According to tradition, preparations for the New Year celebration
are already well underway. My Chinese friends tell me that they have spent the
better part of this week cleaning their houses from roof to rafters, as the
New Year's duck gently marinates in the refrigerator.

Of course, my on-going interest in Chinese culture and language is motivated
in part by the realities of our own family. Also, my current mystery
is set in China, so I am immersing myself in any detail that will lend truth to my fiction.

Because it is my policy to delve into the geography of whatever
region my characters happen to find themselves in, I've been slowly chipping
away at learning to speak Mandarin, to the embarrassment of my children, who
die a thousand deaths every time I fail to impress our Chinese friends and
neighbours with my poorly spoken Mandarin.

Just the same, it's been fun drawing the intricate Chinese characters and
practicing the tones that give each word its unique meaning. I will
probably never be fluent in speaking Mandarin, but every new character
that I learn brings me closer to breathing the same air as my protagonist,
and that is important to me.

Today I've been thinking about this ancient Chinese tradition of 'New Year's
housecleaning'. I know that most practitioners take the custom very
seriously, believing that in order to receive any good luck in the coming
year, all bad luck must first be 'swept out' of the family home.

My Scottish ancestors had a similar tradition of thorough spring cleaning, as did
many Europeans. My parents took the process very seriously, right up till they passed away recently. I can remember my mother warning us to stay out of the house when she was using ammonia to strip the old wax off the floors.

Can it be that the ancients knew something that we have forgotten? I wonder
whether the act of cleaning one's house was intended to represent a deeper, more
spiritual removal of dirt from the chi. Of course, that could be a copout on my part,
being the kind of slip-shod housekeeper that I am. But I can't help feeling
that the real goal here must be something greater than achieving a shiny
counter top.

For my own part, as I scrub and vacuum and spray and wash our house tomorrow
I am going to keep this thought in mind: For each germ that I annihilate, I
am going to eliminate one stubborn grudge from my soul. So if I stick to my
plan, then by February 18th I should be ready to enter the New Year with a
clean heart, free from any residual pettiness or anger that I may have accumulated during the previous year.

Best to all, Donna

When CBC’s The Fifth Estate aired their update of Tsunami: Untold Stories in December 2006, a number of friends called to make sure that I wouldn’t miss the episode.

Having spent the first six months of 2005 engaged in research of the Boxing Day, 2004 tsunami for my novel Gold And Fishes, I frankly was not emotionally prepared to watch this program. The thousands of stories that flooded the news during those first months of 2005 were still firmly lodged in my mind, and I worried that my emotional reaction to the update would be traumatic.

I’m not sure what I expected from this documentary. I think maybe I was looking for a status report – Southeast Asia two years later, tales of rebuilding, that sort of thing. Nothing could have prepared me for the deeply personal interviews and accounts that were shared by survivors from around the world. As I listened to each of them speak about how the events of that day forever changed the very fabric of their lives, my soul wept.

From the Sri Lankan teen who tells of losing his mother and sister, to the European couple who lost their eight-month-old baby – from the Thai fisherman who became a monk after losing his entire family, to the diver on vacation in Thailand who lost his girlfriend – these are stories from the heart, told by human beings who will never be free from their memories of such a chaotic tragedy.

Do we have the courage to meet each other face to face in the midst of this new global society that we share? Do we have the strength as individuals to look into each other’s pain, and to recognise within each other the need for understanding and compassion?

If there is a ‘silver lining’ to be found within this story, it must rise from the bond of love that was established between East and West, as millions of people from around the world gave with their hearts to help the people of Southeast Asia survive this nightmare.

On a very personal level, for me one thing is certain: I will never again question the urge within myself to help my fellow man. Also, I will no longer doubt my compulsion to have studied and documented those early days following the tsunami.

Speaking about Gold And Fishes, a friend told me that she was astonished at the level of chronological fact that appeared throughout the book. Because she is a friend, of course I took her kindness as it was offered. Just the same, I was gratified when she went on to say that G&F was an exceptional record of the event, and that it should one day be used as an historical study within the school system.

If that should ever come to pass, then I believe that G&F will have fulfilled its purpose.

From now until sometime in May 2007, we are very fortunate in Southern Ontario to have two great exhibits underway. The McMichael Gallery in Kleinburg is currently hosting an extensive collection of works by BC artist Takao Tanabe. Meanwhile, The Art Gallery of Ontario in Toronto, which is deep in the throes of a massive re-construction project and consequently has many sections closed to the public, is showing 200 of the finest works of the late Emily Carr.

