If you find this, I want you to know that we were fine right up until the moment we weren’t fine at all. We didn’t suffer much. We’d gone to pick strawberries, lured off the main road by a pick-your-own sign and an arrow aimed down the green lane…

The latest in a series in which I think about why I like the things I do. This time it’s a little painting that I look at most days.

It’s damn busy out there. It’s hard to find the time to read a book, much less write one. My daughter turned thirteen yesterday and I can’t fathom how that’s possible. The moments blur together, like a film ripped at triple speed through a smoking projector.

There is a new sort of music coming out of England these days - an often text-based, impressionistic or confessional sort of rock. Dry Cleaning are part of that movement.

Occasionally it feels as if a listing just slips though the cracks. This detached house with a lovely fenced garden, blue deck, and garage, is one of those times.

The Swedish post-punk band Viagra Boys are like the smart-asses that made you laugh back in high school. They’re loud and they’re frequently obnoxious, but you also suspect they’re a lot cleverer than those who take quick offence at their antics.

And so it seems the Capitol Condos will be built but won’ t quite touch the sky. But will they be pretty?

There’s not a lot of time off, once the work really kicks in, as it has now. The escapes (not that I’m looking to get away, particularly) are into music, either on a walk to Belle Island, or just driving between appointments and wondering, How did I get here?

A story of Lake Ontario and flying above it, then reluctantly driving away from it.

Being a buyer is a tough gig these days. Prices were up nearly 18% last year alone and inventory is at 30-year lows. What’s a house hunter to do?

Everyone’s trying to make a living, but trying to buy someone’s house for a song, so you can turn around and flip to for a huge profit, is pretty low. The only thing you should do with these postcards is recycle them.

New albums last week from favourites Shame and Sleaford Mods had me casting a gaze backwards to simpler times, sorta.

True Story. My kitchen for the longest time was behind that window. I stood back there I don’t know how many hours doing the dishes or just leaned against the old farmhouse sink contemplating the leaded glass, the sorry state of my forearms. Corned beef we had if it was a good week, and a murderous slaw heavy on beets we’d planted where the tannery lands fought it out with the river.

I’m a sucker for top ten lists. And this year it was music I leaned on more than books. Once the three-month shutdown was over, Cheri and I ran most of the rest of the year, and it was these records I played as I drove the hollowed-out streets.

For buyers, multiple offers are the worst, most stressful part of real estate these days. Mere mention of them causes good people to break out in a cold sweat. And I get why.

They're putting in new streets all over. And the act of naming them feels like an afterthought.

We admire very much the work of local sketch artist John Wright. He’s agreed that perhaps we can complement each other’s work. Here are all the details.

Another in a series of vaguely plausible narratives informed mostly by the things we see and hear, and imagine, in this crazy business.

Les bought the house because the ginkgo tree across Montreal Street just about broke his heart. The way it swung violently from lime green to lemon yellow every October.

I was up early listening to the new Metz album and reading far too many headlines. It’s a mess out there and this is a small part of my reaction to that new music and bad news.