halleluja instead. Not a cover, but the rumbled groan of Cohen's razor blade throat over another case of wine, another cigarette, another shadowed Montreal morning in ice-biting February. When you realize that when things are at their absolute worst, one must sing, sing, sing.

Suzanne.

The Crunch

The Crunch

too much
too little

too fat
too thin
or nobody.

laughter or
tears

haters
lovers

strangers with faces like
the backs of
thumb tacks

armies running through
streets of blood
waving winebottles
bayoneting and fucking
virgins.

or an old guy in a cheap room
with a photograph of M. Monroe.

there is a loneliness in this world so great
that you can see it in the slow movement of
the hands of a clock.

people so tired
mutilated
either by love or no love.

people just are not good to each other
one on one.

the rich are not good to the rich
the poor are not good to the poor.

we are afraid.

our educational system tells us
that we can all be
big-ass winners.

it hasn't told us
about the gutters
or the suicides.

or the terror of one person
aching in one place
alone

untouched
unspoken to

watering a plant.

people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.

I suppose they never will be.
I don't ask them to be.

but sometimes I think about
it.

the beads will swing
the clouds will cloud
and the killer will behead the child
like taking a bite out of an ice cream cone.

too much
too little

too fat
too thin
or nobody

more haters than lovers.

people are not good to each other.
perhaps if they were
our deaths would not be so sad.

meanwhile I look at young girls
stems
flowers of chance.

there must be a way.

surely there must be a way we have not yet
thought of.

who put this brain inside of me?

it cries
it demands
it says that there is a chance.

it will not say
"no".


--Charles Bukowski

Love is a Dog from Hell
Poems 1974 - 1977
Santa Rosa Black Sparrow Press 1997

Doug Murray

Today was my friend Doug Murray's birthday, who passed away a couple of years ago. July 21st doesn't go by without making me think of him and making me wonder about how things would've been different had he lived.

I met Doug when I started in the Animation-Television programme at Algonquin College back in 1997. A lot of people knew Doug as a teacher at the school in their Design programme, but at that time, he was a student. It was gratifying meeting him because he was also one of the older students too, at 33. I had been quite intimidated at the thought of returning to school at the age of 27, when many of the other students were 18 years old.


Doug was immediately charming, funny, intelligent, silly, genuine, and engaging. He could warm to any subject and had ideas and opinions on many. He was always up for a "wee pint" as he called it, and then would lapse into many Monty Pythonisms thereafter (including "Decomposing Composers" and "The Philosopher's Song").

Not long after our Siers-survival group was formed, and we were meeting regularly at the Ob, Doug showed us one of his "tricks", which was to squeeze his hands together and thus produce a credible fart sound. Hilarious! Often we'd tease him into doing it for us time and time again, and he would comply. I remember Lorne saying: "Give us a fart Doogie", and Doug, grinning like a madman, happily made the sound over and over.

I partnered with Doug in Drama class a number of times. Lorne has tapes of our Drama efforts (God!! Blackmail material for sure!) It is so poignant to watch them--usually we manage to every year at Lorne and Kim's Christmas party. Doug and I go through the pantomime motions of 1st year Charlie-Chaplin wannabes. I pretend to kill him or something, or cut off his arm... and it is all silent.

I wish that we had been more adamant about taping our later, spoken Drama moments. I really miss hearing his voice, and his laugh. I miss seeing the twinkle in his eye and the crinkle of skin that preceded great laughter.

I remember I had someone brow-beaten he and Rene into being in my Drama group, where we had to act out scripts from our scriptwriting class. None of us had practiced really. The script made sense to me, because I'd written it--but Rene and Doug were a little baffled. I finished my lines, something to the effect of being the Chief of the Tribe and having all this power.. and Doug, completely forgetting his lines, grinned up at me and said: "And I suppose that makes you special??" Fantastic!

I have our illustrated yearbook "Flip This" from 1st year, and it has Doug's drawings in it; lush, lovely life drawings and silly, whimsical animation designs. He signed in my book and I treasure the note. Another note I have is on a birthday card from our Dynomight Cartoon days. Scribbled at the back is: "Ich bin ein donut!", which is pure Doug--silly, yet very literary and historical.

Anyway, I am trolling the memories and they come fast and furious. If I dig into them too much I will be crying, and I don't want it--sometimes it is too difficult to stop, you know? Suffice to say that all that I have of Doug, I treasure thoroughly, making me miss him all the harder. He was one of the good ones, and the world is diminished without him.

((hugs))
Suzanne.

Algonquin College's Doug Murray Life Bursary
Some great Flamenco guitar music (Doug was an accomplished musician as well!)
And the old Elmdale Tennis Club where he played much tennis >v_v<

NEW Ottawa Comix Jam in Guerilla Magazine's g-Gallery

The NEW Ottawa Comix Jam is not toast. In fact, it is off to a good, energetic start. There has been a continued interest and support that has amazed and gratified this artist and gives me hope that the jam will continue for a long, long time!

One of these latest shots in the arm came from Guerilla Magazine's Tony Martin who contacted me about doing an interview and showcasing June 30th's jam in his weekly online publication of art called the g-Gallery. I was delighted, and everything went along quite well.