Alex and I were not able to attend the presentation in Kleinburg by the artist Tanabe, but we did manage to tour the gallery last weekend. Tanabe is perhaps best known for his dramatic horizontal lines, which many viewers find to be both soothing and haunting. What I learned at McMichael is that the earliest works by Tanabe were largely abstracts. We were struck by the delicate curves and bold colours of many of those earlier pieces.

McMichael has strategically presented Tanabe’s work chronologically, allowing the viewer to follow the artist’s progression from the glowing abstracts to the somewhat disturbingly serene minimalist landscapes, and finally to the detailed and once again exceptionally delicate and colourful landscapes of his most recent work. His translation of the BC interiors is controlled and yet loving. One can almost feel the gentleness of his brush as the imagery tiptoes to life on his canvas.

Tanabe was born in Prince Rupert in 1926, and was interned along with fellow Japanese-Canadians on Canada’s West coast during the Second World War. He studied in Canada, Europe, Japan and New York, but his love of BC’s majestic terrain is clear throughout his body of work.

Yesterday, Alex and I took a chance and paid full price to tour the largely ‘closed’ AGO. We were not disappointed. The selection of Carr’s work is sufficiently brilliant to convert even the most determined of non-fans. Again, the work is laid out according to the artist’s development, keeping in mind that for a stretch of over 15 years Carr ‘lost faith’ in her painting and gave her efforts over to trying to earn a living as a landlady and a breeder of dogs. One could imagine that her supposed loss of faith in her talent might have had much to do with the struggle for a single woman to survive in that place and time. Mere survival would be challenge enough – gaining recognition for what could only in retrospect be labelled as genius would be entirely another matter.

In an International context, Carr is being widely compared to US artist Georgia O'Keefe and Mexican painter Frida Kahlo as one of North America's foremost independant and ground-breaking female artists.

As we enter the exhibit, we are confronted with image after image of Carr’s earliest work, her attempt to capture the disappearing reality of BC’s Native interior. Totem poles are prevalent throughout this period. Many have called this work 'phallic', which should not be surprising. After all, if the artist paints what she sees, then the majestic verticals and vibrant colours of BC’s forests would necessarily dominate the landscapes.

These images seem almost child-like in their attempt to portray the people as well as the place, unlike many other artists of the period whose first focus was on the place, with an almost blind eye to the people who inhabit it. In the latter part of the 1900’s, Arthur Shilling’s work brings back memories of these early Carr pieces – the innocence and resignation of people who are facing absorption into a reality that is too fast and too overwhelming to be understood.

Later, we move away from these deceptively simple snapshots, into the more spiritual works focussing on the living forests. Here Carr shows us the life within the landscape, as mountains, clouds, trees, buildings are all seen to be breathing, to be growing organically out of the earth. These works are powerful in their statements. Gone is any sense of hesitation in Carr’s strokes. She now knows what she is trying to tell us.

From these masterpieces we are drawn ever-deeper into the living art of Carr’s BC. Suddenly we are faced with vibrant, singing skies and trees that shimmer with spirit. These later pieces are, in my opinion, what mark Carr as a true master. During this period she has shed any self-doubt, and the message is clear: Life is everywhere. It must be acknowledged.

Finally and almost anti-climatically we wander into the section that houses the portraits, both Carr’s self-portraits, and the photographs of her beloved family of animals. These images tell us who the artist was. But without a doubt it is her landscapes that define her more deeply and with a more lasting impression.

So, here we have two great artists from the West – Emily Carr and Takao Tanabe. One cannot resist the temptation to compare their work. But can we? As viewers, it is our eyes alone that bring meaning to the work, just as it is the eyes of the artists that brought meaning to the landscapes. Tanabe’s gentle, loving horizontal strokes cannot possibly be portraying the same province as Carr’s vibrant, almost frenetic vertical assertions of colour.

Can they?

First of all, I'd like to wish everyone a Happy Easter weekend, and a blessed Passover week as well!

Well, it's official -- the Phantom is indeed back, and in full form. Thanks to Alex for the excellent birthday present. What a treat it was!

Rob Lorey did a superb job filling in for John Cudia as the Angel of Music himself, and Marnie Raab was thrilling as the songbird Christine. We were also taken with Kyle Barisich, who stepped with confidence into the role of Raoul. Needless to say, we woke this morning humming Music of the Night, and a number of other scores that have altered the fabric of our modern experience.

