Queen's birthday, Victoria Day

Besides being the official day celebrating the current queen's birthday (even though Elizabeth was actually born on April 21), this is also the day many of us put our indoor plants out in the garden. It's usually a great weekend for having a big barbecue and best of all, a Monday that lets you sleep in.

For fun, or if you're into arcane information, here's a quiz about Victoria. The oddest bit about the quiz is that it appears to have first been posted on an April Fool's Day. Maybe they're all trick questions.

There's also a new film bearing the name Victoria Day. It sounds interesting in quirky kind of way.

And though I don’t think I ever thought about it before, I once had a friend in school with the name, Victoria Day. She usually went by Vicky, but I’m sure she was a Victoria. Wherever she may be (or whatever surname she may now bear), I'd like to wish her a happy birthday too, even if it isn't the right date for her either.

This is the way we go for a walk

Sturdy shoes. Socks pulled over top the cuff of the jeans. The reason? Not dangerous vipers or malaria-bearing mosquitoes, I'm just doing my best to discourage the wood ticks.

Last year presented a much more populous invasion, but even one wood tick is more than I am interested in meeting. It is reassuring though to know the variety here is only an annoyance and not a health hazard.

But because there are so many other wonderful treats out there (beyond the simple joy of moving one's legs), I'll keep doing whatever it takes to get outdoors.

Labyrinthine quest

Colours here are still the muted tones I associate with winter. To be fair, they’re perhaps the signs of immature spring.

This photo, taken from the top of a knoll (though who knows, people from around here likely have a better word for such a feature) reveals some of the wild undulations in this far-from-flat landscape of the Qu’Appelle Valley.

Toward the right of the photo, there’s a rock labyrinth – a good place to meditate and to leave the broken parts of oneself behind.
The heart of the labyrinth (pictured below) is the spot where many others have left rocks or other tokens. The rained-on, yet still whole cigarette makes me speculate, did someone walk the labyrinth with the goal of leaving behind their unhealthiest habit? If so, I hope they succeeded.

Time in the sky

Saskatchewan is famous for its big skies. So it seems appropriate that the Regina airport would have an oversized skylight in its welcoming area.

But this skylight is more than just a big window in the ceiling. It’s a functioning sundial.

Happily, because the powers-that-be in Saskatchewan don’t believe in Daylight Saving Time, they never have to move the numbers backward or forward.

I’m visiting for two weeks, and hoping to be able to rely on the sun for my sense of time while I’m here, even if I don't have a sundial where I'm staying.

Same old, same old

The election is over, enough of the counting has been done for all of the networks to be calling their winners. As usual, neither of my votes brought in a winner.

For now, because my battery is dying, I turn you over to Sean Holman.

Will be back online as I can. Off on a writing retreat to the wilds of Saskatchewan.

Flowers aren't only for Mother's Day

Probably one of the first Mother's Day gifts I gave was a handful of something I'd wrenched out of my mother's garden.

Fresh flowers are life-affirming, so it makes sense that we give flowers to our mothers, the source of life for each of us. Even google has incorporated flowers into its header/logo today.

The photo, taken on a blustery April day in Vancouver, is of Eric -- and it's the first day of business for him at his flower stand on the corner of Georgia and Seymour (at least I think that's where he was -- eagle-eyed readers, please help me correct this if wrong).

As his sign indicates, there are lots of reasons to buy flowers. My favourite for receiving them? When they're for no reason at all.

P.S. Eric is an actor. So, when you buy flowers from him, you're supporting the arts. If you don't have an Eric near you, try to find some other way to lend support to the arts in your town. Do it for your mother.

Canucks Fever

No worries, that isn't a variation on swine flu. It's the fever that spreads through Vancouver and B.C. during May of most years. It's playoff season, so let the silliness rule!

Nearly everyone, whether they follow sports or not, gets into the spirit. Even the buses proclaim their allegiance.

One of the traditions in being faithful to one's team requires men to go without shaving, letting their beards grow for the duration of their team's play.

A local group decided to take the idea of playoff goatees a step further. They pledged that every time the Canucks win a game, they'd purchase a goat for a village in Africa. Their challenge ("Goat Canucks Goat!") has attracted a lot of support. As of this writing, 455 goats have been donated, but no doubt that number will keep rising.

I was in Vancouver again yesterday, and it's hard to ignore the happy atmosphere and smiling faces everywhere. Really, it seems everyone is united in sharing this common goal. Just look at the uniform even the bus driver is wearing!

Decisions, decisions

One week from today, British Columbians will have the opportunity to vote. Although this is a provincial election, I suspect its after-effects will extend much farther afield.

I've been inundated by messages -- emails, newspaper ads, spots on television and radio. And yes, I've decided how I'll be voting, at least on one of the ballots.

One of the most important aspects of this election is being ignored -- the issue of the Single Transferable Vote (BC-STV). Of the many times I've voted, only once has 'my' candidate been elected. That leaves me feeling disenfranchised. No wonder so many people don't bother going to the polls.

This time, it's important for each of us to get out -- not only to cast a ballot for a representative for the riding (even if the choice seems futile, it's a right and a civic duty to vote).

