O, say can...a-da

Yesterday, just in time for the weekend, gas prices around here hit a record high again. Nearly every station was posting regular at a dollar-fifty-point-something per litre. Or, if we’re talking US gallons, nearly six bucks.

It sounds as though some of the high prices have to do with ‘problems’ at Cherry Point, the Washington state refinery we see at night from the local beach. Yet as if to further confuse the issue, fuel prices across the line in Bellingham, Washington are hovering around $4.25 - $4.50.

But then today, oh miracle of miracles, I guess we’re supposed to feel that we’re living in the land of bargains, as the cost of fuel has dropped a whole five cents a litre (almost a 20 cents difference if we’re talking per US gallon), and is down to the still-not-cheap $1.45.

Naturally, although countless reports and studies have proven the oil companies are not in cahoots with each other when they set their numbers, the gas stations once again nearly all show the same identical price.

Comparison shopping beyond the price of gas – for clothes, running shoes, electronics (even house siding manufactured in Canada) – reveals that prices are often at least a third less if you shop in the U.S.

Especially where we’ll soon be permitted to bring back more when we shop across the line, it’s seeming more and more as though ‘they’ (yes, the proverbial ‘they’) are doing all they can to make life so expensive here, when they make the offer for us to become the 51st state we'll gladly fold our maple leaf into the red bars of the stars and stripes and start singing a different anthem.

Oh, TED, I hardly knew ye...

Not long ago, a well-meaning friend sent me a link to video which he thought would inspire, or at least interest me.

It was part of the TED series, so I took the time to watch it.

About the only feeling the video inspired in me was disappointment – that, and complete puzzlement about what exactly the TED foundation stands for.

I guess I was mistaken in thinking that a TED presentation meant a well-researched, well presented, thought-provoking piece. Instead, the video I saw was one that contained errors and seemed full of emotion-laden language geared towards a particularly non-scientific set of conclusions.

Granted, the imagery is remarkable. The video in question consists of a series of electronic scans strung together to illustrate the development that occurs between conception and birth. Primarily, it’s the captioning that got me shuddering.

Worst of all was the just-fertilized egg, in process of its first division (a stage I’d thought was zygote). Here the caption cites that, at 24 hours, the “baby’s first division” occurs. Egg, yes. Zygote, I think so. Baby, not.

Part of this is the editor in me, bothered by vertebrae being spelled ‘vertAbrae’ the term yolk sac becoming ‘yolk sacK’.

But my bigger concern is over the emotional ‘baby’ language embedded throughout the piece. I’d thought embryo and fetus were the more specific terms for stages of pregnancy. Instead, this presentation is filled with the loaded sort of terminology I expect from the likes of Rick Santorum, not from a supposedly respected scientist.

Beautiful, but...

Just a few weeks ago, Vancouver Public Library was announced as being one of the world’s most beautiful public libraries. The photo, not the standard view of the building, is a shot I took looking up at the glassed roof.

Sadly, inside the building, it’s not all so pretty. There’s a mix of good and ugly going on.

The good part would be last night’s literary event where, inside the library over 200 of us were in the audience for another in VIWF’s Incite Series.

The readers were Vincent Lam and Linden MacIntyre. As might be expected, their readings had everyone following every word.

MacIntyre pulled off the evening's biggest laugh with his comment in response to a question from the audience he couldn't quite hear. "Like they say in Newfoundland," he said, "hearing is the second thing to go."

The only cloud on the event was the fact that as we entered we learned that the librarians at VPL are having to fight to defend their jobs.

Many staff members have had their hours cut to lower than the magic cut-off line of 20 hours. Below 20 hours, a worker no longer qualifies for sick pay.

There are a number of other ugly complications, but they’re spelled out better than I can state them at the library workers’ website.

The reason the city is having to slash $500,000 from the library’s budget? What else, last year’s ‘supposed-to-boost-Vancouver’s-economy’ slash in the pan Olympics.

Good luck, London. I hope your city fares better.

A room with two views

Just about time for a lunchtime break, but first this quickie catch-up blog.

It's my week to take a turn at the 'time-share' writing retreat space I've lucked into, a very special spot on the shore of English Bay in Vancouver.

Besides having a bite to eat, I'm taking a page from Evelyn Lau and going for a walk on the Stanley Park Seawall. She talks about the Seawall and how it figures into her writing process in the latest edition of Wordworks, the online journal of the Federation of BC Writers.

A wrap, a juice, a notebook and pen -- out the door I go -- to be part of the view and not just looking at it!