Until I realized that I had a file full of artwork that had to be scanned, and my scanner was in the basement. Normally a set of stairs isn't all that intimidating... however I have been recovering this last month from a torn ligament. In my knee. Yeah...

I was going to just get Clayton to haul the scanner upstairs and plug it into my laptop when I had a sudden thought. "Clay--look at the back of the scanner. Does it have a gi-normous plug? Or is it tiny?" (aka: is it a USB plug, or something from the dawn of computer time...?)

"It's huge! Huge!" came the muffled reply from the basement.

Great. So I had to get down the stairs somehow. This involved waiting until the last possible moment, when I hoped that the knee wouldn't hate me for what I was going to do to it. Then doing it. I crept down the stairs using cane and hand rail, good leg first, brace, bad leg next. It took a loooong time. But there was no way to sit at the top of the stairs and explain how to scan to Clay. I couldn't do it without seeing it. And I had to get the art scanned now.

Thankfully, I didn't reinjure the healing ligament, and slowly managed to get back up the stairs with many pauses in between to rest. The artwork was scanned, and I formatted it on my laptop so it would fit the gallery's requirements. Hurrah!

I am floored by how nicely it came together, both the interview and the artwork look great in the g-Gallery. Tony was awesome, and the artists that came out and had a chance to draw did a great job. I am looking forward to next Tuesday's gathering at the Shanghai (July 28th, 7pm) for more fun hijinx, art, dumplings and silliness. I should be ok...I hope! At least the resto only has 3 stairs.

Cheers,
Suzanne.
Thanks to Janet Hetherington for the photo!

Notable Links of Featured Artists
Suzanne Marsden
Morris Rothman
Ron Martin
Clayton Jacobs
CD Rudd
Colleen Temple
Julie Cruikshank
R.R. Steven Bissonnette
Mike Pender
Ronn Sutton
Janet Hetherington
Mike Valiquette

Never tired of folk heroes

A couple of weeks ago, Bruce Ward hammered Pete Seeger for no reason in his opinion column at the Ottawa Citizen. Taking justifiable umbrage at this attack on the 90-year-old folk hero, I clattered away on the keyboard and shot a letter to the paper.
To my surprise, they decided to print my note and sent over photographer, Bruno Schlumberger to snap a shot of me, posing with my banjo.

It took two weeks because in the middle of that time, I was asked to do a rewrite of my letter, to shorten it by about 100 words or so. I did my best and patiently hovered around the Citizen's online letters area to see if it would appear at some point. I was stunned to see this morning that they had kept pretty much the whole original piece, which was quite gratifying.

So, you can either bop on over to the Citizen, or read the letter here. If you didn't get a chance to see what spurned this on, you can read the original opinion piece here.

Cheers and keep on plinkin'!
Suzanne.

=========

Re: Getting tired of folk heroes, May 26.

Back in 1985, Pete Seeger and Arlo Guthrie played the NAC. I was 15 and it was one of the first concerts I'd ever attended.

I went with my mom and was very excited, even though all I knew about Arlo Guthrie was Alice's Restaurant. It isn't simply rose-coloured glasses that make the show one of the best I can remember. There was a full house; a crowd of all ages and genders, who, at the first "plink" of Seeger's beloved banjo, and "plunk" of Guthrie's piano, were held in rapt attention.

Ottawa crowds are usually polite, quiet and attentive, and give standing "O's" at the end for a job well done.

But Seeger wasn't having any of it.

The magic of the evening was not sitting on my bum, silently enjoying a skilled performance. The magic was Pete Seeger saying: "You sing the low part, and you over there sing the middle part, and don't listen to me because I'll be singing somethin' different."

He taught the crowd the harmony to The Lion Sleeps Tonight and encouraged us with grins, humour and tenacity until we were limping through our separate parts not too badly. Then, we launched into the song. It was uplifting, spiritually moving and unforgettable. Half the audience sang the song's lower range: "Hey up boys! A Wheem-a-whet..." while the other half took the song's higher part: "A-wheem-a-whet a-wheem-a-whet..." Way, way above all of us,
Pete sang the descant in a crazy vibrato: "In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight..."

It was perfect! Every hair stood on end as he brought the rhythmic song closer to its finish. By then, we were all standing, and it wasn't even the end of the show: a spontaneous "standing O" right in the middle of the performance!

I am sorry that columnist Bruce Ward's experience with Pete Seeger didn't have the impact and uplifting force it did for me, and for millions of others around the world whose lives his and Arlo Guthrie's music has touched. Seeger's power is that he connects directly to people in the audience and makes them feel special, that he cares about their lives. You feel it when you see him, and you know it when you sing with him.

Seeger prevails, and I, for one, am glad.

All this talk of folk music has inspired me to take up the banjo I bought last summer; a spontaneous purchase which came shortly after finding Seeger's banjo primer in a folk music store in P.E.I. The first song I'm going to learn is Abby Yo-Yo.