More importantly, it's time to say YES to BC-STV. Anything would be better than the current past-the-post where a government elected by fewer than 40% of the population can have such a lopsided majority and can do what they please. Besides, it was a council of citizens (not politicians) who came to consensus on this being the fairest system, so who am I to argue that some other proportional method might be better?

What it really comes down to is that I'm sick of having government that's By the Rich For the Rich.

But if this sort of decision-making feels too heavy for you, here's another decision to weigh: Did Coldplay rip off Cat Stevens with their song? Listen and decide.

The not-so-great debate

There’s an election campaign going on out here in B.C. though really, for all the swine-flu coverage blanketing (smokescreening?) the news, you might not know it. This evening, the three leaders met each other, supposedly to air their views and respond to questions posed by citizens from around the province.

It didn't seem that Carole James or Gordon Campbell really answered many of the questions. Campbell, especially, did his usual sidestepping dance of avoidance.

The only leader who brought anything new to the table was Jane Sterk, leader of the province's Green Party. She suggested that policing and emprisonment had not provided solutions to crime, and was the only one of the three to take this fresh approach.

She also presented the idea that the time has come for legalization of drugs, reminding viewers that the last time gangs had such power was near the end of Prohibition.

Sterk was also the only person who spoke at all about the companion item on our ballot, the question of STV, an issue I plan to consider another time -- soon.

An odd sort of anniversary

And I don't think it's even exactly the right date.

Still, it seems that it took most of last spring for the Dear Man and I to accomplish our kitchen reno. For a longer time than I really want to remember, it was a mess.

I know that we were definitely in and using it all by the end of April last year. Since today's the last day of the month, I'm happy to celebrate the space -- the place where
so much eating and good talk occurs -- the spot that truly is the heart of our home. Even the area where I spend so much of my time, at the sink in front of this lovely window.

Weird science?

Okay, this is just plain bizarre. While I'm not admitting to having done a lot of research, it’s come to my attention that good sex can bring amazing relief for congested sinuses.

I thought the idea would be too crazy for googling, but it turns out it isn’t. Apparently, others (all right, just a few) have made this observation.

Whatever, it sure beats taking meds. Most of those just make me feel zombified.

Here’s to all of us breathing a lot more easily!

BC Book and Magazine Week

Last night's group reading at the Cafe Montmartre was just one of the events celebrating this year's BC Book and Magazine Week.

Part of a tour of Main Street literary venues, this was another in the series of readings celebrating Rocksalt, the 2008 anthology of work by BC poets.

Hosting the evening was poet Trevor Carolan. His intros were refreshing -- not the usual 'read-from-the-back-cover' bios. His remarks indicated he actually knew each poet or at least his/her work. Great job, Trevor. Thank you!

Poetry Planet, a Celebration of Earth Day

That series of pools is just one component of the Mission Leisure Centre. And it was there that Marion Quednau and I were part of a Poetry Planet event, celebrating both National Poetry Month and Earth Day.

Added attractions included an Earth Day poem from Janet Vickers and readings from two students in Marion's Peer-10 after-school program at the Rec Centre. Victoria read a poem she'd written called "Why Girls Are Greener Than Boys" -- a piece that did exactly what a good poem should -- it made all of us think.

The other young reader was Cade, who presented (complete with poster) a chanted slam about "Norm the Platypus", an amazing trash-busting critter.

A Verse Map of Vancouver

A gorgeous new book was launched last night, the finishing touch to George McWhirter's two-year tenure as Vancouver's first Poet Laureate.

Last spring, McWhirter sent out a call for poems specific to locations in the city. A lot of people must have responded, as the book, A Verse Map of Vancouver, contains poems by 92 poets. But what makes the book even more spectacular is that each poem has its own page and is accompanied by a full colour photo of the site depicted in the poem.

I felt both pleased and honoured to be able to read my poem (about the Lee Building at Broadway and Main) as part of this fabulous event.

In addition to launching the anthology, the evening served to honour one of Canada's greatest poets, Al Purdy. Officially 'Al Purdy Day', April 21st is the day Purdy died, back in 2000. There's a campaign on to raise funds to save his home in Ontario so that it might be used by authors for writing retreats.

I was lucky and managed to click just as the 'main attractions' were putting their signatures onto the first copy of the book, the one likely destined for the special collection section of Vancouver Public Library. That's George McWhirter in the centre, with Derek von Essen, the book's photographer and designer, waiting for his turn to sign. At left is Paul Whitney, City Librarian (aka, head) of VPL.

Workshop with Mary Novik at VPL

Each year, the Writers’ Trust of Canada sponsors a writing workshop at the Vancouver Public Library. These are open to the public and free of charge, requiring only registration in advance.

Last year, they brought in playwright Dennis Foon. This spring’s presenter was Mary Novik, author of the award-winning novel, Conceit. Her topic was ‘Re-Imagining the Past’ and focused on incorporating history into fiction. Considering that participants’ work dealt with history from the 13th century to the 1990s, leading the session took a lot of skill and grace.