Where's the fair in fairness?

 And where is the just in justice? Looking in the dictionary hasn’t helped.

Yesterday’s decision permitting Conrad Black back into Canada makes me wonder what’s going on in this country – a country once known for its compassionate sense of justice.

Black was convicted of serious crimes, which in itself is supposed to make him less-than-welcome. Beyond that, in the interests of acquiring a lordship in England, Black officially renounced his Canadian citizenship.

So why, I ask, does the red tape fly out the door and the gold-plated welcome mat get laid at his feet?

The unfairness of this decision seems even more horrific when contrasted with the case of Rodney Watson. He’s the American soldier who found Iraq to be more than he’d bargained for, and quite a contrast to what he’d been told to expect. Like so many other soldiers of conscience, he left the US army and headed for Canada, where he thought he would find asylum.

Only Watson hasn't been granted asylum in our country. Rather, he has been residing in sanctuary provided by Vancouver’s First United Church.

The full horror of his situation sinks in when you realize he's been living at the church since the autumn of 2009 – nearly three years.

Yet Conrad Black waltzes in after waiting a day.

Is it simply because Rodney Watson doesn’t have the kind of bankroll Conrad Black has?

Like I said, could somebody please show me what’s fair about this?

Be afraid, be very afraid...

That was the tag line from the 1986 version of the film, The Fly.

Now, it seems we need instead to be fearful of The Turtle, at least if his name is Yertle. Yep, the character from the book by Dr. Seuss. Scary, eh.

Those well-known rabble-rousers, teachers, have been warned against displaying Dr. Seuss quotes. It seems the good Dr.’s writings are just too darn political.

The person at the base of all this trouble is a Grade 1 teacher, employed in the district of Prince Rupert. The quote that’s caused the kafuffle is this: “I know, up on the top you are seeing great sights, but down here on the bottom we, too, should have rights.”

Turns out the scene in the story depicts a bunch of stacked-up turtles, all to help Yertle see better. But one little turtle who wants a peek as well pronounces the offending question.

Sounds to me like the turtles are behaving quite co-operatively. Climbing up so one can get a better view.

So hey, school district, what’re you being so paranoid about? Could it be that you’re feeling guilty about the way decisions about student learning conditions and teachers’ rights are being made in this province? Does it seem, even to you, that too many rules are being made in Victoria, all the way up there at the top?

Poetry Night in Surrey, BC

This was the view of the garden outside City Hall, a place where I had to pause and take a few deep breaths. I was about to read my specially-commissioned poem to Mayor Dianne Watts and the city councillors. Although I seem to do plenty of readings, this one felt different, as if some of the future of things literary in our city were dependent on how the reading went.

As things turned out (even though I needed to rely almost completely on what I'd written), I think I did all right, though I certainly was grateful to the writers and friends who attended, adding support to what I was doing.

Although this reading wasn't the first time there'd been poetry in City Hall, it was (as far as I know) the first time the city had made an official proclamation of National Poetry Month. The mayor presented me with a copy of the proclamation, signed and beautifully framed. If you'd like to see the text of the proclamation, click here.

And if you'd like to read the poem I read, it's posted at the Mayor's Poetry Challenge -- you need to scroll down to April 23rd, and then click on my name.

The celebratory worm

If this wormy little guy had heels, he might be kicking them up to celebrate Earth Day. As it is, he seems to be doing a pretty sassy little flamenco of his own!

Do something to celebrate our bounteous planet.

And yes, I’m putting the worm back into his home, so he and his pals can keep up the good work they do, aerating the garden.

PS Besides spending time outdoors digging dandelions, I also saw some actual flamenco dancers at a local arts event. Here’s what those clacking castanets look like up close.

That day again

Let’s face it. The war on drugs has spawned a nation of addicts. Had the laws restricting marijuana been eased way back in the ‘70s when the LeDain Commission came up with that very recommendation, I’m convinced there wouldn’t now be all these crack-heads and smack freaks filling our downtown cores and prisons.

If pot had been available only in liquor stores (or, places known by some catchier title that meant ‘outlets for controlled substances’) I suspect organized crime wouldn’t have managed such a stranglehold on selling this with-us-since-time-began weed.

The situation would never have risen where a person looking for a toke was posed the question that’s changed too many lives: “Wanna try some crack instead?”

These controlled-substances outlets might have even been able to take over distribution of tobacco, one of our deadliest (and most addictive) drugs.

Here it is 4/20 again – and once again, the protestors are on the streets, smoking and listening to music and speeches.