I am in awe of any individual who, like Andrew Lloyd Webber and Charles Hart, are able to forever influence an entire culture through their absolute devotion to their art. And Toronto's latest rendition of the work, which is running from February to June 2007, is simply outstanding.

From the first note the audience is enthralled, not only by the music, but by the set, the costumes, the lighting, the form of the singers, dancers and acters on the stage -- each detail lends itself completely to the drama that we anticipate will unfold.

Phantom lovers will already know what I am talking about. For the uninitiated I can only say that this is an event that is well worth attending.

On Friday, May 4 Alex and I attended a show of new works by artist Patty Zuver.
The series, called Thoughts on Death and Life and the fluid nature of one into the other, is a reflection not only on the larger forces of nature as indicated by the title, but also upon the factors that define for each of us our unique sense of ‘home’.

Ms. Zuver was raised in Washington, D.C. She was educated in Virginia and England, and much of her previous work focused on the stark yet brilliant colours of the Adirondack mountain ranges.

Her latest series shows her love of the Mountain State in another light. Instead of the splays of blue, white and red that were the earmark of Ms. Zuver’s earlier Adirondack pieces, the viewer is invited to pause in the presence of this new work and to share a moment of spiritual grace with the artist.

Painted solely in black using pastel on paper, the works are large, filling the eye with serenity. Despite the dramatic contrasts created by Ms. Zuver’s colour choice, the effect is not in the least morbid, but rather it is strangely reassuring. One is comforted by the notion that Death and Life are indeed only small parts of a much larger circle, and that ‘distance’ can never erase the ties that bind us to our memory of home.

Created shortly after the death of her mother, these pieces are a tribute to the good things that we are taught in childhood: the tree that grows in our mother’s yard is indeed timeless; the river that runs alongside the mountain carries with it the elusive meaning of life.

This series raises Ms. Zuver’s work above the ordinary, thanks in large part to her courageous break from the traditional styles of landscape. Its accessible quality is also due to its deeply emotional message. We find ourselves thinking about individual pieces long after we have seen them, and the artist’s sense of stillness remains with us.

In her own words, Ms. Zuver speaks about the motivation for this series:

This series of drawings was started this past October when I rented a cabin in the woods in the mountains of Virginia. My mother had a serious fall a few days before I arrived and as a result, my week was consumed by daily drives from Syria, Virginia to Charlottesville where she lived.
I grew up in Virginia and, as always, when I return and look at that landscape I am amazed by all that is hidden in the tangled mess that is the flora there. The vines, the fallen trees, the constant buzz of the insects and chatter of the birds. On long walks, I was taken aback by all the dead things I saw: deer, turtles, frogs, snakes, birds. And yet, springing from these dead forms were objects of intense beauty: scarlet vines, iridescent insects, beautiful fungus. Life and death are not separated in the south- one springs clearly from the other.
All that was surrounding me echoed what I was seeing inside: Life, even when it appears to be neat and quiet is never far from the disruption of death and the explosion of birth. The messiness is always there, just beneath the surface. But from this messiness springs beauty, from discomfort springs change, from death springs life.
My mother died just before I started to work on these drawings, so the images are tangled with intense feelings of grief: for a mother, for a past, for a place of belonging. With her death, I lost my last parent and one last connection to home. With these drawings, I am exploring the turmoil caused by losing two of the foundations of life: Family and Home

Interview with the artist:

Q: As a wife and the mother of a young family, many readers will no doubt be asking themselves how you can be so productive as an artist. How do you maintain the necessary discipline?

A: By nature, I’m not a very disciplined person, so I usually have to impose some sort of discipline on myself. I have three kids and a partner who travels quite a lot, so it can be very difficult to find the time to get work done. What I have found works best for me is to get away- rent a house or studio that I can go to for a week or two and work very intensely- that way, I’m not having to carve out time for myself between the laundry, the cooking, the soccer games, etc. For this series of drawings, I went down to Virginia for a week and stayed in a cabin in the mountains by myself- I took four-hour-long walks to get into that headspace that’s necessary (for me) to open yourself up to create. When I worked on the actual drawings, I was at Gibraltar Centre for the Arts on Toronto Island where I had an amazing studio and small bedroom for about two months. I would try to spend three or four days there every week- again, the only way for me to get that level of intensity…I’ve never been one of those people who can drop the kids off at school and go work for two hours (I wish I could be…). When I do work at home, I simply have to put blinders on to not see the mounds of laundry or the kitchen table that’s covered in dirty dishes. In addition to all of this, I have the incredible fortune of being married to a man who is very supportive both emotionally AND logistically- in other words, he will pick the children up from school, cook dinner, do laundry etc. when I’m working.