Participants’ work also varied in genres. Several sounded like straight-up memoirs, others seemed more documentary in style, one was even a combination of narrative poetry interspersed with short fiction. There were ‘heritage heroes’ and a complicated-sounding treatment of First Nations symbology. The one that sounded most heartfelt was the story told through the eyes of six-year-old girl at residential school, a girl who, as its author said, “…didn’t have her own mind…” because of where she was.

One of the best aspects of the workshop was that we had to be prepared to talk about our work-in-progress. This meant I had to put together a ‘pitch’ for the book I’m working on. After having heard the others’ two-minute presentations of theirs, I’m not sure I did mine quite right. Still, this was a very useful learning point from the class – and it was good to be reminded that others, even those who seem confident about their writing, can be frustrated or stalled in their work.

After a short break, Mary made a presentation based on things she’s learned through her own experience as a writer. She dealt with topics ranging from “How much research is enough? (or, too much?” to “Which has priority in your story, truth or art?”
She answered questions and was so generous with her time, she even suggested we join her after the session for further conversation and time for networking.

The photo shows Mary relaxing at the bistro. Not pictured is the surrounding throng of admirers, the rest of us would-be successful novelists.

I was there

On Friday I was welcomed to the remarkable Holly School. My job there? To present new ways of looking at poetry to a class of Grade Sixes.

I gave the students a small project to work on, answered questions and shared poems by many writers. I was even allowed to give input on a couple of student poems that had been sent to me in advance of the class – little tweaks, like adding sensory images to strengthen the work.

One of the most exciting parts of the day came when the class was suggesting ways that poetry is different from other kinds of writing. As they offered ideas, I was recording them on the board. And then there was this, the topper: It has language that makes you say ‘mmmm’.

This visit was part of the Federation of B.C. Writers’ Off-the-Page program. Through that plan, writers are paid to work with students in schools. But really, this day paid me in ways richer than money.

After the class, I was met on the playground by children playing skipping-rope games. When the slapping of the rope triggered my own memories, they listened as I chanted: "Down in the valley where the green grass grows, there stands 'whoever', sweet as a rose. She sang, she sang, she sang so sweet…"

After that, a group of girls wanted me to watch while they presented a dance for me.

And then, after all that rousing activity, a girl shyly presented herself, asking if I would mind listening to her play the theme from Titanic on her recorder. While its sad notes flew into the spring air, I couldn’t help it, my eyes filled with tears, remembering my own grandfather who’d travelled steerage on another steaming ship. Really, what a lovely way to close out a beautiful visit to a wonder-filled place.

They're heeeere...

If you want to say today's title 'correctly', you'll have to turn your mind back to Poltergeist.

It's also likely you'll need to double-click on the vehicle in the centre of the image to see them, as my camera's zoom capabilities aren't on a par with theirs. (The car is out in the road beyond the parking lot, facing right. The sign above it seems serendipitously placed.)

Still, I'm pleased that I managed to click even this much -- when the local newspaper reported on Google's team visiting to take its famous Street View shots, they didn't have a pic. It was kind of a fluke that I caught them uptown, just after they'd come around the corner. I guess you might call them a gaggle of Googlers.

Halfway

Today is the halfway mark in National Poetry Month. Depending on whether you love poetry or not, I suppose there's a question that leads from that -- along the lines of whether the glass is half-full or half-empty.

The other day, the postman brought this loveliest of greetings -- a postcard from Sandy Shreve with a poem from her latest book, Suddenly, So Much, on it.

The poem's story is of a cormorant who's flown in from the sea to fish in a city lake. There, "...in this park where we unleash our dogs" is this seabird. Haven't all of us, at one time or another, found ourselves in situations (and not always by choice) where we've been in a place outside our usual boundaries? Whether we've been brave enough to do as this cormorant -- "...he bares his breast" is probably quite another matter.

When it comes to the poem's form, it proves to be an interesting variation on a palindrome -- quite an accomplishment for a work of poetry.

Sandy's website shows off more versions of the postcard poems. You can even learn how to buy some to send for your own poetry project.

What's the reason...

for dyeing Easter eggs? Aside from the fact that it's fun and they're pretty...

Happy 40th Birthday to the Internet?

I don't think it was a late April Fool story, but I'm sure having a hard time tracking down any back-up.

I caught the beginning of 'Q' this morning on CBC. Jian Ghomeshi was doing one of his 'serious' intros (one of the thoughtful-sounding ones with the Moby music in the background). He explained that today is the 40th birthday of the Internet, the first day a typed message was composed for what was then still a brand-new dream.

I have to take my hat off to his researchers at the CBC. All the stories I found speak only of October 29, 1969 as the day the first message ('lo') was sent. Still, I did find a lot of cool stuff about the history of the Internet.

The story I liked best of all told about Len Kleinrock, a guy who grew up loving comic books (didn't we all?) and built a crystal radio set. From a crystal radio to the Internet, a pretty impressive leap. Once upon a time, I think I had one of these. I'm pretty sure it was marketed as a 'rocket radio' -- for its shape, vaguely vibratorish. There were no batteries or dials. It just plucked radio from the air and sent it into an earpiece for personal tunes. Great for lying in bed and listening to rock and roll when I was supposed to be asleep.

