Another Surrey joke

And one that's not at all funny. 

The image is what's called 'public input' in Surrey, the city where I live (though wow, there are days when I wish I could move someplace else!). 

The City has decided to expand one of its cemeteries into a forested area where there are many trails, including the Semiahmoo Trail, one they themselves have designated as 'heritage'. In an area that's in the midst of a development explosion, cutting down trees and removing side trails is about the last thing our community needs. 

The room where last night's meeting was held was packed with people, many of us doing our best to engage with representatives from City Hall, trying to get straight answers. 

But straight answers don't seem to be what Surrey is all about anymore. One of the questions none of those reps could answer was why this meeting hadn't been advertised better. So many of us were there only because we'd heard about it from neighbours or friends. 

Those of us who were able to ask direct questions mostly received run-around replies that sounded like double-talk. In his all-too-prescient novel, Nineteen Eighty-Four, George Orwell called this kind of lying talk 'Newspeak'. His vision of distorted communication seems to have become the all-pervasive language here. 

As one of the comments on last night's boards suggested, the future is going to need more trees, not fewer (Surrey's canopy keeps declining every year). If you care about trees, you might want to think about adding your name to this petition. 

Poetry and Art and Friendship

The other night I was lucky enough to be part of a group of writers invited to read at the Sidney and Gertrude Zack Gallery in Vancouver. Our challenge was to find inspiration in the artworks on display, a kind of exercise in ekphrastic poetry. In the past, I've explored this method of writing, but previously the art works were landscapes or abstracts. All of the paintings in this show, while not technically portraiture, were faces of women. 

The artist Therese Joseph was in attendance at the event, and answered a number of questions posed by audience members--mostly about her process (which turns out to be a combination of methods). 

It's worth taking a look at her website, and to view the images we worked from (click on Faces).

I hadn't been in one of these readings at that gallery since pre-pandemic times, so this felt like a kind of homecoming or even a family reunion, as so many friends were there--including the reader and our emcee in the photo above. 

Among the poems I read were ones reacting to the recent US election--not particularly happy pieces, but then, part of my job as a writer is to reflect on the times, even when they're not happy ones. 

I'm hoping 2025 will bring more such opportunities, ones that leave me feeling 're-filled' with warmth and with hope. 

Shaken, not stirred

Shock. That's the state I've been wandering in since last night. I can only think that those who voted for the new president-elect of the US must count themselves among the wealthy or, sadder yet, the duped. 

Hearing reports of folks who think gas will go back to two dollars a gallon or that bread will soon be 99 cents--well, it would be nice if it turns out that you're right. 

But I dread what the reality might be, especially for those of us who still can't understand how a convicted felon, rapist, and non-stop liar could have possibly been elected. 

Dark days ahead, with clouds about to offer who-knows-what. 

The time of year...

...when some contend the 'curtain' between the here and the hereafter is thinnest. In other words, this is reputed to be the time of year when those who have gone before us may find it easy to visit. 

I won't attempt to dispute a belief either way, though I'm not one to dismiss such thoughts lightly, especially when I may well have received a gift from a loved one on the 'other side' earlier this week. 

Ghostly? Spiritual? Or simple coincidence? 

I'm not pretending for a minute to know for sure.  

Coming soon!

It won't be long until Halloween is here, and what do I have for decorations? Nothing besides a pumpkin who still doesn't have a face. Luckily, we have neighbours who make up for these shortcomings. Even the skeletons look excited. 

What I do have is treats for any brave, costumed visitors we might get on Thursday night. Juice boxes for little ones, pop for bigger kids, along with chips or Rice Krispie treats (store-bought, of course, gone are the days of handing out anything homemade) as a bonus. 

We don't get as many Trick or Treaters as we once did. I think many of them go to the mall where the prizes are likely bigger. And I don't think the costumes are as good as they used to be. I've always preferred the homemade (maybe last-minute) ones where somebody has too much lipstick on, along with bangly earrings and a witch's hat for contrast. 

Maybe the best costume ever was when a neighbour boy showed up as Kim Jong-Un, right down to the over-the-ear haircut, complete with a passle of would-be bodyguards. I think we probably gave them extra treats for their efforts. 

It won't be long until the holiday arrives, and I'm sure the pumpkin will be smiling by then, probably with the traditional 'missing-tooth' look. Until then I'll be doing my best to keep the treats up on the top shelf of the closet, and not keep giving myself permission to test them. 

The sky says it all

Gloomy looking, with the promise of rain--and today, rain is what's been falling all day. (For the record, the photo is not a black-and-white; that's how the day really looked.)

I heard a rather startling comment during a weather report: that today brings the province's first atmospheric river of the season. I thought such phenomena were a once-a-year (if that) event, but no, that's apparently no longer the case. 