Q: Your mother has had a profound influence on your creative expression. Is there a message in your work that you would hope to pass down to your own children?

A: I’m not sure if there’s a message IN my work as much as there’s a message WITH my work that I would hope they get- That is, to find your passion and to work with it. It’s not important to me for my kids to be “successful”- it’s important to me that they figure out what they love to do and to spend their lives doing it. I think that’s something that I got from my mother.

Q: In the piece titled Something Hidden, Something Revealed, the viewer is mystified by the movement of light and shadow across the mountain. How did you create such a profound stillness? What kind of brushes did you use for this and how did you prepare your colour?

A: To be honest with you, when I went to Gibraltar Point right after my mother died, my idea was to do four large paintings of rocks in water….but I kept coming back to these pinhole images that I had taken while I was in Virginia. I loved the murky, swampy feeling of them and I decided to experiment a little with trying to re-create that feeling of an old, hacked-up photograph. I just stumbled on the black pastel because that was the only drawing medium that I had with me. I painted my paper with turpentine and drew right onto the wet paper and just loved the richness that that gave me. It was something very different than what I have been doing for the past 15 years and I was pretty surprised by it- it sort of brought me back to the printmaking work I used to do and I realize that I have essentially done a series of lithographs with out the stones…
I didn’t even touch my paint the entire time I was at the Island.

Q: The twin ‘tree’ pieces titled Measurement of Time are my personal favourites. They immediately draw the viewer into a joyous sense of home, yet there is also the overriding sadness of knowing that this ‘home’ lives only in memory. Can you describe the spiritual concept or emotion that lies behind these pieces?

A: Well, I think you got it exactly right- this whole series is dealing with that elusive notion of “home” and what that means. That, really, it’s an idea that can only live in our memory and yet it’s something that defines us so strongly. As I was making these drawings, I was dealing with the loss of my mother (one of my last connections to Virginia), the loss of my last parent, and the dissolution of one of my oldest friendships (another last connection to Virginia). While I feel less and less “at home” every time I go to Virginia, I still react viscerally to the landscape there in a way I don’t anywhere else in the world. I hope that in some small way I translated that love of the land and all those conflicted emotions in these pieces.

Painter Patty Zuver grew up in Washington, D.C. She was educated in Virginia and England in Painting and Printmaking. She has exhibited in the U.S., England and Canada. She currently lives in Toronto, Canada.

May is ‘Fine Art’ month in Canada, with the three largest Auction houses, Heffel, Sotheby’s and Joyner all hosting sales of works by Canada’s leading painters.

Sotheby’s, in association with Ritchies, is currently holding its preview through Sunday, May 27 from noon till 5:00 at 380 King Street East in Toronto. Its Auction will take place on Monday, May 28, commencing at 10:30 am.

The preview offers an incredible collection of William Kurelek pieces, including ‘McCarney Pastoral’, a delightful image of two schoolboys resting on a rural hillside in P.E.I. near the Hunt River. There are also a number of brilliant pieces by Marc-Aurele Fortin including ‘Hochelaga’, a heartbreakingly accurate backyard Toronto piece by John Kasyn titled ‘Behind Grange Ave. (Toronto)', and a hauntingly lyrical piece by Arthur Lismer called 'Northern Tapestry’ that will take your breath away.

A place of honour is reserved for 'Beauty, Mantled Deep’ by Frank (Franz) Johnston, most likely painted in the Lake Nipigon area. Of equal beauty and importance is 'Les Servantes’ by Jean-Paul Lemieux, its haunting figures stealing down the staircases and corridors of our collective National memory.

'Falls of Montmorenci’ by Cornelius Kreighoff depicts the area just east of Quebec City. The base of the falls is adorned with the joyous colours of a rainbow. One of our favourites, Stanley Morel Cosgrove, is well represented with his piece 'Spring Landscape’, his dream-like oils bleeding onto the canvas in a faux-watercolour manner.

In the abstract medium, we see two stunning pieces by Toronto painter Gershon Iskowitz, 'July #2’ and 'Red-B’, both in full Iskowitz tradition of infinite imagination and colour. More quietly, the always brilliant and sometimes tender Jean Albert McEwen is represented by 'Les Fiancailles No.8’. This subtle work captures the eye and holds it.