And if the Internet really doesn't qualify as turning 40 today, I found a football player who does. Happy 40th, Ricky Watters!

Writing a Poem (in 48 hours)

That might not sound like a terrible challenge, but when you're given a list of 10 words that have to appear in the poem, the task becomes somewhat more difficult.

The Canadian magazine, CV2, has been setting just that challenge every spring. I've participated in the event since 2002, when I was travelling in the Blue Mountains of New South Wales, Australia and had to find a cybercafe to get the 10 words!

This year's batch of words is: parlour, effervescent, kumquat, noxious, sink, quagmire, gradation, improvise, freak, dial.

Over the years, they’ve tightened up the rules. No longer am I allowed to make 'freakish' out of freak. 'Sinker' instead of sink is now verboten.

I have a few more hours (until 10 p.m. my time zone) to finish and submit my work. In the meantime, I'll do my best not to freak, even if I do feel like I might sink into a quagmire of noxious verse....

Solidarity with women in Afghanistan

Amazing. Even Steve Harper has spoken out against the changes to laws in Afghanistan.

For my part, a poem, published previously in a publication called Writing for our Lives.

Learning to think about leaving

You are scissors
I am paper
learning to be stone

A surprise when I read in the paper that day
a crime against the law for
a man to rape his wife
all those nights you'd wake me
two a.m. again
bade me open wide
it's your duty don't you know
alarm clock indeed
no clock needed for alarm.

Next day when you went out
to buy yourself some smokes
how I grabbed the scissors,
dug through the recycling
found the story, real;
cut around its black and white
something like a square
leaving just enough white edge
something to hang on to.

When I served the supper, meatballs in sauce
arranged over a bed of rice, salad on the side
how you held the plate, then turned
it upside down, laid it neat and flat upon the table.
I recall your smirk, how it held
the children's big eyes.

A stone grows deep inside me
hot and cold I never know
when it might be I will leave,
but hoping every day, I look
out the window for signs:

bird in the tree
rises through leaves, carrying
a song packed sideways in its throat
a sharpened cry
it circles
and heads out over the sea.

National Poetry Month arrives in White Rock

To help celebrate National Poetry Month, Nova Scotia writer Brian Bartlett has flown in from Halifax.

He spent the afternoon leading a workshop at a local elementary school. He gave individual help to every writer there. Clearly, his visit was an exciting part of the students' Friday afternoon.

Tonight he'll be reading at Pelican Rouge Coffee House, where I suspect the audience will be somewhat less rambunctious. I'm looking forward to hearing which pieces from The Watchmaker's Table he chooses to share with us.

Post-apocalyptic fiction

Because I was away on holiday, I managed to accumulate quite a backlog of emails. Among ones I’ve found is a message from Abe Books about ‘end of the world’ fiction. Since I’ve always been a reader of post-apocalyptic novels, this was one bulk message I didn’t want to delete.

I agreed with quite a few of their choices – especially Earth Abides, one of the most memorable books of my life (apparently Carl Sandburg agreed with this assessment).

There were a few that I thought they’d got ‘wrong’ – like John Wyndham’s Day of the Triffids. Even though it might have served as inspiration for Jose Saramago’s Nobel Prize winning Blindness, I don’t think it fits the category of post-apocalypse fiction. A better candidate by Wyndham would have been his The Chrysalids, in which ‘mutants’ are outcasts in the prevailing day’s society. Their genes are wildly mutated by residual radiation from a long-past nuclear war, so I think this title qualifies better.

One of the writers they didn’t mention is John Brunner. And maybe that’s because his books aren’t so much set after a specific disaster, but rather in the midst of them. Stand on Zanzibar’s premise is overpopulation; The Sheep Look Up finds its threat in ecological disasters. Can you say topical? And I’m still pretty sure it’s one of those two books that sees police maintaining crowd control (people are standing in long queues for food) by distributing joints for them to smoke.

Another two books that should be on their list are Ronald Wright’s A Scientific Romance and Russell Hoban’s Ridley Walker. Although Wright’s book is based on the trick of time travel, his images of grown-over roadways will always stay in my mind. Ridley Walker is a true one-of-a-kind. Not only is set in a far-distant post-acopalyptic future, it’s written in a ‘new’ kind of language. Although the book was written in 1980, much of its language seems similar to today’s texting, especially its use of numbers to mimic the sounds of words.

There was even an old school text, Z for Zachariah, which might well be worth a re-read.

Doing a bit of research on this genre, I’ve encountered a few more titles I’ll need to track down, John Crowley’s Engine Summer, Philip K. Dick’s Dr Bloodmoney, and J.G. Ballard’s The Drowned World . This last one presumes the polar icepacks have melted. But the oddest-sounding one of all is Bernard Wolfe’s 1952 novel, Limbo. These last recommendations are all thanks to a wonderful volume by David Pringle, Science Fiction: The 100 Best Novels.

I'd love it if anyone could up with other suggestions in this thought-provoking genre. Comments with names are always the best, but if Anonymous can suggest a great book, I'm happy enough to know about it.

Will observing Earth Hour make a difference?

