Venice. On numerous visits over twenty four years, since my feet first found wings on the ground in the city, I’ve made it my pleasure to shape my own course as an anonymous wanderer, even if somewhat informed by carefully selected editions from the mountain of guidebooks pumped out incessantly every year. I have very
If you, like myself, have been to the Netherlands and in particular Delft, and even if you may never have the opportunity to visit there again in the future, then you will be instantly transported; and if you have ever experienced a sense of stillness viewing one or more from the vast array of Dutch
If it were not for a bookshop, a particular bookshop, there would have been no romance, no marriage, no family like mine, nor me sharing this story. While it may seem like a flight of fancy, it is not. In 1948, on the west side of Yonge Street near the intersection of Bloor Street in
Transom windows have a history which, according to some sources, goes back to Roman times, while others refer back to the 14th century. However far back you want to go, their practicality remains the same – to allow for the circulation of air and light while offering privacy to those in a room with a
Around this time, in a deeper heat of summer, a certain memory of place, a childhood place, emerges in my mind. For I was blessed to live by a woods – Magwood. Out my bedroom window my eyes filled with green and filtered sunlight through swaying trees. My window was open to hear songs of
Rapt in a meditation of another world, in another space and time, just over the rim of a raised glass of wine last summer, a question still lingers – how did I make the leap from learning about glass sponges from earth’s Jurassic period to thinking about the origins of the glass harp in the,