I'd also thought the term was fairly new, but no, it seems it's been around for a while. 

Today's weather seems complicated, as today is also Election Day here in BC, with the possibility of a new provincial government. 

And yes, I can only hope those dark skies aren't promising anything worse than more than wet weather. 

More of the same to come?

Earlier this weekend, this black screen and its message showed up on our tv. Blame for this disruption of service was placed on the sun and an extreme solar storm--as if the storms we're experiencing on Earth aren't enough. A few days ago it was Milton, barely a week before it was Helene.  

Unlike a hurricane which pummels an area with wind and drenches it with rain, a solar storm has an effect on electrical signals like the digital ones that have become more prevalent with every technological advance. 

As we continue digitalizing (or should that be digitizing?) our world, there are bound to be more such messages from our various providers. 

Though annoying, this is yet another example of what we must remember is truly a First World problem--not something to really fuss about, especially on this Thanksgiving Day, when nearly all of us have so very much to be grateful for. 

Comparative wipes

Nope, not what you might first think--not toilet paper. Newspaper. 

Yes, I still subscribe to a hard copy edition of The Vancouver Sun that's delivered here just about every morning. But I also am the recipient of a couple of other papers, shared by a friend after she's read them for herself. 

Today I decided it was time to wash the windows, and I remain a proponent of the vinegar and newsprint school of doing this job. 

The Sun was fine, no streaks or smears; so was The Globe and Mail. But oh dear, the New York Times -- it broke apart into tiny shreds that would be great for making papier-mache, but not good at all for washing windows. 

Some days we discover things we never dreamed of, and this day was one of those. Hardly earth-shaking, but fun. 

A month of books

When I say a month of books, it's not exactly the traditional calendar month that I mean, more of a range of days when bookish events seem to be everywhere. 

Last weekend was the final celebratory day for Word Vancouver, an annual event that used be known as Word on the Street. Some cities back east still have that name, but we've gone (as we so often seem to do) our own way on this one. 

The poetry bus in the photo above had all of its ad spaces above the seats filled with poems by those whose work had been selected for this year's Poetry in Transit awards. A reading by those writers was just one of the sessions at this year's Word event. Happily, the sun was shining and most of the day was even reasonably warm, something that hasn't always been the case for this mostly-outdoor festival. 

Coming up soon, this Saturday in fact, Vancouver Public Library (Central Branch, downtown) is hosting a free event, "Literary MAGnitude: Why Lit Mags Matter." Anyone who writes would attest to the importance of these 'little' magazines. Where else does anyone get their start?

And before the month is out, Vancouver will be again playing host to writers from across the country and, in fact, all over the world with the annual Vancouver Writers Fest. I'm currently reading The Wren, The Wren by Irish author Anne Enright, and I'm looking forward to hearing her in conversation. 

But because I'm an oddball kind of reader, I'd have to say that's not the only book that's currently on the go for me. I'm in the middle of Caroline Adderson's collection of short stories, A Way to Be Happy. 

And on what I suppose is a stranger note, not very long ago, I realized that two books I'd signed out from the library (both about survival after major difficulties) had completely opposite titles. But then, their titles must say something about how my life often runs. 

What timing!

Must admit, I was thrilled to discover, just yesterday, that my little batch of autumn crocuses came up again. For a while, the patch of ground they usually inhabit looked sadly vacant. I was ready to blame the squirrels who've been known to dig up many of the bulbs I keep pushing into the soil every autumn. 

I'll admit, these little flowers were 'stolen'--or perhaps, more correctly 'rescued' from the yard of a house that was about to be torn down (and don't get me going on that, way too many perfectly good houses around here keep getting taken down).

This morning saw autumn become official, earlier than when I got up, to be sure, out here in the Pacific Time Zone. 

One thing I didn't get around to doing (but maybe there's still time) was change the filter on our Brita dispenser, something I usually do every equinox or solstice. I rely on the sun to give me these occasional reminders, and generally keep to the schedule. 

I'm looking forward to having those delicate little pink flowers open up, yet another marker of the season. 

Takin' a break

Last week meant a break from all that's 'normal' around here. We set out on a trip to Manning Park, a provincial park that offers the quiet of spending time in the forest, without any interference from the demands of being online. For that matter, there's not even a power source (beyond the temporary support of batteries). It's become a kind of tradition to head out on a camping trip during the second week of September, as that's when the kids are back in school and the crowds have departed from the parks. 

Fortunately, the fire ban had been lifted, so we were able to have a campfire every night--a place to sit beside while we sat in comfy deck chairs and entertained ourselves with the old-fashioned simplicity of conversation. 

