a_kind_of_investment raze almost twenty-five years ago, terry and laurie bought a house on drouillard road. the people who owned it before them converted it into a store. they didn't know what they were going to do with it. terry called it "a kind of investment". they both loved art. they started buying and selling things that spoke to them. just to see what would happen. what happened was those things spoke to other people too, and word of mouth built their investment into a successful business. they called it art expressions. the store that was also a house wasn't like anything i'd ever seen before. every room was full of beautiful things. even the bathroom. there were paintings, handmade lamps, mirrors, chairs, and footstools. there were masks, tiny musical instruments made of metal, and sculptures. there were things that were so unique i couldn't name them even if i tried. terry and laurie were the kind of couple who made you wonder if they'd been born loving each other. they were so happy just to breathe the same air. they were always smiling. half the reason to visit the store was to see them. they were the best pieces of art in the whole place. terry didn't have much of a handshake, but it wasn't his fault. he had neurological problems from working on the line at ford. his hands would shake all the time. we got to talking about music. he told me i needed to hear a psychedelic rock band called family. "the singer sounds like a billy goat!" he said. "it's great!" he burned me a copy of "family entertainment". he wrote the names of all the songs between the thin lines of the cd-r insert. i looked at his unsteady handwriting and thought about how hard it must have been for him to get his dominant hand to stop fighting him long enough to guide the pen so he could form those words. his store helped me reshape the room i was sure i would die in into a place i could go to read and listen to music. i bought a black floor lamp. it sounded just like the beginning of the radiohead song "packt like sardines in a crushed tin box" when i tapped my fingers against its curved metal body. i put it next to a reclining chair that was comfortable enough to sleep in. i bought an abstract painting. a bevy of red and gold and black and grey. it looked like something melting and being born at the same time. i hung it on the wall. i bought a marble side table and put it beside the chair. i bought a long, slender sculpture of a cat with a black body and a silver tail to match its smirking face. i bought two vases. one kept falling down no matter where i put it. i tried filling it with a few pounds of sand. it still fell down. it's in the basement now, lying on its side. the other one is a rotund vase made of bamboo. it deserves to carry a living thing in its berth, but i've never known what to fill it with. i hadn't been to art expressions since before the pandemic. i thought it would be just the place to find a gift for sybren. i was looking forward to seeing terry and laurie again. but they closed for good back in august. i wish i could have said goodbye and thanked them — not for the things i was able to buy from them, but for what they gave me just by being who they are. 211109 ... tender_square (this narrative is so lovely, j; i wish i could've seen this store. there was a place here called treasure mart that was chock full of 'em and they also closed due to the pandemic, though the owner was having health issues too. there was no place like it in a2; i'm saddened for both communities.) 211109 ... raze you would have loved it there. it was a special place run by special people. 211109 ... unhinged economy_of_words 211109 what's it to you? who go blather from