Yet Steve Harper, despite calls from all levels of police – even heads of state – continues to keep his greying head in the sand of denial. Oh, sigh. Looks as the gangs will continue to be the only ones winning this ridiculous ‘war’.

Balance

The theme of this year's National Poetry Month is balance. And last night's event in the Readings by the Salish Sea series was accomplished in living up to the theme -- in more ways than the obvious juxtapositions apparent in the photo.

Daniela Elza read from her brand-new book, the weight of dew, taking us on a word-tour through the world. Points of interest included the peaks of philosophy, the wonders of parenting, and also such down-to-earth places as an overflow campsite, the spot where everyone comes to fight. She also offered insights into some of her writing process and demonstrated the interplay of words in her triptych poems.

The other side of the event was work by distinguished poet, E.D. Blodgett. He read from Praha, a collection of poems that serve as an homage to the city of Prague. He also read from Sleep, You, a Tree, the seventh installment in his ongoing series, Apostrophes. His work provided the perfect balance to Daniela's work -- in subject matter, delivery and often echoing image:

"So close we are to being dust again, no stronger than the leaf..." (from the poem, "Dust").

It was also a night when the audience got to play with words, fooling around with pieces of mag-po or writing haiku for the City of Surrey's Mayor's Poetry Challenge (these will be presented to the mayor and councillors on Monday). And there's still time to Tweet your own haiku to Surrey (click on the link to Mayor's Poetry Challenge, scroll down to bottom of page).

Sun Run Fun

One of the advantages of spending a few days in the heart of the city is getting to feel a part of some of the events that go on here.

These people were only a tiny sample of the runners and walkers who passed by the window this morning as part of The Vancouver Sun's Fun Run. According to reports, there were close to 50,000 participants. No wonder it took over two hours for all of them to pass by the window we were watching from!

For a finale, the fireboat doing ‘doughnuts’ on the water made a nice salute to all those dedicated athletes. Fun!

Salmon tales: undammed and damned

You might think that photo doesn't look like much, but it's a kind of miracle in the making.

It's the process of un-damming Washington state's Elwha River. Just the day after this photo (taken four weeks ago on March 15), the original course of the water was restored.

Ever since the Elwha dam system was constructed early in the 20th century, blocking the salmon's route up the river, the fish have been swimming up as far as the dam system, waiting for the chance to go to their ancestral home.

It's worth taking a few minutes to acquaint yourself with what's going on at the Elwha. Their website even includes a five-minute video as an easy way to learn about this restorative project.

It's a project that evolved from the passage in 1992 of the Elwha River Ecosystem and Fisheries Restoration Act , enlightened legislation protecting the salmon, ensuring them access to their spawning grounds.

On the other hand, this week's news reveals a sorry tale this side of the border, a change of policy taken by 'the Harper Government' (the term they apply to themselves -- one that makes sense, as they don't behave like much of a Canadian Government, nor like one that represents the Canadian people).

This legislation weakens habitat protection -- yet another move backwards. And look out, later this month, further cuts are expected to the Department of Fisheries and Oceans.

As a line from a poem by bill bissett warns:

if th salmon go, we wunt b sew long aftr...

The egg was first...

For all of my ongoing rebellions at the often ridiculous demands of life, at heart, I'm a sucker for tradition.

I can't remember a year when I didn't find a way to dye a few eggs, not even last year when we were travelling in The Rattler, the beloved RV.

But this year, I got to thinking about how this tradition began -- and why.

The Internet is loaded with many explanations, though most seem to offer the logical line of thinking, that the egg is a sign of rebirth and of the renewed promise brought to us by springtime.

I was glad to learn that the idea is widespread, and not restricted to Christian beliefs surrounding the resurrection of Jesus.

Other religions respect the symbology of the egg. It's even a part of Passover observances, which (if I'm not too mistaken) begin this evening.

Whatever you may celebrate or observe, I hope you'll think about the simple power contained within the enduring egg.

A prickly affair

Sunday's forest walk yielded three big bags of fresh springtime nettles. Yep, those same little darlin's that sting like hell if you brush up against them.

Turns out once they're tamed by a bit of steam, they're stingless and amazingly tasty. Kind of like a very strong spinach, probably something Popeye would have enjoyed.

I made up twelve bags of this super springtime tonic for the freezer, though I'll probably use two of them tomorrow, as I'm hungry for some spanakopita -- or, should that be nettle-kopita.

Let the celebration begin!

It's the first day of National Poetry Month, both in Canada and in the U.S.