Daytime was for exploring some of the trails--places we'd been before, but because every year sees changes in the landscape, new sights presented themselves at nearly every turn. 

There's a calm that comes from being away from just about everything that constitutes our daily lives. And really, looking out over the Beaver Pond, hearing nothing more than birdsong and the riffling of leaves, it'd be downright challenging to feel uptight about anything. 

 

A natural bouquet

I guess I'm just a sucker for nature. Sometimes its beauty seems almost too perfect to be real. That's the case with this stand of natural grasses that grow in the shade of our back yard. 

If ever there were a natural bouquet that says 'autumn' in my mind, it would be this batch of grass. 

And I think, even though we haven't yet experienced the equinox (but coming soon, it will arrive here on the west coast on September 22nd at 5:43 a.m.) that autumn is upon us. The batch of mushrooms that I picked the other day serve as one more sign convincing me. 

To all things, yes, there is a season. And in every season there is its own special beauty. 

A dark day in BC

And no, I'm not talking about the weather, though the gloomy skies this afternoon appear to be in agreement. It's a dark day because today is the day BC Hydro has begun filling the reservoir created by the Site C Dam on the Peace River. 

The water will flood 6,649 hectares of farmland. To put that into the more familiar terminology most of us still use, that's just about 16,000 acres. But even that number doesn't really compute as to just how massive this reservoir will be when it's full--and how much arable land we're losing. 

About the closest familiar bit of land that's pretty much equivalent to an acre is a football field. So, if you think about how much food could be grown on one football field, and we're talking 16,000 of them--well, I think you get my drift over how hideous this loss is. 

It gets even worse if you stop to consider how much farmland we keep losing in the Lower Mainland, particularly in Richmond and Surrey where condos, mega-houses, and warehouses keep being built, covering our farmland. 

As our climate keeps getting warmer, the tragedy only grows, as there's little doubt the region would soon be capable of growing foods that long had to be grown further south. 

I know, I've been ranting about the folly of this project for a long time, but somehow I tricked myself into thinking it still might not happen. Sadly, it turns out, I was very wrong. 

Now I guess we'll need to find a name for this dreadful new 'lake' that will cover so much. Lake Disappointment? Lake Horrible? How about Lake Despair. 

A harbinger of things to come

Coming out of my local library this afternoon, the world sounded different. There was a kind of rustling, along with a hint of even a different scent. For once, the scent wasn't smoke from a fire up country, it was, I decided, the scent of autumn.

Where it's not even mid-August, it seems early for this, but maybe I'm some kind of optimist who still doesn't expect any such change until closer to September. Nonetheless, early autumn certainly seemed to be in the air. 

Then, walking to my car, I stopped to chat with a woman who felt the same change I did. So at least it was comforting in a way to know I wasn't alone in my feelings. 

And sure enough, leaves beneath the trees only confirmed these early autumn thoughts. 

I'm counting on more summer ahead, but can't pretend I'm not mindful that the season has already begun its steady shift. 

By the way, I couldn't help but wonder about the word that came to mind earlier: harbinger. As with so many of the words in our language, it's an oldie and has some interesting history. 

Food matters

The 'theme' of my life this week seems to have been food security. I'm blessed, in that I have a healthy garden that gives me fresh produce every day -- berries, lettuce, and tomatoes -- and beyond that, I have a pantry that's well stocked. Not everyone is so fortunate. 

Saturday was "Ugly Potato" Day, an annual event sponsored by Heppell Family Farm, a good citizen of

Surrey, to be sure. Hundreds of people came out to the Cloverdale Fair Grounds where huge bins filled with potatoes, carrots, and more were there for the picking -- and free. The photo above is an example of one family's load. 

It's a horrifying thought, but the Heppell farmland is under threat, and at a time when our rising population is certainly placing a demand on farmers to produce more, more, more. If, like me, you think protecting that property is a cause worth supporting, maybe you'll consider signing a petition (along with the over 80,000 who have signed) that says so. 

The other threat to our food security has been the unexpected shutdown of the BC Tree Fruits Co-op. It's an association that's existed since 1936 and it's been a facility where growers could store their fruit, have it graded and marketed, and then shipped to outlets. So here we are -- in the midst of harvest, no less -- and who knows what growers are supposed to do without the co-op. Load up their vehicles and drive to the Lower Mainland? Sell produce out of the back of their car??

This bothered me enough that I wrote to Pam Alexis, the Minister of Agriculture and Food, both at her business address as an MLA and to the address for the Ministry. I cc'ed my local MLA and also sent a copy to the Vancouver Sun. 

