gps coordinates for 11th ave, the magazine and the real place
“There’s no place like home.” Dorothy Gale, Wizard of Oz
“You know sometimes I wonder what ‘home’ is.
Is it an actual place? Or is it some kind of
longing for something, some kind of connection?”
President Laura Roslin to
Admiral William Adama,
Battlestar Galactica, Season 4.5
Welcome to Eleventh Avenue, where, on the 11th of every month since April 2009, you will find:
- a Q&A with one of the many talented people I know (who better damn well be amusing)
- some original writing by me or whichever friends owe me or whose resistance is weak enough that they can be muscled by me
- a feature recipe or some other food- and/or drink-related something or other
- the musical stylings of JZ, who will provide the soundtrack
- and some other stuff that you should feel free to recommend. But no, there’s no money involved.
Now, you’re asking yourself why, having taken care of the business of describing what this blog’s about, I included those two quotes above, about home. Well I’m glad you asked.
Eleventh Avenue was where I spent my summers as a kid, like my mother before me. Geographically, it’s in the tiny beach community of Sandy Hook, with Eleventh Avenue ending in a log-pole pier that runs right into the southwest shore of Lake Winnipeg. Our cabin, at the other end of Eleventh, started out as a chicken coop that my grandfather dragged onto the property in the 1950s and it got only a little more souped up. Oil furnace, wood stove, cracked lino floor, curtains for doors. After all the houses and apartments I occupied in Winnipeg, it is this shabby little four bedroom shack that feels most like home, even more so since I moved to Montreal in 1997. That, despite the fact our family sold it in the 1970s.
It’s the day trip I take as often as possible when making the Winnipeg pilgrimage, but mostly, it’s the home of my mind’s eye, the connection to what made me. It’s also the inspiration for a poem I wrote after learning that my mother and father spent their honeymoon there, dropped off by my grandparents and picked up a couple of days later (they were carless). You can read that poem in the inaugural edition of this blog zine, April 11, 2009, by clicking here.
So Eleventh Avenue, Sandy Hook, Manitoba is where I come from. And Eleventh Avenue the monthly blog is the home for stuff that feeds my head.
Let me know what you think.
And me? My name is Denise Duguay and I’m a Montreal-based writer and editor who works at the Montreal Gazette newspaper and its TV blog, Inside the Box. I also do a bit of writing on my own, a couple of poems and a story and a half at last count.