If you don't live in Seattle (the photo above is a wall of 'public poetry' from there), an easy place to get your daily poetry fix is Knopf's Poem-a-Day site. The poems selected are top-notch.

This is also a great month for working on poems of your own -- and there's still time to sign up for CV2's annual 2-day poem contest. You get 10 words (sometimes they're really hard to use, other years not so bad) to assemble into a poem in the space of 48 hours.

No doubt, there'll be special events and readings near where you live. The League of Canadian Poets offers a list of special events which are free of charge.

If you ever needed an excuse, Poetry Month provides plenty of reasons to pick up a pen (whether real or metaphorical) and write a poem. Get writing!

Tonight's the night

It's the evening of the annual Earth Hour event. That means we're supposed to effectively put ourselves off the grid for an hour by turning off the power. Won't be long until it's time to power down...

Happy World Poetry Day!

Even though we're still on the road, staying at campgrounds in Washington state, as you can see from my reading material, I'm celebrating the day.

World Poetry Day was proclaimed by UNESCO in 1999, and was first celebrated in 2000.

The day has also been officially proclaimed in many places around the world, including my own city, Surrey, BC.

It's a day to read or remember a poem you love. Or, better yet, why not write one!

On hols

We're away for a week or so, in the beloved RV, The Rattler.

Although March in western Washington state can be relied upon for rain (hey, they don't call it the rain forest for nothin'), we're pretty good at recognizing and taking advantage of the sunny breaks.

While the Dear Man went off for a round of golf, I nestled in with the most recent title in the ongoing saga of Adrian Mole, who (as always) makes me laugh and cry, usually in combination.

Happy birthday, Mr. Poetry

Okay, so I’m taking liberties with Marilyn Monroe’s line – the one she used in that famously breathy tune she sang to then-President John Kennedy.

Today is the day that one of Canada’s candidates for ‘Mr. Poetry’ – Irving Layton – would have turned 100 years old.

Like so much of history, this depends somewhat on whose version you trust. Some claim he was actually born on the 5th and not the 12th. But whenever it was, when it comes to observing a centenary, I hope we’re allowed a few days’ grace.

This past weekend saw a number of events taking place across the country,

including one in Vancouver. Sponsored by the Dead Poets Reading Society, the reading showcased a range of Layton’s work, even classic correspondences with Robert Creeley and Al Purdy.

If you click here, you'll see the celebratory video posted by Layton's son, Max.

But going back to today's subject header: why would Marilyn Monroe come up in the context of Irving Layton?

Because one of his poems, an elegy for the film star, is one which I think serves as almost a time capsule for the early ’60s, a time when the world was more innocent than now. You might find it worth tracking down (one of the collections it's included in is Balls for a One-Armed Juggler).

Contraband?

Birth control pills as a banned substance?

This isn’t a prediction of some Rick Santorum-approved society. It’s simply what was dictated by law -- and not all that many years ago.

Listening to archival clips broadcast by CBC for International Women’s Day, I learned (among other, now equally absurd-seeming facts) that the birth control pill – even a prescription for oral contraceptives – was only made legal in Canada in 1969.

The slogan used to be, ‘You’ve come a long way, baby.’ I’ll say!

Especially when it comes to being able to decide: ‘No thank you, not a baby, not just now.’

Small victories -- Round One

They're heeeere!

Today was the day the 'smart-meter' installers appeared in our neighbourhood. I'd gone through the proper channels and jumped through all of BC Hydro's hoops, so they passed by our house -- at least this time.

I have to give the Corix workers credit for following procedure. They

knocked on each door before doing the installation (of course, most people seemed to be gone to work or otherwise not at home).

So, why does this make me think of Passover? Although this event clearly has nothing to do with anything so drastic as reaping one's first-born, this particular 'passing over' coincides with spring. For me, at least, it also corresponds to the meaning, 'Time of Our Freedom' which I will take while I can.

It will be interesting to see how (and when) Round Two occurs.

Taking to the street for kids – Day One

Walking home from my errands today, I spotted this wonderful sign at my feet. It’s a leftover from the action many BC students took on Friday on behalf of their teachers.

Today is the first day of the three-day-strike the government is permitting teachers (the BC Liberals' plan to reap enough to recoup funds?). I spoke with some of the staff who teach at the nearby high school. To a person, it seems that they’re out on behalf of the kids -- learning conditions, class size, basic supplies.

Cutbacks to education have been going on here in BC since the early 1980s, but in 2002 things got even worse, as teacher contracts were stripped of clauses that referred to class size and working conditions. Much of this has since been declared unconstitutional; nonetheless, the refusal to negotiate towards meeting student/classroom needs continues.