The first reply I received was from an assistant to Trevor Halford, my riding's MLA. It at least was somewhat personalized, though didn't address a solution to the issue. The next reply was robotic, an acknowledgment from the Ministry office. Nothing from the Honourable Pam Alexis, MLA. The only correspondent who really came through was the newspaper, who published my letter in yesterday's edition. 

One of the points I raised was that if such a key distribution network had failed elsewhere -- like, in Alberta (where oil remains king), governments of all stripes would have jumped in with cash. All I can hope is that the letter might help raise the pressure on our government to do something to save this year's crop for the fruit growers. After all, a handful of fruit is certainly more satisfying than a handful of oil. 

Fleeting

Feels like summer is flying past too quickly. Not as fast as the blur of the hummingbird's wings, but wheee, here we go, nearly August!

The blackberries are fat and sweet and plentiful, but the rest of the fruit in the yard is pretty pathetic. Even the quince tree (usually loaded) has only a few for us to pick this year. Maybe by September, a few more will have magically appeared. 

Worst, I suppose, is the plum tree: one plum. At least that was the score last time I checked. Who knows, the squirrel may have decided it looked ripe enough for him. 

Lettuces, basil, tomatoes--hurrah for the die-hards. Even if the freezer won't be filled with berries this year, at least we're still happily enjoying fresh salads. 

And probably best of all, after a couple of months with no hummers in sight, it's great that a pair (at least) seems to have returned. 

There's a moon out tonight

It won't be full until tomorrow, but I'm thinking about it today. Because 55 years ago, many of us were watching tv as men took the first human steps (that we know of) on the moon. 

I remember it seeming almost magical. And of course, there were plenty who poo-pooed it as fake--maybe the first instance of what we now know as 'fake news'. 

It's hard for me to not still look at my friend the moon and think about all those years ago when two of the crew members from Apollo 11 stepped onto a rock out in space, the first off-Earth such a venture. And yes, that still seems quite magical to me.

Fresh from the farm and garden

A long time ago, in 2009, I kept a year-long blog where I posted a photo and a bit of running commentary on whatever it was we were having for supper that night. I called it 'what's fer supper' and it's still online, hanging out wherever these things reside in the ether we've come to call the cloud. 

The photo above isn't supper, but rather a late breakfast, maybe one you'd have to call brunch, though on a Sunday that doesn't seem too out of line. 

The omelet, made from eggs I get from Karen, my 'egg lady' are beautifully farm-fresh. If you look closely, you can see a bit of grass from her hens' nesting materials on that lovely brown egg. 

The potatoes, from the few left over from last night's supper, were a gift from my wonderful neighbour, Anna, whose garden is an urban paradise. 

Filling for the omelet is from our little kitchen garden, just outside the back door. It was time to cut back the arugula, as it was bolting into a zillion little white flowers. A few seconds in the microwave was all it took to wilt the leaves a bit. Along with them, I folded a bunch of the flowers into the eggs as well. Then, since almost everything is better with cheese, a couple shreds of havarti got melted in there as well. 

Not a bad way to kick off a day that's turning out to be one of watching heaps of soccer on tv!

A different sort of caution

It was only the second time in my life that I'd been on Cortes Island, one of the Gulf Islands along the coast here in B.C. 

So I hope I can be forgiven for getting a little bit lost. 

Luckily I noticed pretty quickly that I'd taken a wrong turn off the main road, but what fun to find a sign that made me smile. 

Glad I took the photo. I hope it makes you smile too. 

Here they come!

Another round of pruning the blackberries serves to remind me that the job is worth the effort. The branches are loaded with a burden of would-be berries. Bees are busy at work, pollinating the flowers. Some of the stems already bear miniature fruit. 

The timing seems right, as tomorrow will be Solstice. And even the weather seems to finally be in agreement, the sun's ray offering comfort and warmth. 

Now if only the rest of the world could display such harmony as this little patch of what most consider an invasive weed brings to my heart (and to folks along my laneway who get their own section for picking). 

Tide's out

...and so were we. Out on a small camping trip, though hardly what I'd call 'real' camping, as we don't sleep in a tent much anymore, but in the comfy protection of The Rattler, our beloved RV. 

It had been a busy time, with a visitor staying with us, along with several touristical trips (all interesting, beautiful and happy), but last week became our turn for complete rest and relaxation. 

A quick trip to the nearby Point Roberts and the campgrounds at Lighthouse Marine Park filled the bill. Except for the sounds of birdsong (and the occasional excitement of a small plane coming in on the grassy landing strip) it was wonderfully quiet, leaving us with nothing much to do beyond strolling on the beach. 

This time of year sees the broadest beach exposure, owing to the big tides that accompany the days around the Solstice. Official days of summer, coming soon. More excuses, I trust, to be lazy. 

