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.