What our government doesn't seem to get is that there’s only so far any system can survive in light of such enduring drastic cuts, especially when any supposed 'fat' is long gone. It’s time for our government's priorities to shift: They need to end the special treatment they grant corporate forces and start investing real dollars in the only future that matters -- students.

The most exciting part of my visit with the teachers outside the school had to be when the firetruck thundered past, sirens a-blare and lights flashing. As the firefighters rolled past the school on their emergency call, the driver honked the truck’s impressive-sounding horn in what could only be heard as a loud blast of support. Hear, hear!

Wrestling anacondas

That’s how it felt, doing the annual spring pruning of my beloved blackberry hedge. Some of the vines were so long, they sprawled over the fence and into the neighbours’ space. Hauling them back to our side took some pretty wild exertions. And oh, those thorns! I'm sure that anacondas must be a lot smoother.

Still, after a few hours, I had the beast tamed. Ready to bear another crop of luscious (and free!) fruit this summer.

Nearly as rare as Leap Day

Since cell phones have become so ubiquitous, with nearly everybody hanging onto one so much of the time, the old-fashioned pay phone has all but disappeared.

So I was surprised today to notice not just one, but a bank of six of them, at Vancouver's Waterfront Station. As you can see, at least two of the phones are even being used.

Considering how rare these have become, I don't want to place any bets that I'll be able to find another one quite so easily next time we get a February 29th. I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

Grace found in a kitchen garden

I never understand how February can feel so long, and yet how it can slip away so quickly. Here it’s been nearly two weeks since I’ve even posted anything. But that doesn’t mean that nothing’s happened. In fact, it’s more like the opposite: too much has happened, my world’s been all a-whirl.

Even a sixth blogiversary came and went (February 16th) without so much as a candle on a virtual cake.

I can’t help but think this lunar year’s water dragon may have something to do with it. The dragon’s arrival and this swirl of activity seem to have coincided.

Despite the fact that I am not a fan of white stuff that falls from the sky (or, for that matter, most things referred to as ‘white stuff’ whether dust that grows under the bed or cocaine), yesterday’s brief snowfall seemed like a message to slow down.

One of the first harbingers of spring, the snowdrop bends to whatever weathers may befall it. Its grace inspires tolerance, acceptance and calm.

The snowdrop blooming in the snow-dusted garden will be the symbol that carries me through the rest of this hurried month. Even with February’s extra day this year, March feels awfully darn close. And who knows, maybe I can carry the message of the snowdrop even longer.

Romantic or what…

What better way to celebrate Valentine’s Day than with a brand-new book of love poems!

The Wild Weathers, edited by Ursula Vaira of Leaf Press, offers a roster of poets both known and lesser-known. Daniela Elza, Patricia Young, Susan McCaslin, Janet Vickers, Susan Iannou, Vaughan Chapman, Peter Trower and many more – but there’s no point in merely listing names. Instead, step in and take a bite of one of the poems.

Sample these, the opening lines of Elsie Neufeld’s meditation on a lifelong relationship:

Love, 34 years in the making, is more than
a tongue in the mouth, it’s all that holding
your tongue when one or both have said
too much: you always, you never, I can’t
stand it; you’ve heard yourself say it, and
worse, believed it, but love is an act, a play
on grace….

Try writing some love thoughts of your own on this, the day we all have an excuse to get romantic.

Eklektika

I guess that’s a made-up word, but it seems applicable to last night’s performance at the local First United Church.

Billed as “Roma Swing”, the event featured Romanian-born Lache Cercel, a maestro of the violin, along with his ultra-talented ensemble. As might be expected, the presentation included a few traditional-sounding Romanian melodies, including ones that featured Albanian accordionist, Ben Mati. Whew, his fingers flew!

But the event went farther afield, including jazz interpretations of a spectrum of music, from Rachmaninoff to Django Reinhardt. There was even a flamenco singer/guitarist. He was accompanied by a dancer whose pounding feet made me worry for the church’s polished wood floor.

A highlight for the White Rock audience may have been those spots featuring vocalist Wendy Bollard, who offered standards such as “Blue Skies” and Patsy Cline’s “Walkin’ after Midnight.”

Eclectic? Absolutely. But with enough trans-European spice to warrant the made-up name, Eklektika.

Superb Owl, the annual quest

Yesterday, while many were hunkering down in front of the tv for some overhyped football game, I was walking the trails at nearby Boundary Bay. My quest, the visiting snowy owls, a species that fits my definition of superb.