Gone, gone, gone

I used to live in a house on a steep hill. It was so drastic a slant, the first few days of living there, I had flashes of vertigo when I looked out the dining room window. 

The house was torn down over a year ago, but the big tree on the boulevard was still standing--until very recently. 

Even though it was old (we counted over 80 distinct rings), it was healthy. Just look at all the fresh greenery on it. 

And oh, such a coincidence, the way it came down on a weekend when it seemed the bylaw folks had the day off. Naturally, no evidence of a permit on the property...

This is what White Rock accepts as 'progress'--nothing 'pro' about it in my mind. 

Let's just hope the tree wasn't all that was supporting that steep hillside. 

Fun while it lasted

There's something so special about those rare seasons when the Canucks make it into the Stanley Cup playoffs. And this year was no different. 

The buses ran 'Go Canucks Go' on their front banners. As you can see, the giant electronic sign at the ferry terminal (above) got into the spirit of cheering for the home team too. Even at the end of the last game when they lost, everyone in the arena stood and cheered and cheered and cheered. I loved the spirit of it. 

I remember the spring of 1982 when Vancouver made it into the 3rd round of the playoffs. I was working at an elementary school and we'd taken a bunch of middle-graders to a drama festival in Vancouver. Both ways, riding the school bus, everyone sang the song that had become that season's anthem, "Na Na Na Na Hey Hey-ey Goodbye." 

Tiresome as it was to hear the song repeated for the nearly hour-long ride, it's still a memory that makes me smile. 

Maybe next year, maybe next year...

Double whammy

This little blog has been silent for too long. I'll admit I've mostly been stuck in the doldrums. Partly, I can blame this on the fact that May has always (weirdly) been a hard month for me, despite the gorgeous blossoms everywhere. 

This time it's a situation well beyond my reach and hits like a double-whammy, boding badly for all of our futures. 

The first was the fact that the dreaded pipeline was declared 'open' -- and not for transport of water, the commodity we are going to be short of (and will need) not all that far down the road. Instead, the pipe will be filled with bitumen, a gooey and unpleasant substance that may well find its way into Burrard Inlet and beyond. 

The photo at the top of the page is from one of the protests that took place on Burnaby Mountain when many of us were speaking out in opposition to the project. I was one of many who not only stood in solidarity on that mountain, but who made a presentation to the government committee that crossed the country seeking feedback from citizens. The day I was there, I recall people speaking against it. And now I wonder, just how much did that series of hearings cost, and how did opinions weigh out, pro and con? Seems like it was probably just another case of lip service, the powers-that-be pretending to appease the hoi-polloi while the wheels of the oil industry kept on churning. 

As for the double part of the whammy news for May, this month also marks the beginning of the end for farmland and sacred sites along the Peace River, as the Site C damned dam is now complete. The resulting lake will be filled this autumn. This at a time when farmland just about everywhere seems threatened. Hmmm. The question our offspring may be facing might be 'where's the food?'

Time for listening

Once again, it's Earth Day, a time to celebrate the beauties of our planet--and, as the sign suggests, to hear (and really listen) to information scientists keep bringing us. As most of us know, their messages aren't good. 

The word in the photo consists of images frozen into ice. They're part of a longtime exhibit on display in the lobby area of the Surrey Arts Centre. Like the ice in our polar regions, those letters too appear to be melting. 

Despite what our governments are (and aren't) doing, there seem to be a number of solutions, probably starting with making sure our tax monies don't go to supporting oil extraction. The time for subsidizing these economic giants is gone. Even the banks are beginning to divest their investments in oil companies. Other jurisdictions have taken similar steps, and continue encouraging people to invest in alternate energy sources. In California, solar panels on roofs have proven to be too successful (!) with the power company experiencing a glut of its resources because folks are no longer reliant on them. 

Even beyond what we think of as the 'traditional' alternatives--solar and wind--there are other, sometimes controversial solutions being proposed. 

I do like that the word 'hear' shares enough letters with our planet's name to make me think it's appropriate for Earth Day. Besides, it's always a good idea to listen, whether that means hearing the variety of birdsongs in the air during these spring days, or doing our best to listen to everyone we meet, even if their point-of-view doesn't complete jibe with our own. After all, that's our only hope for creating meaningful communities, and communities are what it will take to keep our planet habitable. 

It's official

Among other truths about this date, it's official that the Titanic indeed sank on this date. Looking back, it seems obvious that the need to get to New York City in record time was an error, as it saw the great ship travelling much too fast through the notorious 'Iceberg Alley' off the coast of Newfoundland. While I can vouch for that area being a gorgeous place to visit during the spring, I can't say that I'd want to be out on the ocean there. Viewing from the land is plenty inspiring. 

