Ode to James O'Shea

Written by James O'Shea on paper with a pen and dropped in the post.
He's as free a man as I've ever met.

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"Yo Maryana! I miss you. I checked the porch swing a couple of times in case you had forgotten to leave. Alas, still no you. But I know you're there in spirits. Deux ex machina. Dea. et vous?

I just got back from working a Chairman gig at the Children's festival in Saskatoon. It was great but there were too many children! The place was packed with them. Yipper yapping hand clapping let's all count to 3.

Also on the radio today was the following story: World Nude Bike ride day was to be held for the very first time in Nelson, BC. But, oho, it was too cold and rainy for those naked cyclists, so the event was cancelled. But Five "rogue nuclists" decided they were gonna pedal their petals through town any way. Hooray for hippies! Unfortunately, it was not [FUCKING HIPPIES] uneventful. No-one would have even noticed them but that their butts ended up at Riverside Park, which as everyone knows is used on weekends as the kids soccer park. So there they all were, hundreds of kids and mums and dad and coaches and oranges and water bottles and two naked grown men. The hippies had no time to explain. They were chased out of the park by angry dads who wouldn't listen to any world nude bike day excuses. Foul dogs!



Also I am having a recurring sense of horror as I realize we are going to live in Saskatoon for a year or two. Why? I have the latest BC virus. Why? Why bother? You are already here. The cold out there. The cold. Have you ever felt 40 degrees below? It's the same temperature in both marking systems. F & C. Here Comes Everybodies! Jesus its cold. Not cute snowflakes cold. Cold like it hurts. Cold you just ache. Fuck I love it. You must come there. You must.

In other news Chloe is still a long legged goofball wandering both aimlessly and purposeful around the deck. It still hasn't warmed up here so she would rather be inside. If she gets bored she hunts Flies. She thinks they are tiny birds and she dreams of the mean streets of Mexico. My brother kept telling me - "watch out man: that dog is gonna drop a balloon of heroin in its turd one day and 2 guys are gonna jump out of the bushes and take it from you man - the dog is a mule - a drug mule!" He was teasing. But still. Whenever that dog shits I get ready for the cartel to seize the turd. Why else smuggle a dog across 2 borders? Chloe won't say - she's still not talking. Love, James"



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This letter is forcing me to ravamp, writing wise and come back to the gypsy ship a much plainer speaking, non flowery woman. I'm gonna try. I'm really gonna try. Love you James and Patty, Keelin and William O'Shea. And Chloe, you cocaine cowgirl.