Although I didn’t succeed in spotting the visiting owl (it turns out, I went to the wrong arm of the bay) I had a great walk and saw many other birds – ducks, gulls, herons and the always-magnificent-looking eagles. And, as is so often the case at the shoreline, the clouds were the ones putting on the best show of the day.

As for superb owl, there’s always next year. And who knows, maybe later this week I’ll make the time to head out that way again.

Oscar alert – a new category?

Ever since I saw Woody Allen's Manhattan, I've wanted a new category for the Academy Awards. That's some while to be wanting a thing, but like so many unlikely wishes, it's one I've been able to leave on hold.

Still, seeing The Adventures of Tintin this week, the wish has once again embedded itself in my mind.

The award I'd like would be for a film's opening sequence -- a feature, if you consider my two examples, that not every movie even contains.

Think back, if you will, to the opening of Manhattan. All that skyline, the iconic buildings, but most of all, the Gershwin soundtrack. As far as I'm concerned (sacrilege alert, I am sure:) it was the best part of the movie.

And while the opening to Tintin was definitely NOT the best part of the movie, it provided the perfect introduction to the spunky reporter and his brainy dog, Snowy.

Steven Spielberg often makes me crazy (as with the way-too-sentimental War Horse) or all those sparkly bits he always has to toss in, falling from the sky. But with Tintin, he's done a service -- not only to longtime fans of Herge's character, but to a whole new potential audience.

Can you think of other films that qualify for this award?

In all things, balance

It might have been just the up-and-down weather, or maybe the approaching end-of-month (already?). Whatever the cause, it’s felt like a very mixed week.

Despite almost utter failure at making fortune cookies the other day (they turned out soggy and limp, hardly an inspiration for good fortune) and miserable news from nearly every part of the world, last night’s literary event in White Rock made up for a bunch of disappointments.

Cynthia Woodman Kerkham was the guest poet, reading from her wonderful new book, Good Holding Ground. For a few of those poems she was joined by local musician, Ron Bull.

I took this picture during their performance of a poem called “Ritual for the Winter Solstice.” The piece held special resonance for me as it focuses on a labyrinth that was built by men from William Head Institute on Vancouver Island.

The labyrinth is an image that works well to describe the way “We spiral into winter…”. And then consider then the fact that labyrinth walkers also turn around and retrace their steps round and round to make their exit. There it is, the hope of escape and movement again to the light. And yes, I love the fact that it was a group of prisoners who built the particular labyrinth she wrote about, the one at Victoria's First Unitarian Church.

Kerkham’s poems took us sailing off to thoughts of hope, of springtime and light. And Ron’s flute playing contributed so much, dancing around the words in a sparkling kind of counterpoint.

This morning, I didn’t attempt any complex recipes, but was delighted to find a poem pouring itself out onto the page. If only all readings could bring so much inspiration.

Too much hope

Apparently that’s what our group of ‘outmates’ brought to our fellow writers, the inmates at Matsqui Penitentiary.

The powers-that-be at the institution have decreed that our occasional retreat weekends, where insiders and outsiders get together to workshop samples of our current writing, have forthwith been cancelled.

This was a program that cost the institution almost nothing. Okay, the prison provided us with lunch on both Saturday and Sunday. But really, these meals could not have cost a lot, as they were usually grilled cheese or sloppy joes or hot dogs – the same fare given to the men for their midday meal. Further, we brought our own supplies for making coffee and tea. We even brought doughnuts for all (including a separate box of doughnuts for the guards).

Reasons for the program’s cancellation? Several petty-sounding issues have been cited, but it mainly seems yet another way to punish the inmates.

It sounds mostly as though the men were getting too much out of it. Especially too much in the way of self-respect.

Yet, if inmates don’t get the chance to develop self-respect while they’re incarcerated, how – when they’re released – can they be expected to reintegrate themselves back into society as self-respecting, law-abiding citizens?

Styrosnow?

We've had some more snow, only this time it looks less like snow than some sort of packing material.

Not hard like hail (though that's what it looks like), just perfectly round 'flakes' (er, pellets?) that look like snowballs so G.I. Joe and Barbie could have themselves a party.

And no, Virginia, there's no such thing as climate change.

First snow

...of the year, first snow of the season.

After a successful evening in Vancouver, as part of SFU's TWS series, when I got off the bus at our local park 'n ride, a few flakes were just starting to fall.

By the time I drove home, it was really starting to fall, and I just had to walk outside and look around. The photo is a picture of our street. No tracks in the road yet, all fresh and white and new.