Fairview Lawn Cemetery in Halifax is where a number of the bodies were buried. Others are elsewhere, as far south as New York. 

When we visited the area in Fairview that's dedicated to these graves, it was hard not to get teary-eyed, as many of the markers bore only a single name--sometimes a surname, sometimes a given one--or worse, only a number indicating the order in which their remains had been found. Grim. 

As for a much cheerier news item: Last Monday, Surrey's City Council made it official by proclaiming National Poetry Month in Surrey. Hurrah!

And if you're scratching your head over the photo posted above, the 'iceberg' is part of the many chunks I had to pull out when I defrosted our big freezer. As for the building resting in it, well, it seemed to be the closest thing I could find to a currently sinking ship. 

Half-heartbroke

That's sort of how I'm feeling for not having been able to see yesterday's total eclipse of the sun. I've known for months that it would be totality in Ontario and had planned in my mind to go. Only as things worked out, that just wasn't to be. 

Sure, as you can see, the images on tv were pretty amazing, but the experience certainly isn't the same as seeing one live. 

My first one was when I was about five, though I'm not finding much in the way of corroborating evidence. I know I was with my mother and that we went to local lakeside and had to hold up eye protection to be safe. Bizarrely, I think that may have consisted of doubled-up negative sheets from then-common rolls of film. For all I know, that might be when my eyes faded from supposedly dark brown to the more hazel they now are. 

Later, there was one (probably partial) here in BC, a wintry-seeming day, so likely overcast. I mostly remember that it got darker and there wasn't any birdsong--in itself a chilling factor. 

And then, quite a good one in August of 2017. My sister came to visit and the two of us sat on deck chairs out in the front yard, exchanging small talk with the occasional passerby, feeling so cool in our hardly-Hollywood cardboard viewing glasses. An elderly man who lived down the street was taking a stroll with his son, and we lent the two of them our glasses so they could look without harming their eyes. It was strange, as despite what had seemed like a lot of publicity, neither of them had been aware of the scheduled eclipse. As Garth, the older man, handed back my glasses, he thanked me and said he was pretty sure he wouldn't see another. Sure enough, a few months later, he was gone. 

So I called this post 'half-heartbroke' and I can't pretend that I'm not super sad, but yes, not totality in the 'heartbroke' department, as I'm pretty sure that I'm not in the same situation as Garth and that yes, I will be around to view another one, even if it isn't from the comfort of our yard. 

At least that's certainly my hope. The only thing I know for sure is that when it comes again I plan to get myself into the path of the next one. Spain is sounding pretty tempting. I even have my old glasses from the one here in 2017 ready and waiting. 

For Easter

Beyond the obvious, that today is when many people around the world celebrate Easter, I don't have much to say. 

Instead, just a photo of the kitchen counter, crowded with some of life's simple pleasures, one I call "Still Life with Eggs" perhaps in the mode of how my inspiration, Maude, titled her paintings.  

The moon comes announcing Easter

Kind of an eerie photo from the other night, but one I thought captured some of the mystery of the full moon. 

This one, which technically arrived just after midnight (here in the Pacific Zone) on Monday, is apparently called the Worm Moon, something I would never have known without all the crazy information here on the internet. 

It's also the full moon that determines the date for Easter. This celebration, one that I mostly celebrate with coloured eggs and chocolate (mmmm...), takes place the first Sunday after the first full moon after the spring equinox. This formula was apparently one of the matters determined in the year 325 by the Council of Nicaea. From what I can tell, the folks who gathered at this meeting made decisions about nearly all the tenets that form the basis of Christian beliefs. 

The other event I managed to miss the other night when that full moon was official was a partial lunar eclipse, an occurrence that this time serves as a kind of warm-up act for next month's solar eclipse. But then, I'm not on the track where that will be visible so I'll have to be satisfied watching it (as it sometimes seems I spend so much of my life) online. Still, pretty miraculous. 

Poetry, poetry, poetry

Today is World Poetry Day, a time when it seems appropriate to remember Brian Brett, a poet and friend who died earlier this year. 

When I met him, he was 21, and I wasn't much older, so we had a few years to get in each other's hair. 

He spent a third of his life in White Rock, and was a feisty member of the community I've been part of for more than half of my life. If you clicked on the link in the line above this, you might still be blinking from all the flashy lights. Trust me, the place used to be much different--White Rock was quite a sleepy little seaside town where most of us had at least a passing recognition of one another. The sea is still here, though to get near it by car, you need to be prepared to pay hefty parking fees. 

But this isn't about the town (even though Brian served a couple of terms as a City Councillor, a position that was then back known as 'alderman'); it's about poetry and one of the finest writers to ever pass through here. 