Also noteworthy is 'A Room At St. Vincent’s’ by Christopher Pratt, a strange and haunting image of invention presented in the style of photo-realism. This empty room, devoid of humanity but rife with human emotion, stands in stark contrast to the warmth and classic vigour of Henri Leopold Masson’s piece 'Night Skating’. A steady stream of skaters moves with more energy than grace through the darkness, teeming forward with the heat of life on the cold Quebec ice.

I cannot overlook one tiny gem: a spray of colour titled 'Sahara’ by Marcelle Ferron, full of shimmering heat. Nearby is William Perehudoff’s '1986’, which depicts fiery bolts of yellow and blue stabbing through a thick grey cloud. And in the same vein of warmth, we find 'Ruins of a Tropic Town’ by Jack Leonard Shadbolt, featuring a sun-baked palm tree in the centre of a vivid red-brick landscape.

Alex was in Vancouver last week speaking to a group of Construction professionals on behalf of Reed Construction Data. On Wednesday, May 23 he attended the Heffel Auction at the Sheraton Wall Centre Hotel on Burrard Street. The Grand Auctioneers Robert and David Heffel mesmerized bidders and onlookers alike with their knowledge and wit. Alex and I had earlier scouted the preview at the Heffel Gallery on Hazelton Avenue in Toronto.

We concluded that for Spring, 2007 no other House offered quite the calibre of eye candy that Heffel did. From the moment we walked into the funky, crooked little gallery, we were treated to an array of Masterpieces – Maurice Cullen, J.E.H. MacDonald, Robert Wakeham Pilot, Lawren Harris, A.Y. Jackson, Cornelius Krieghoff, A.J. Casson, Tom Thomson, David Milne, William Goodridge Roberts, Arthur Lismer, Nora Collyer, Marc-Aurele Fortin, Jean Paul Lemieux, Emily Carr, Franklin Carmichael, Frank (Franz) Johnston, Wiliam Kurelek, Henri Leopold Masson, Jack Hamilton Bush, Jack Shadbolt, Paul-Emile Borduas, Jean-Paul Riopelle, Frederick Horsman Varley, Marc-Aurele de Foy Suzor-Cote, John Kasyn, John Goodwin Lyman, Pegi Nicol MacLeod, Alexander Colville, E.J. Hughes, John Carruthers Little – the list just goes on and on and on…

One of the most pleasant surprises of the evening was the sale of John Goodwin Lyman’s 'Beach Scene – La Grande Plage’ for $207,000. This carefully constructed composition of human forms dressed in pink, white, blue and yellow and apparently randomly laid out on golden sand under a layered violet/blue sky represents Lyman’s organised approach to visual splendour. The excitement surrounding this piece may mark a subtle move on the part of buyers away from the Group of Seven and toward the diverse Montreal art scene of the mid 1900’s.

The grand sale of the night was Heffel’s showcase piece by Lawren Stewart Harris, 'Pine Tree and Red House, Winter, City Painting II’, which went for $2.9 million. A stunning Franklin Carmichael titled 'Autumn Woods’ went for $320,000, and Tom Thomson’s heavenly 'Summer Clouds’ captured $900,000., as well as the undying admiration of this viewer.

'Cabin Window, O’Hara Camp’ by J.E.H. MacDonald is striking in its simplicity. One can almost smell the cedar and the faint mould on the damp wool blanket. It brought in a respectable $65,000. Meanwhile, Paul-Emile Borduas’s abstract 'Bouc centenaire’ inspires a sense of tightly controlled whimsy right down to the mysterious title, which may be a veiled reference to his status as a scapegoat, having been fired from his teaching position after the launching of the Refus Global manifesto in 1948. The piece, which was painted in New York and stickered in Greenwich Village, sold for over $172,000.

The classic Alexander Colville work, 'Two Pacers’, representing the artist’s masterful understanding of form in motion, weighed in at $690,000. The dream-like quality of the un-harnessed horses and the unseated driver floating above the surreal lines of the track are vaguely disturbing, printing themselves on the psyche in a haunting manner.

My favourite by abstract Master Jean-Paul Riopelle, a 1955 work titled 'Sans titre’, drew over $172,000, its shattered glass imagery bursting with the full energy of spring.

