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