And no flash, just my trusty little Nikon Coolpix set on auto 'scene' and me holding my breath for the duration of the exposure. There aren't any streetlights on our road, only a few porch lights burning -- I guess for just such an occasion as this.

Dead Poets Come to Life

While that header looks a lot like the plotline for a zombie show -- think: The Walking Dead -- the event in question couldn't be further afield.

Every other month, a dedicated group of Vancouver poets host readings in which they celebrate the work of -- yes, dead poets. They call themselves the Dead Poets Reading Society, and should not be mistaken for the similarly-titled film with Robin Williams.

Yesterday's event had series founder David Zieroth reading from the poems of Thomas Hardy. I'd known Hardy as a novelist (Tess of the d'Urbervilles, Jude the Obscure, etc.), not a poet, and Zieroth offered just enough in the way of introduction and backnotes to really make the poems (if not the poet himself) come to life.

Diane Tucker then presented poems by Christina Rossetti. Again, I was surprised, especially by the underlying sexuality in the poems. As I said to Diane afterwards, 'I'd always pretty much dismissed Christina Rossetti as being kind of an old fart.' Hardly poetic, but that's what I'd thought.

Miranda Pearson then read poems by Stevie Smith. Pearson's lovely English accent made it almost seem as though Smith might be in the room. And yes, she read the most famous of her poems, "Not Waving but Drowning" -- the phrase Janet Frame picked up in her great(est?) novel, Faces in the Water.

Garry Thomas Morse (pictured above) did a similarly eerie reading of work by Jack Spicer. This wasn't too surprising a choice for Morse, as his 2010 collection, After Jack, is a kind of transformational homage to Spicer.

The event ended with John Donlan presenting examples of the lifework of Edward Thomas, a poet I'd never heard of. Like, duh. I'm supposed to know these things, aren't I? Thomas was killed in World War I, only three years after he'd turned to poetry. It's interesting to imagine what he might have written had he lived.

Several of the afternoon's presentations seemed almost like channeling -- but maybe I was just getting into the spirit of things.

The next reading in the series will celebrate the poetry of Irving Layton. The event will take place on March 11th, the day before what would have been Layton's 100th birthday. Maybe see you there.

Good intentions, at least

No, I don't take the plunge at the annual Polar Bear Swim, but I do my best to always attend, at least cheering on the crazies -- er, participants.

Still, this is part of my resolve to walk more this year. A walk along the promenade at White Rock beach is always a great way to start the new year. And a good way to put one resolution into practice.

Year of the Road Trip

I like looking back at year end, to see what happened, what registered as being important. It's all part of setting myself up for a new year, new adventures.

Biggest of all in 2011 had to be the road trip in The Rattler. Coast-to-coast and then some, exploring North America. If you'd like to follow along with our travels, click here to see where they began.

I saw so many places I’d never seen before - Amelia Earhart’s birthplace, the Grand Canyon, the Outer Banks of North Carolina, the Royal Tyrrell Museum...

Even better, I saw so many friends I hadn’t seen in years – Bob, Betty Joan and John...

Best of all, everyone in my family stayed healthy - with appetite, desire to go places, do things.

And as kind of bonus, I had a new book published, fiction at that – a new step for me.

It seems a good time to count the good things that have happened. It's probably a good way to start gathering more good things for 2012. Try it.

Puzzling

A quote in a friend's Christmas card has had me puzzling for an answer. The query she posed (from a novel by Colm Toibin) was this: "Tell me something you are sure is true..."

At first it seemed easy enough, but the more deeply I thought on it, the more difficult it became.

But because one thing is pretty-much-true -- this is my week 'off' -- I've been playing at another kind of puzzling. I'm hoping by week's end, I'll be able to reclaim my table for more substantial things than 'puzzling' with pieces of jigsawed cardboard.

Return of the light

In this time zone (PST) the winter solstice occurred twelve hours ago. From here on in, so long as the clouds aren't too thick, there'll be more light in the sky each day, leading us into spring towards summer.

Those of us who observe the Solstice aren't the only ones lighting our homes. The menorah candles are casting light for Hanukkah (Chanukah); trees and windows and eaves bear coloured lights.

These traditions seem to be so ingrained, it's almost as if they're part of our genetic heritage. But whatever reasons we have for illuminating our homes, light brings hope and joy to our celebrations.

Whatever you choose to do this time of year, enjoy!

An early visit

Look who I spotted!