Pollyanna-ish, I suppose, but I say yes, it will.

If I didn't believe that, I wouldn't recycle paper and plastic and glass. I also wouldn't remember to not run the water while I brush my teeth.

What other small things do I do? I make a point of picking up a piece of litter off the ground every day. Not huge bags of it, just one. And I don't always flush the toilet (unless there's a good reason to).

I like to believe all these small things add up. Hey, if everybody did them...

What I'd really like to think about though is instead of just observing Earth Hour, what would happen if on Earth Day we'd try going for a full 24 hours without using power? Now that could be a message even Steve Harper might notice.

It should be Pattie's birthday today

Wind Chime Woman
(for Pattie)

chittering wind chimes remind me
of you and our lonesomest times

how many nights did we spend together
banishing demons or men for each other

laughing or crying on my porch or yours, mostly
over cheques that either bounced or never arrived


so why didn’t you phone instead of going to that hotel
sitting it out alone on a bed for three crying days

and how did you ever find yourself so many pills so many colours,
how many drinks did you have to force down to work up the nerve to swallow

you knew that the maids would let you sleep in, not find you 'til afternoon
knew they all loved you and worried for you, saw how you tipped too much


but now I need to pretend, imagine you wearing your turquoise robe
picture your hair swirling red on the pillow, how you’d want it to look

and for once I hear no pounding nails or cutting lawns or
too fast trucks driving down this narrow street of ours

just the storm blowing strong
through the wind chimes

News that's new

At least to me.

Reading a newspaper was my treat of the day. As always, it's the columnists who make the paper for me. The Vancouver Sun's Miro Cernetic referred to this time we're in as the "Great Recession" although really what's so great about it remains to be seen. One of those oxymorons, I guess. But at least the term feels official, now that I've seen it in print.

The rest of the paper seemed full of happier news, the best being that Oslo, Norway has figured out how to fuel its transit system on recycled sewage. As of next year, buses there will run on methane from the treatment plant at Bekkelaget. There's a renewable source if ever there was one!

There were also several different pieces that all worked their way to the same conclusion: it's time that we decriminalize drugs. Just think, if Vancouver could manage this before 2010, there might be a whole lot less violence on the city's streets. There might even be some lasting reason for tourists to visit beyond two weeks' worth of games that no one seems able to get tickets for.

But of most interest to me is the 100 yuan challenge, started up by workers in Shanghai and Beijing. The idea is to try living on 100 yuan (about $18Cdn) a week. Over 100,000 people are participating so far. Of the results I've seen, the best ways of saving money seem to be by avoiding Western fast food outlets. Sounds like a good idea, whether you're trying to save money or not.

Old news

Just because it's old news doesn't make it any better. 

Being away means I'm slower in learning about what's happened. Usually, it's stuff that doesn't matter too much. This time, I've learned that four more Canadian soldiers have been killed in Afghanistan. It seems extra weird that just yesterday I overheard a man singing that old song by Country Joe. The one that says, "One, two, three, four -- what're we fighting for?" Only when the 'Vietnam' line rolled past, I thought I heard "next stop, Afghanistan." 

Hmm. Maybe that wasn't a mis-hearing at all. 

Salsa!

This morning saw a group of locals (and visitors, like me) joining up for a two-hour dance class. The session was led by Jean-Pierre, who clearly knows how to dance and still has the great moves, despite being 68.

Salsa was the main theme, but we explored a bunch of other dances too. As it always seems to go in dance or exercise classes, women outnumbered the men, so when it came to partnered dancing a lot of us were girl-with-girl. Waltzing and polka were easier than some.

Belly-dancing was the most fun; the tarantella downright annoying. Still, the workout was fun and made for a lot of good sweating. Ariba!

Angelfish on the beach

He was not a happy camper, flapping around sideways in the surf.

It was one of those very traditional days (is this what Mexico does to people?) where the men played horseshoes and the women went for a stroll. I'd brought my snorkel and mask, but no one else wanted to join me, so that activity was out. Face it, snorkeling in the sea is not a thing to do without a buddy.

While we females strolled our way down the sand, we spotted a frantic-looking flapping in the waves. An angelfish, clearly in distress. Rennie waded out and picked him (her?) up, trying to reorient him and get him back out past the breaking waves. Not much bigger than her open hand, he was a beauty -- silver with black zebra stripes. It was hard finding a picture similar to his kind, but if you click here, then follow down to the bottom right, you'll see one of his cousins.

For a while it seemed as though he might have made it, as he was swimming quite upright, little dorsal fin straight up as an antenna, so we walked on. But then, on our way back, there he was again, struggling. We tried a few more rescues, but finally gave up as a lesson from nature.

Still, I wondered: had we been a group of men, how might our behaviour have been different? Or would they have done exactly the same things we tried?

Fiesta del San Patricio

Where better to be for St. Patrick's Day than a town called San Patricio!