The photo above, though it's not easy to see, is one of the touching mementos his family set out at his recent memorial service. It's the chair where he often sat (and nearly always pontificated from), along with a favourite hat and vest, as well as his famous peacock-themed suspenders. 

Without much poking around on YouTube, it's easy enough to find videorecordings of Brett reading his work, but to get you started, here's a link to one of the shorter (and funnier) ones--a good way to celebrate both Brian and World Poetry Day. 

Springing ahead to spring

Last weekend saw us springing ahead with the clock, shifting to Daylight Saving Time. This weekend, with the weather warming up so nicely, has seen me springing ahead with some of the clean-up chores out in the yard. 

My big project for the year is always my blackberry patch. Knowing what I do about how many trees and vines won't be bearing fruit this summer has made it seem all the more important to look after my little berry patch. 

Although some of the berries I leave on it may serve as a food source for birds in the winter, mostly what lingers can only be deemed a mess. 

Every spring those tangled branches leaning on the fence get a severe haircut--at least that's how I like to think of it--getting prettied up for the season. 

And even as I chop at the dead and stringy branches, I can't help but think of the other aspects of spring cleaning this project always brings to mind. Tossing any item in the fridge (usually a condiment) that hasn't been used, and moving along clothes or books I no longer need (an ongoing, year-round quest). 

Pruning also always reminds me of the editing process: cutting out the dead wood (or words that don't need to be there), and then trying to shape the plant (or the essay or poem) into a shape where it will be most productive and effective. 

The bin full of branches still needs to go into the container the recycling truck will pick up this week, a service I am always grateful for--at least as grateful as I will be for the bounty of daily berries in summer. 

It's a sign!

Yep. That's exactly what it is, and I'm not the person who made it. 

I discovered it the other day when I was going up our laneway--probably the single day in a long while that I didn't have my camera on hand. 

But the sign was just toooo good, especially with International Women's Day on the horizon, so home I went and got the shot. A lucky thing, as only a few hours later, it was gone. 

With all the horrors that have been going on in the world, I can only hope that it's a sign of good things to come. 

Leapin' lizards!

Although I couldn't find a photo of a lizard in my files, I did find one of this beautiful metal iguana, a piece of sculpture that lives in a friend's rock garden--just the kind of spot a lizard would be sure to enjoy. And as it turns out, an iguana is at least a variety of lizard. Whew! 

The Leapin' Lizards quote is attributed to Annie, the little orphan girl of cartoon fame. And it turns out she's not such a bad choice to think about today, as she was 'born' on February 29th, 1924. 

Yep, Leap Day, that 'extra' day in February that gets added every four years (or nearly so, there are a few rare exceptions).

When I sought out a list of famous people born on this date, I found that for most of them, that date of birth was practically their only claim to fame. The only ones who made much sense to me were the athletes born on this day, who maybe are better at leaping than most. Hmmm. 

Although there's not really much in the way of formal celebrations for Leap Day/Leap Year, some people do manage to find ways to do so. As for me, about the only 'leaping' I did today was when the darn phone rang before seven this morning. Sure enough, a robo-call, not at all worth the leap. 

Ideas and thoughts beyond our own

Last week I had the good fortune of being a 'book' of sorts in a 'human library' at a secondary school here in the Lower Mainland. I'll admit that I wondered why I should be selected for such a project, but it turned out that students had plenty of questions for me. 

Because I used to work in a library, the place felt familiar in many ways. Lots of books, yes. A bank of computer stations, yes. Tables and chairs arranged around the room. Best of all, young faces asking me (often shyly) about my own books, about writing in general, and of course, what had attracted me to write a book about Amelia Earhart. The question that made me stumble, I think, was from a Grade 11 boy who asked for my definitive idea of what had really become of her. As if I might be able to provide a reasonable answer!

I'll admit that during breaks, I wandered the stacks, looking at the collection. While I was especially impressed by the many books there by Indigenous authors, I was surprised to spot a couple of books that have been pulled by many libraries. Why? Because those authors aren't exactly what they've claimed to be, their heritage isn't really Indigenous. 

When I spoke with the librarian about this, she explained that it was an issue they were still dealing with. Clearly, it presented a conflict that staff there were trying to draw some lines around. When (if ever) should a book be removed from a library? When should readers be denied the opportunity to decide for themselves?

Such questions are exactly why we observe Freedom to Read Week. There was a terrific piece by the head of the Calgary Library System offering some strong thoughts in 'Why our fight for intellectual freedom matters for all Canadians.'

I especially loved her closing line: "I don't always agree with everything on library shelves, but I will always fight for your right to read it." Exactly. 

Not according to plan

Today's post was supposed to be a cheery one, celebrating the fact that this little blog has been going (and been reasonably active) since this date in 2006. 