He was just arriving at a local day-care centre. I must admit I was a little surprised to see him stepping out of a car (snowy white, at least), and I asked him where the sleigh was. He explained that the reindeer weren't feeling very well, so he'd let them stay home to rest up for the big night.

This sighting was almost as exciting as when I was little and came home from the Santa Claus parade with this lie for my mother: Not only had Santa waved to me, he'd called out my name in greeting. Wasn't I the lucky one not to get a stocking full of coal.

The good, the bad, and the sometimes-ugly

The past week has seen the deaths of three people who represented each of the attributes above.

The good, Vaclav Havel. Man of the arts, leader of his country as it moved out from under the Russian thumb. If ever there were a combination of intelligence, creativity and integrity in a leader, he'd get my vote.

And then there's the matter of the unquestionably bad, Kim Jong-il. It's hard to think of a leader who might present a greater contrast to Havel than this man. Dictator, suppressor of human rights, threatener of nuclear war -- how awful could one person be? And oh yes, the propaganda about him was always amazing, like the story of his first game of golf, when he shot the Superman score of 38.

And then there was Christopher Hitchens. Although he was no world leader, he certainly exerted a broad-reaching influence with his books and other assorted writings. And though his work was always thought-provoking, he did express a few sometimes-ugly opinions. To my mind, the worst was his support of the unnecessary war in Iraq that G.W.Bush created. (If only that trillion dollars could have been put to better use.)

And while Hitch certainly didn't expect any kind of afterlife, who knows what conversation might be if these three were to meet up? Wherever they may be (or not be), may they rest.

What's so smart about smart meters?

I haven’t been able to figure out what, exactly, is supposed to be so dumb about the old ones.

They seem to track our power use just fine. BC Hydro hasn’t complained that it’s not tracking accurately, so what’s the trouble?

Supposedly the new ‘smart’ one will let me know when I’m being wasteful. Only hang on, I can figure that out. Or, if I’m not sure, I can go outside and look at the meter. If it’s whirling too fast, I know there must be something on that’s eating the power. The clothes dryer? an electric heater?? something to check, or maybe turn off?

One goal of the new ‘smart’ ones might be to make a bunch more human jobs redundant. Yet even that won’t be much of a savings. Meter readers don’t make big-time wages, and most of them now serve double-duty, reading gas meters at the same time they check the electricity consumption.

Oh, Hydro's got their promo up and running (what did that cost us?) and even claiming this will make our power cheaper. But if that's the case, why were they seeking a rate hike? Maybe to pay for these? Meters that a lot of people seem to not want?

Many groups and individuals have posted information about the perils posed by these new devices. Here’s a link to more information. Here’s even one with information about how to replace your ‘smart’ meter with an old one; this same article also contains links to forms for making official complaints to Hydro – and more.

The old meter that’s outside my house still seems to be working just fine.

Whatever happened to the concept, ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.’ Or, is this just some deal cooked up between BC Hydro and the company that supplies these? Because if it is, I suppose that might qualify as some kind of (even if dirty) ‘smart’.

Not-quite-winter walkabout

The calendar says December. The morning sun is so low in the sky, it enters the window almost horizontally. Easy to see that Solstice is near.

Today was cool, but without a breath of wind -- perfect for taking a long, lazy walk.

Sneaky

I’ll bet there’ve been times while you’re paying for a purchase when someone has asked, “Would you like to give $2 to the food bank? ...breast cancer research? ...your local hospital?”

Of course you would. You’re a good person. But wait a little minute before handing over your money.

Next time a cashier asks whether you’d like to donate a couple of bucks to X or Y charity or noble cause, think about where it’s going and why they’re collecting it.

The first place it’s going is into a bundle of dough handed over by kind-hearted souls like you. And the supermarket (or Post Office or other fill-in-the-blanks corporation) is holding onto it, counting it, and getting ready for the day THEY get to donate it to charity. Such presentations are often accompanied by plenty of frou-frah – frequently, even a photo op for the local paper.

They’re using YOUR money, then getting the credit. And that credit is not only of the feel-good variety, but also the tax credit for making a charitable donation.

If this practice annoys you, don’t take it out on the cashier. That person has been directed to ask – in fact, MUST ask every single customer, and can be reprimanded for not doing so.

These days when I’m asked, I say: I’m sorry you have to ask me to make a donation. I prefer choosing my own charity and then making a direct donation – that way I not only know where it’s going, I’m the one getting the tax credit, not your employer.

And where it’s just turned December, this is a good time to think about who you’d like to share with, where you’d like your charity dollars to go. Without the coercion of yet another corporate ploy.