News & Notices
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| Finding Courage At The Tweedsmuir Tavern's Poetry | |
| Contributed to The Globe and Mail | |
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It’s 7 p.m. on the first Tuesday of the month. I sit at the bar and nurse a glass of wine. The guy on the adjacent bar stool is clearly a fixture – he’s red-eyed, grizzled, and he watches me warily. I sense that I’m invading his space, that he’s accustomed to beer-drinking buddies, and not a recently-retired middle-aged woman. I don’t tell him that I’m completely out of my comfort zone. |
It’s 7 p.m. on the first Tuesday of the month. I sit at the bar and nurse a glass of wine. The guy on the adjacent bar stool is clearly a fixture – he’s red-eyed, grizzled, and he watches me warily. I sense that I’m invading his space, that he’s accustomed to beer-drinking buddies, and not a recently-retired middle-aged woman. I don’t tell him that I’m completely out of my comfort zone.