Wearing our green T-shirts, we got into the car and drove over to the nearby towns of Melaque/San Patricio. A carnival, complete with rides and midway, was running full blast.
There was lots to see and do: foosball tents, Bingo games (but not like the Bingo most of us think of, I-19, O-64 -- more like 'travel' Bingo, just pictures -- of everything from roosters to the devil). There were medicine hawkers, boot vendors, even a rodeo. I enjoyed just looking at it all, snapping pictures. But that wasn't too hard to do, considering I was sipping a pina colada from a little clay pot while we strolled.

The most amazing part of the evening was the display of fireworks that ended the night. When we'd arrived, a group of men had been building a tower-like structure in the town square. A series of spinning explosives were arranged on the tower, so each would ignite in turn, one from the previous. The video will give you some idea of how this worked -- only lucky you, you won't have to worry about sparks falling into your hair!

Art is everywhere

Yesterday morning my friends and I went to Tonala and took a tour that let us meet artisans at work -- at a papier mache factory, in a glass-blowing foundry, and in the one-man studio of a very special potter, Salvador Vazquez. He carries on a technique developed over several generations of his family.

Today, we strolled around the square in 'our' little town. People from the village ran a little arts fair. There was a range of crafts (embroidery, pottery and jewellery) as well as samples of food and drink and glass beads and baskets. One of the gringas offered an interesting item that worked like an optical illusion. A spiralled piece of metal with a large marble skewered onto it. She called it a 'contemplato' -- maybe that's not the real name for it, but considering its slightly hypnotic aspect, it made sense.

Galleries seem to be everywhere. It's as if art is in the air.

A day for amazement

My friends and I have been wandering through markets and galleries and hearing music and generally being bombarded by culture.


But most amazing of all was the gallery we visited this afternoon, filled with the works of Sergio Bustamante.

It was as if a wind blew into my brain and rearranged the apparatus that shows me how to see the world. Definitely memorable.

International Females, Celebrate!

Where yesterday was International Women's Day, it seems a bit bizarre for today to celebrate the birthday of Barbie. Yes, that Barbie. The doll.

She's turning 50, but gosh, those tits of hers look perky as ever.

And here I thought this was supposed to be the age of reality. Or is it really just the age of the reality show?

C'mon, Mattel. I saw that picture you posted of Barbie sporting that head of shiny white hair. But hey, now that she's turning 50, how's about lowering the bar (or is it just the bra?) on that chest of hers? I understand she's getting tattooed soon to prove just how cool she still is. I wonder, will Ken's name be among the artwork she gets?

BTW, this link to International Women's Day may appear to be a bit unfriendly, but really there's a whole lot of great information. And despite appearances to the contrary, sign-in does not seem to be required. Worth a look.

And yes, I acknowledge the importance of today's birthday girl. Just think of how many girls first 'tried out sex' by smooshing their Barbie and Ken dolls up against each other.

Anyway, cheers to you, Barbie. You're holding up well, though I'll still never understand how you can bear to keep standing on those itty-bitty tippy-toes all these many years. Ouch, but happy birthday to you. And many more.

Punktuation Rules!

Okay, so I'm kind of a nerd. But was yesterday ever fun - I was in a whole roomful of like-minded nerds.

The occasion was a seminar sponsored by our local branch of the Editors' Association of Canada. Led by Frances Peck, we spent the day considering (and arguing about) punctuation and mechanics. If I've already lost you, you're probably not an editor. But if you are still with me, consider some of the wonderful things Frances said.

She reminded us that punctuation marks help us navigate our way through sentences, indicating pauses and also helping us make connections. She used phrases like "maintaining syntactical interest" and employed beautiful words like "idiosyncratic" - and best of all, she offered the important-to-any-editor caution that hyphens might drive us mad, describing those small black marks as "the mosquitoes of punctuation."

Goofy-sounding to a non-editor? Probably. But did I learn a lot? You bet!

Black and whites on display

Last night saw an opening at the local Community Arts Council Gallery. They change the art displays every month and this month there's work by Tatiana Saydak and Chris Mackenzie. The show for March is an array of small sculptures in company of a room full of black and white photographs.
That's Chris Mackenzie, in front of some of his work. His photos, all taken with film - no digital work here - included images shot with infrared film.

Because I'm always uncomfortable taking photos of somebody else's photographs, I can only say I was impressed enough by his work to buy a piece. If you want to see his work, you should go to the gallery - or failing that, visit his website. Ones he's featured as 'peeks' for this show are some interesting results from long exposures at night time. Definitely worth a look.

Perception Shift

I have a thing about numbers. I like certain ones more than others. Sometimes this is based on associations with birthdays or other events. Sometimes my reasons are more superficial – when I fix on a number for the way it looks.

Thinking about numbers displayed on the clock, I’ve always loved the tidy lines of 11:11. And next best has always been its shorter cousin, 1:11.

But today, with three more Canadian soldiers killed in Afghanistan, and the number of deaths there now jumping to 111, I’m pretty sure I’ll be thinking differently when 1:11 shows up on the face of the clock.

Instead of admiring the shape of the number, I'll be viewing it as three red soldiers standing tall. And I’ll be thinking of three men – Warrant Officer Dennis Raymond Brown, Cpl. Dany Olivier Fortin and Cpl. Kenneth Chad O’Quinn.

