Uninhabited Spaces

My family started to annually visit Lake Kipawa in the summer of 1980. A massive water system with 900 km of shoreline, Lake Kipawa is in northern Quebec and is part of the Anishinabek territory of the Kebaowek First Nation and also home to Wolf Lake First Nation. My sister Angela Kelly was born in August 1980 and was on the Lake not long after, a tradition continued when her son Kaelan Kelly arrived in August 2001. My sister Marsha arrived in March 1982, and I am sure she was on the Lake that summer too. I must confess one of my favourite memories of our trips is those Kellog’s mini-packs of cereal. It was the treat of the year to be able to have those sugar bombs for breakfast. Dad loved Lake Kipawa in a way that I can only truly appreciate now. He would spend hours trolling for Kipawa’s famed Lake Trout and Walleye. For this little guy, who just wanted to read a Stephen King novel or play with my Atari or Star Wars action figures, driving a boat for hours was the ultimate in boredo

My parents, especially my mother Jackiline , made sure that Christmas was always extra special for me and my sisters. We had two Christmas trees: one in the main living room and one in the family room. Dad always seemed to love to get the trees, always real ones, each year. Presents from the family were under the living room tree and presents from Santa were delivered by the old red-suited gent to the basement tree. Us kids made the decorations for the tree in the basement, and the main tree was a Victorian beauty done up by Mom. A Québécois family, Christmas Eve was especially important, and we had a traditional meal of smoked meat, tortiere, and plenty of yummy homemade desserts. We also opened up presents from the family. When I was much younger, I would attend midnight mass with my Great Aunt Marion. Christmas morning always began with my sisters barging into my room at some ridiculously early time and jumping on my bed to announce that Santa had come. Foggy, and still asleep, I w

In 2006, my darling husband Mark Julien lost his father to Alzheimer’s disease. It was a profoundly emotional time and proved to be a catalyst for Mark. After earning his B.Ed. in 2008, and teaching visual arts to high school students, Mark began the initial writings and illustrations of what would eventually become his graphic novel Justin Case and the Closet Monster . Dedicated to his dad, Raymond, the story was a fantastical way through which Mark could talk with him, and tell him the truth he never had the courage to share when he was still alive and cogent. Mark created a beautiful world of Closet Monsters, who live in another dimension, tasked to help LGBTQ+ humans on their way out of the closet. Mark worked on the book for 9 years. I remember him drawing and writing non-stop, day and night, including a memorable ferry ride from Boston to Provincetown. As he created the world of the Closet Monsters, I waited patiently to meet them and learn more about them and their journeys. I

I’ve been watching the excellent music documentary series “1971” on AppleTV+ and learning more about the era-defining music born the same year as yours truly. The series provides a great overview of the cultural and political context for what was happening in the world to influence what later became viewed as landmark albums. What is so striking is that many (if not all) of these songs resonate just as powerfully 50 years onward. I’m especially partial to “Pearl” as my mom has always been a huge Janis Joplin fan. My late elementary school bestest friend Chris Kearns (RIP) was a massive The Who fan, so I got to know “Who’s Next”. Of course, every singe school dance always ended with “Stairway to Heaven”, which is a pure disaster of a song to try and dance to with someone. I’ve shared cover images of some of the best albums of 1971. What a singular, outstanding year in music. Have we ever equalled it? The test, of course, remains regardless of whatever music is popular and hip at a mome

Here's a few photos over the years of yours truly...  

You never stop coming out. After many years of struggle, I finally came out to myself in the early 1990s. Well, sort of. It’s complicated. What would the LGBTQ sorting hat do with me? I had written a paper at Queen’s in 1992 on how I thought the queer liberation movement needed to move on from the restrictive walls of labels. Something to that effect. I was young and riled up. Bronski Beat, Erasure, and Depeche Mode were on heavy rotation. And, yes, Indigo Girls and Ani Difranco too. So you finally push your rock to the top of the mountain and then you have to figure out who you can share your big news with. And you realize much later that you have to ask them to get in the closet with you too, as they can’t tell anyone else. For you are terrified of the rejection, the shame, the small cuts that will run so deep if left unattended. And then you share some more and worry and hope some more. And it’s rinse and repeat and you never stop having to go through the closet door. And the church

In the summer of 1984, my parents packed me into the car and dropped me off at an overnight camp near Haley Station, Ontario, not too far from the southeast boundary of Algonquin Park. I was 13, pretty upset, and really did not want to be there. In the end, that week changed my life. I had an incredible experience, meeting wonderful people and, in fact, did not want to leave when my parents came back to pick me up. Notably, a fellow camper brought out his boom box and played a song from some band from Ireland called U2. That song was “Pride (In the Name of Love)” and I was transfixed. I kept a careful watch for more new U2 music and was in Grade 10 when they finally released “The Joshua Tree”. I started to earnestly collect their back catalogue and bootleg live recordings in music shops on Rideau St in Ottawa. By 1988, with the release of “Rattle and Hum”, I was deeply invested and started to most assuredly bother family and friends with my constant playing of my beloved band. What ce

I remember clearly the first time I called my father “Dad”. I don’t remember what day it was, or how old I was, but I do remember the where and how. We were living in Breckenridge, Quebec then, and one day Mom asked me to go get Dad, who was in the basement. So, I ran over to the top of the basement stairs and I paused. Until that moment I had always called him “Richard”. I thought about it, and with heart beating, I called out “Dad’? I don’t know if it surprised him or what he thought, but he came when he heard me. It was a watershed moment for me. A few years later Dad would formally adopt me. Dad was a man of few words. He was more a man of action and deeds. I have come to appreciate through many stories of his friends and family members how Dad’s actions and deeds affected them and made a difference in their lives. Dad was someone who you could depend on in your time of need; someone who was there for you and would unselfishly help out. The words Dad did use were often in the ser

In summer 2011, our friend and former colleague Jan Sage reached out to Mark to let me know that an opportunity with OCAD University was available in Development & Alumni Relations. It had been a very tough year, as I had been laid off from Queen’s in 2010, and then my dad died on February 26, 2011. After multiple interviews, an offer was made and we found ourselves looking for an apartment in Toronto. After saying tearful goodbyes to our chosen family in Kingston, we started a new chapter in downtown Toronto. Thankfully, our dear friends Patrick McNeill and Ray McVong had decamped from Kingston to Toronto the year before. They added to the welcome wagon and supportive net of longtime Toronto friends Dana , Toni Marvin & Dave, and Lisa Collins . And me, being the ridiculously faithful Queen’s alumnus, reached out to the then president of Queen's Toronto Alumni , Elaine Wu , to volunteer with the branch and a new friend was in our lives. What an adventure was laid in fr