Alex and I agree without hesitation that this season’s ‘warm heart’ award goes to William Goodridge Roberts, the passionate, colourful, urgent Master of the Big 3: still life, portraiture and landscapes. One has only to stand in front of a piece like ‘Still Life with Flowers and Fruit’ to feel the rush of power, warmth and sheer love of subject that flows from the artist through the brush onto the board, at last flooding the eyes and mind of the viewer with unabashed delight. This piece drew over $40,000. One can only hope that this undeniable talent from the Montreal school will at last come to gain the recognition he so richly deserves. Whether the subject is a woman, the driving energy of the landscapes of Georgian Bay, or the simplest and most common of household objects, Roberts’s passion is evident in its rich, unhesitant expression. Nothing is accidental – every stroke, no matter how urgent, is measured and planned, as if the artist can already see the finished product and needs only to touch the surface to bring his image to full splendour before our very eyes. Looking at one of these pieces is like being treated to a piece of Roberts’s soul.

Of course this is true of any artist, but with Roberts, we feel that kinship more acutely. There is something in his touch that speaks to us. And so for this, his gift of love and urgency and colour, we offer him our personal admiration.

Unfortunately, we will not be able to attend the Joyner preview which begins on Sunday, May 27 at Waddington’s Auction Galleries at 111 Bathurst Street in Toronto, but I do want to give it mention here. Joyner is offering a number of exceptional pieces, including 'Old Mill, Bay of Quinte’ by Manly Edward MacDonald, 'Lac Ouimet, 1941’ by John Goodwin Lyman, a couple of terrific pieces by William Goodridge Roberts, and two delightfully delicate works by Dorothy Knowles: 'Quiet Day’ and 'Autumn Bushes’. If you are able to attend this preview, it should be well worth the visit.

Our thanks to the three big Houses for their wonderful Springtime 2007 offerings. We thoroughly enjoyed the feast!

Donna Carrick, May 26, 2007

On Sunday, September 30 the annual booklovers' festival The Word On The Street will be held at Queen's Park from 11:00 am till 6:00 pm.

The festival is free to one and all, so come on out and support your favourite Canadian writers!

Be sure to visit the Crime Writers of Canada at Queen's Park Circle, Booth 148, where local authors will be signing and selling their books throughout the event.

Note: Yours truly Donna Carrick will be 'in the tent' from 4:00 till 5:00 pm, so pay me a visit and pick up your autographed copy of Gold And Fishes or The Noon God.

Hope to see you all there!
Donna Carrick, September 17, 2007

How did this happen? The shift was so subtle that we hardly noticed it. One moment we were basking in a glorious Georgian Bay sunset, and the next we were enjoying a Thanksgiving meal with friends and family, our cottage resting under a canopy of red and yellow mixed with the stubborn greens that were not quite ready to let go.

Alex celebrated his birthday on the Thanksgiving weekend, amidst warm wishes and great food. The colours and the smells, the sounds of fall are all around us.

As always with the changing seasons I find myself reflecting on the passing of time. What have I accomplished? Did I reach my personal goals? If not, did I enjoy the ride?

One thing that I wanted to do was to attend The Word on the Street at Queen's Park on September 30, and I did that. It was a blast! I shared the CrimeWriters of Canada booth with two very talented and funny gentlemen: Glen Bonham, author of The Elvis Interviews, and David (J.D.) Carpenter, author of the acclaimed Campbell Young series. It was a pleasure to pass the afternoon in such esteemed and humourous company.

I finished the first draft of my current novel, and am underway on the third edit. However, I did take a writing break during September in the hopes of letting some ideas gell for the final copy. I'm aiming to have a polished manuscript in place by the end of October.

Other than that, I've been playing my clarinet and continuing to study Mandarin with the kids. All in all, I would rate Summer 2007 as one of the really great ones. Alex and I enjoyed many walks on the beach and oodles of sunshine with the family.

We can only hope that fall will be as gentle with us as summer was...

Donna Carrick, October 14, 2007

Isn't this a wonderful time of year? Sure, we overdo it -- that's a given. This is one tradition that we seem to love above all others. What could be better for the soul than the smiles of children and the sounds of merriment and the smells of good food all around?

On behalf of the Carrick family, I'd like to take this moment to wish each and every one of you the most wonderful Holiday ever, whatever tradition you and your family holds dear.

Jingle, jingle, everyone -- love and peace to one and all!
Donna Carrick December 24, 2007

Happy Chinese New Year, everyone!
Best wishes for Health, Prosperity and Happiness in the Year of the Rat.
Incidentally, did you know that the Rat is thought to be a natural-born writer, blessed with a heightened sense of communication?

Red Pockets to one and all!
Donna Carrick February 7, 2008 YEAR OF THE RAT