Writers who don't retreat

These are some of the writers who took part in a writers' retreat at Matsqui this past weekend. Only, I always have to question why these sessions go by that name. I haven't noticed these people retreating from much.

Most of the other participants aren't in the picture because they couldn't come out to the parking lot to stand beside that lovely wall. And no, that isn't because it was raining and they were afraid of getting wet. They didn't come outside because they aren't allowed. You see, Matsqui is a federal penitentiary.

So, who are these writers? They're poets and playwrights and novelists and short story writers. And why do they do this? Well, why does anyone volunteer for a cause they feel passionate about?

Freedom to Read

Most of us probably take such a notion for granted. It's a given, like the freedom to watch whatever tv show you might click to with the remote. Unfortunately, that isn't always the case.

I was part of an event that's become an annual tradition in Mission, B.C. -- a presentation of readings from books that have been 'challenged' (my, aren't we polite?).

Included on this year's roster was everything from a picture book called The Waiting Dog and Beatrix Potter's Tale of Peter Rabbit to the poetry of Joseph Brodsky and the prose of Mark Twain (Huck Finn).

This year's event featured a number of junior readers. The photo is of Allie, who's participated in this reading for three years now. Ever the professional, here she is doing one last mental read-through before she performs.

Long live the book, says I, and the freedom to read what we choose.

No more bullying

Today is Pink Shirt Day -- a day to boldly wear pink and stand up to bullying. I'm so tickled pink about this, I'm even wearing pink socks! Look at those feet, such exemplary friends. Even when moving backwards, they're always co-operative, never bullying.

The week's biggest news

I can't help but think this might have been a week for believing in astrology. It sure felt as though there were planets (or some other controlling force) at odds with each other.

Many would contend the biggest story here in Canada was the visit from Barack Obama. Yes, that was big, but it also served as a what I call a 'smokescreen story' for another, bigger story -- a story that isn't finished and that won't be going away.

The same day President Obama visited Ottawa, the Vancouver Olympic Committee (VANOC) finally came out with a report they seem to have been stalling about -- that security for the 2010 games is going to cost $900 million dollars. Hmm, where the number is that high, why don't they just round it off and call it a billion? Here in the West, the story made the front page. I'm not sure that was the case anyplace else. Considering that all Canadians will in some way or other be paying these costs, it seems sneaky for this story to have come out on a day when hoopla stole all the headlines.

In sharp contrast to the news from Vancouver, Tuesday's news saw a report from Sochi in Russia that their Winter Olympics in 2014 will come in at 15% lower than they'd predicted. It will be interesting to see how this one plays out.

Another story connected to this week is one that happened 50 years ago, the cancellation of the Avro Arrow, a move that left thousands of workers without jobs and questions that still remain today. I wonder whether Obama even knows about that one. In fact, I wonder whether Steve Himself does.

But on we go, interesting times... indeed.

Dreaming of Queensland

Well, it looks as though I've taken another step towards my dreams of Queensland. My application for the Best Job in the World has been accepted.

From here on in, people have to go the site and cast their vote by 'rating' the video on the five-star bar. It looks as though you can only vote once, so I hope you'll make that first attempt count. They'll announce the top ten plus a 'wild card' on March 2nd.

I'm not holding my breath on this, especially because I've seen a lot of the other applications. Nearly everyone has used editing and special effects galore. My all-in-one-minute take was based on the thought: what would I be able to do at Hamilton Island in an ongoing blog? I knew I wouldn't be able to pull off a lot of fancy stuff, so figured go for the plain-and-simple and play on my strengths (writing and blogging).

Okay, if you want to see it (and hopefully, cast a vote for me) here's the link that should take you directly to my little vid.

And hey, if you feel like sharing this with others, I'd appreciate all the help I can get!

A photo I forgot to take

So instead, you'll have to imagine it.

Five middle-aged people, a mix of men and women, gathered at a table in a coffee shop. Two of them are seated, the other three huddle around. All of them focus on an assortment of prescription-medicine containers containing pills. By turns, unprescribed, each of them takes a bottle, opens it, holds the container near their nose and inhales deeply, sniffing it.

And no, they're not crazy. They're trying to learn what vitamins their bodies might be lacking.

If that sounds like a strange way to find out what vitamins they need, well, if you'd asked me yesterday, I might have agreed. Only now that I've heard a presentation (and done the smell test myself), I can't really dispute it.

The presentation, by poet Diane Dawber, was part of a reading she did for our local Arts Council's literary series. She also read poems from her first book, Cankerville (Borealis) and from the forthcoming Driving, Braking and Getting Out to Walk: Landscape as the Poet's Future (Hidden Brook Press, 2009).

It's hard to believe that this vibrantly energetic woman was pretty well bedridden for close to a decade. But that vibrancy also makes it very hard not to carefully consider some of the methods she's used to recover -- not only from FM, but from a number of food allergies and chemical sensitivities. Anyway, I hope you 'got the picture'. Next time, I'll try to do better about not missing such a great shot.

Here's a snap of Diane, who's a bit of a blur. It's difficult to catch her still long enough to get a flashless pic. She's just starting her reading at the always-welcoming Pelican Rouge Coffee House.