Eighteen years. That's how old you need to be to vote, to buy alcohol or cannabis products, to get married without parental consent. The powers-that-be have determined that as the age which deems one an adult. 

Instead, this day is filled with shock and sadness as we have learned of the death of Alexei Navalny at a prison camp in the Arctic in Russia. 

No one in what we consider as the Free World is thinking of this as anything but the execution of the person who served as the greatest and most outspoken threat to the tyranny of Putin. 

Strangely, when I sought a bit of comfort in an online word game, the first words played on the board (the computer posted two, I'd only played one) seemed to agree that this death was no accident. 

Springin' along

Some, I'm sure, would swear that seeing a robin serves as the first sign of spring. I'm pretty sure my mother was in that camp. 

Others may contend that it's the job of the crocus to make this announcement.

As for me, it's seeing a thicket of snowdrops that tells me spring is on its way. 

With the hard cold (for here) that we've had, the possibility of a new season feels very welcome. And with yesterday's observance of the Lunar New Year, the timing seems just right. Let there be dragons (so long as they're gentle, kind ones). 

Now, if only it would warm up a little more so it would also feel more as if spring is truly
near at hand. 

Wasteful

At least that's how this scene looked to me. 

On the weekend, there was a house there. One, I learned, that had been built in 1967. And here it was, the end of the line for it. 

Why, I wonder, do other towns and cities value their older homes? Is it because they have a greater respect for history, or do they consider the materials and craftsmanship that went into their making?

When this one was coming down, it didn't crumple easily, but withstood repeated blows from the digger. I couldn't help thinking, as I saw it sway from those repeated thumps, that it would have withstood a substantial earthquake. But then, looking at the materials it had been built with, its sturdiness was no surprise. 

It had been built with two-by-fours from wood that's far more substantial than the lumber that's for sale today. Why weren't those salvaged? Why wasn't that house taken apart, bit by precious bit? Windows? Doors? Light fixtures? All of these are items that cost plenty. And really, why should all of those be going to the already overfull landfill?

A man was strutting around while all of this was going on, pretty much nodding his head in approval. I suppose he'll be the new neighbour moving in to the undoubtedly mega-house that will be built there. I'd gone down to another neighbour's place, returning a piece of mail that had been mis-delivered to our house and tried to catch his eye to say hello each time I passed him. But no, his eyes may have well have been made of glass, so glazed over were they, so unwilling to engage. 

Today, to give the workers credit, the lot is tidy. There's even a fair amount of lawn-like grass, as if the site is getting ready to be turned into a neighbourhood park. But no, I am sure that isn't the case. 

Brain food

Our mother used to tell my sisters and me that fish was food for the brain, and did her best to convince us that eating it would make us smarter. She must have believed it was an ingredient we needed as she was often telling us to 'smarten up.' In truth, I always suspected the fish theory may well have simply been her way of getting us to eat sardines.

But the reason I'm thinking about brain food is that today is officially Puzzle Day. And if the reports are at all true, I've not (as my mother liked to scold) been wasting hours of my life by engaging in puzzles. As it turns out, they provide exercise for our brains. 

We 'puzzlers' (the official term for those who enjoy doing puzzles) are a tribe all our own. This is a term I happened to learn from a very fun book I read last week with the puzzling title of Jigsaw. 

I'll admit to being kind of a puzzle geek, as I love Sudoku, crossword puzzles, Wordle, and as you can see from the photo above, jigsaw puzzles, the biggest time-passer of all. 

Both of those puzzles were gifts I received at Christmas, but I haven't started either one of them. The round one, with 500 pieces looks challenging, but possible. While the beautiful Avatar-like image on the other is tempting, its 1,000 pieces leave me hesitant to even open the box, as 750 is my usual maximum. Still, with a new month approaching, the time may be nigh for new horizons with bigger challenges. 

Wouldn't you know--in the process of poking around for this post, I learned that eating fish maybe really does make you smarter. Once in a while I guess those mothers of ours managed to get a few things right after all. 

Oh yeah??

 

I'm not in the habit of arguing with 'answers' on Jeopardy! but hey, today this is just plain WRONG. 

Coldest I can remember it ever being. This morning, our little weather station read minus 15. Hardly what I'd call mild. 

Ta-daaaa!

A new year, hurrah! One that's almost sure to be better--or at least happier--than 2023 with its many horrors and wars. And I hope being a few days late with its bud opening doesn't make it any less appropriate for the new year. After all, what's a few days among friends. 

I suppose a flower seems an odd way to celebrate a mid-winter observance, but...to me the showy blossom of the amaryllis looks a lot like a horn that's trumpeting good news. 

At least I sure hope that's what it's announcing.