Suzanne Marsden,
Kanata
© Copyright (c) The Ottawa Citizen

YouTube
Pete Seeger
Abby Yo-yo
Wimoweh

World Drawing Day 2009

If you take a couple of minutes (ok 3) and head on over to YouTube, you can see my two posted videos for this year's World Drawing Day event.
This was a lot of fun to do, although at 13,000+ I think the site is still short of its million artists. At this rate, I think we're all going to have to suck it in and draw like..80 drawings each to make up the 1,000,000 they were hoping for! But, it is only 10:30am or so and the day is young.
In other news, I have uploaded artwork for the NEW Ottawa Comix Jam FB site,
so head over there and take a gander. I will be cross posting the artwork to the jam site as well shortly...

Upcoming stuff: The Ottawa Small Press Book Fair at Jack Purcell Community Centre happens June 20th, noon - 5pm and DragonHead Studio will be there..selling comics, promoting the jam, looking cute..harf! Come out and say "hello", but a comic...get a sketch! Not unlike the dragon one posted on YouTube.......!

NAPKIN! NAPKIN! NAPKIN! (Angora that is!)

If you haven't heard of the genius of Angora Napkin and the fellows who carved them out of putty and blew soft bubble gum flavoured breath into them; then where ya been?

Born out of the mania that only comes with steady work drawing kiddy cartoons and fuzzy bunnies, Troy Little and Nick Cross decided there had to be something better, something bigger than all of this. Thus, after splitting another metaphor with a simile, they cracked each others' skulls and drew forth Molly, Mallory and Beatrice.

After creating a gigantic, very cool pile of back story, promo material, designs, boards and scripts the project ended up shelved. Yeah! WTF?? What knob thought an Angora Napkin was something you'd slide between tender, supple thighs? In any case, our bubble-gum girl trio languished, almost forgotten, until Troy went to Rainbow Valley and fell in the Cotton Candy machine.
Inspiration!
Determination!
Something exploded in his tangled brain; igniting neurons that had been wrapped up all too darkly with his Xeric award winning comic Chiaroscuro. Cotton Candy. Squealing children. Puppies.

ANGORA NAPKIN!

Troy hustled home the long way, barely getting the unicycle parked on the roof where it belonged, and pulled Angora Napkin out from under the cubby where the project had been sleeping. AHA he cried, and with a manic flourish, brought the trio to a black and white half-life in comic form. Well, half-life was better than no life at all; and the comic world was finally introduced to Mallory, Beatrice and Molly as a back story in an issue of critically acclaimed comic, Chiaroscuro.


Short story long, Nick Cross, (co-creator of beloved AN) and Troy Little, won the chance to create a pilot on Teletoon and knew that this was the full-colour, bouncy fun, animated dream they'd been wishing for all their lives, and had only realized it then! Angora Napkin would live! Meanwhile, at the same time, Angora Napkin's first hard cover graphic novel exploded on the scene via IDW Publishing (yes, the same company that, after reading a glowing commendation from Dave Sim about Troy Little's Chiaroscuro, decided to check it out, were suitably impressed, and published the ground breaking work in hard cover!)


Things were moving quickly; almost too quickly! Could Dolphin Boy be voiced by anyone other than Cory Perkins? Would the whirling interstitial really connect two disparate worlds? Would PETA finally track down Beatrice's chinchilla and crown it monarch of a small Lanark County Kingdom? Did I take this job just to make a quick buck? We may never know the answers to any of these questions... but I believe it may have happened something like this...

All that being said, the graphic novel rippled like a full scoop of Cherry Garcia dropped into a molten cup of maple syrup. People weren't just talking, they were screaming: NAPKIN! NAPKIN! NAPKIN! The screening of the pilot in Ottawa's trendy Shanghai Restaurant earlier in the month had a similar reaction. Folks were floored! There was nothing remotely like this on TV anywhere. It was tight, well written, bouncy, fun and the timing was remarkable. And the Canadian content! Who can argue with close to 43 actual references made of our beloved country?*

Beatrice, Molly and Mallory weren't destined for the forgotten scrapheap of other animated girl bands and their small rodential pets. They were destined for greatness! With CUB backing the animated show musically (even after THEY had broken up--!) nothing could stand in their way.


If you are still scratching your head, check out the pilot's teaser on the Angora Napkin site. If you really want to get your feet wet, head on over to Troy Little's Meanwhile Studios site and order a signed hardcover graphic novel for yourself. With an artful intro by John K., you will not regret picking this thing up! It has an amazing combination of energy, fun and beautiful artwork. The spot colour makes it feel like it is fully rendered believe it or not. Amazing what a bit o' blue can do. Don't just take my word for it--see what others have to say >^_^<


If you are not scratching your head and are already a fan, SPREAD THE WOID. The only way this is going to get made is for us all to jump up and down and go: NAPKIN! NAPKIN! NAPKIN! until someone blows a gasket. For what it is worth, I hear by grant permission for this entire post (or portions thereof) to be reprinted in any format, electronic or hand made, for the purpose of promoting Angora Napkin in any way, shape or form.

Now go.
Do it!

*for the actual list, please harass Trick and Noy
"The Animator" painted by Kristy Gordon
All Angora Napkin images (c)2009 Troy Little & Nick Cross.