Oops!

I missed my blogiversary! Out on the big limb first came to life on February 16, 2006 with a funny little post called Tomorrow is finally here. There've been quite a few entries since then, and I send big thanks to all of my followers (even those who aren't signed on as such) and especially to those who leave comments. Here's hoping that the 'big limb' remains strong enough to hold me and my sometimes-crazy opinions.

And one more valentine

Tonight was my community pool's annual water-running marathon. If you've never done water-running, you can click here for a set of simple instructions. Those directions specify that you need a flotation device. I guess I'm weird, because I never wear one, even though the water-running I do is in water that's 12 feet deep. I'm naturally buoyant, so a belt just feels like an encumbrance.
Anyway, we did a two-hour run tonight, with three staff from the pool (Theo, Alexandra and Auriel) taking turns in leading us onward.I'll admit that halfway through, I jumped out for the teensiest minute -- just so I could take a picture of a few of the people who participated in this fundraising event for the Heart and Stroke Foundation.
I'm happy to say that I raised $495. Of course, I couldn't have done that without support from the many people who sponsored me with pledges. Big 'heartfelt' thanks to Rosemary, George, Lisa, Janny, Ruth, Barbara, Jeremy, Brenna, Gord, Lew, and Mary!

A Valentine's Day Treat

When I went to the library this afternoon, I wandered into the kids' section. Lucky thing, as hidden over on that side of the room was a display cabinet full of the most perfect bits of needlework.
Looking more closely, I saw that these were all done by a woman I used to work with. What a treat, Hiltrud, to run into these beautiful examples of your art. Even though it wasn't intentional, these felt like a very special Valentine's gift. And way less fattening than chocolate. Thank you!

Typo?

This just in from The Vancouver Sun:

WHISTLER - If every Olympic torch is supposed to say something about the country in which its Games are being held, then the torch for the Vancouver 2010
Games says cold, bright, expansive and snowy.

Shouldn't that third-last word be 'expensive'?

Letter from my mother

Well, not exactly. It's more like a fragment of something written by my mother, Carole -- a page I found after her death, when we were sorting things in boxes. Her words gave me a concrete tag to write a eulogy around. This is what she wrote:

“Today is February 8th and still another new snow has fallen – barely covering the icy packed-down dirty snows of several weeks. And this new snow, however thin, has worked its usual little miracle and sort of covered things over, wiping the slate clean – giving us once more a new beginning, a new day, still another new chance to make it all a little better. So that’s the kind of day it is today and I am hopeful. Not with that wild impossible kind of hope I used to have, but hopeful all the same. My mind goes back to a day in late March in 1933.”

It's too bad that the page ended there -- and that there wasn't another one to follow it. I wonder what that March day in 1933 might have been like. The Depression would have been in full swing, and my mother would have been six. For a day to lodge so long in her mind, it must have been a pretty special memory.

Especially when one considers what her life must have been like back then. It was a time of economic hardships most of us have probably only learned about from textbooks. But Carole and her brother and sisters lived those hardships day by day.

Yet those childhood hardships shaped her, contributing to the person she became. And I believe they taught her to always appreciate whatever blessings happened her way. And to treasure whatever wonderful memorable events might occur, including whatever it was that was so special about that day in March of 1933.

At the end of the eulogy, I challenged those present to honour my mother's memory by heeding the words she'd written. I asked them to go out each day, seeking little miracles, making fresh starts, pursuing new chances -- and most of all by doing their best, as she wrote, to ‘make it all a little better.’ And that remains my challenge to anyone who might read this. Because that's the kind of day today is -- one where I too feel a sense of hope -- just the way my mother did on that other 8th of February when she jotted down her impressions of the day.



The photo, probably from around the time of that special day in March, is of my mother visiting her dad at the hospital where he was destined to spend a number of years.

Fun with poems

One of the highlights of my week was a workshop I presented to students in grades four and five. They were full of great questions and were more than willing to try the several odd assignments I gave them. Here's one student working on "I'm silly," a poem about the mood she was feeling,
I especially like her line, "Not like jumping on a chair with a whoopee cushion on it."
Whee! If only we could all be so free in expressing ourselves!

I reckon we've made it

When I drove past this field and saw the farmer out there on his tractor, turning over all that rich, black soil, I just knew it -- once again, we've made it through the winter. It's spring!

Superb Owl

Once again, today is the magical day that comes but once a year -- the day Superb Owl rises into the air, granting the wishes of boys and girls and women and men across the world. Sound familiar?

The wikipedia entry for The Great Pumpkin sees "...Linus's belief in the Great Pumpkin as symbolic of the struggles faced by anyone with beliefs or practices that are not shared by the majority." Since the keeper of this blog often falls into the same minority category as Linus, it seems appropriate for me to be a follower of Superb Owl.

But because I also truly love the music from the Charlie Brown series, I'm suggesting you click on this link to a video of Charlie Brown and the Great Pumpkin. If you're very good, and if you don't blink when you're at the 2:15 mark, you'll get a quick glimpse of Superb Owl, rising into the air, on his rounds to grant our wishes. Wish well!