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.