Andrea Mulder-Slater

by Andrea Mulder-Slater Jan, the 4 year old and I were in the car - approaching the stop sign at the end of our road - when a dark roundish object in the middle of the pavement caught our attention.   We're a gang. We solve mysteries. What? Me : I think it’s a baseball glove. Also me : Or, half a watermelon. Me again : Maybe it’s a giant cow patty. Jan : We don’t have cows on our road. She was right, of course. We may have three hundred and fourteen chickens living amongst us in our little rural neighbourhood (yes, I’ve counted them). But cows? Not so much. Still… The 4 year old : There’s a cow?! On our road?! Where’s the cow?! Stop!!!! I want to seeeeeeeee it! Since it was garbage day, it seemed reasonable that a chunk of something or other had fallen out of the truck that dutifully hauls away whatever the raccoons, coyotes and feral cats haven’t claimed. It wasn’t until we came to a full stop at the end of the lane, that we realized what was lying i

by Andrea Mulder-Slater This summer, Geoff, Jan and I were commissioned to create a number of paintings as prizes for a local sports event. I worked on six paintings - three of which were coffeecolours. Coffeecolours are images which are painted with coffee on watercolour paper. No paint is used -- just intensely strong coffee and water. Here's a peek...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater For those who don’t know me, I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m terrible at small talk. The thing is, I’m actually quite shy, plus, I misunderstand people. Constantly. It’s not so much that my hearing is poor, but more the fact that my fear of talking to others often manifests itself in an outrageously short attention span. The words I hear, and the words I comprehend don’t often meet up in the middle of the diving board that is my brain. Someone will begin talking to me and in an effort to try to stay focused; my mind will do the opposite. This is what’s going on inside my head during a conversation with a stranger at a dinner party: Ok Andrea, relax. Smile. Good. Now pay attention. Wow, her eyes are blue. Are my eyes blue? No, my eyes are hazel. Who came up with the word hazel? It’s a weird word. Hazel. Haze. El. I wonder why witches are named Hazel? Do witches really exist? They must. People can’t be making that shit up. Hey, who’s that g

by Andrea Mulder-Slater I was online today - using my matronly arms to comparison shop - when Indigo giggled like a schoolgirl and suggested I join him and his friend Nappy in the alley. Back behind the gas station. Where the night people eat Cheetos. Hell. I was just searching for a science kit for my kid. You're drunk Indigo. Go home. No, really.