The Little Magazine that Could turns 20

Once upon a time, not so many years ago, a couple of guys in Vancouver had an idea. They decided to start up a literary magazine. They wanted it to be different, a voice that would be distinctive -- a magazine that would make readers sit up and pay attention.
The first issue was all of 12 pages long. The cover was credited to Brueghel, but looked hellish enough to be Hieronymous Bosch. The magazine might not have been very pretty, but it did have a cool name, subTerrain. Kind of undergroundy, vaguely 'beat generation' but more modern-sounding.
Well, the little magazine that could has just turned 20 years old and marked the event by publishing Issue #50. It hasn't always been an easy road, but really, this is cause to celebrate.
Congratulations, sub-Terrain. We're looking for many more issues (in all senses of the word!) to come.

Thankful for -- my machines

Yesterday saw ten of us gather around the traditional Thanksgiving feast: turkey, stuffing, gravy, assorted vegies -- crisp, steamed and baked.

Right now, I'm feeling grateful for some of the machines that make my life easier. Yesterday's tablecloth is tumbling in the dryer; the serviettes, tea towels and dish cloths are swirling around in the washer. The dishwasher is running its second load. And oh yes, the fridge is guarding the leftovers.

Depressed?

Being an old hand at the art of being depressed, I've devised my own ways of describing it.

For me, it isn't so much a matter of being sad all the time. Heck, given the right companionship or joke, I can laugh long and loud. But just because I'm laughing or joking doesn't mean I'm not depressed.

It's more as if a button has been pushed in, and then, uckily (stickily?) it won't come 'unpressed'. It's as if it's stuck in 'pressed-in' (de-pressed) mode.

It's a nasty one to deal with, as it has a way of interfering with almost everything I need or want to get done.

Where this is Mental Health Week, there's a drive on to help people determine whether they're depressed. If only to give yourself a free online check-up -- or to find out more info on behalf of someone you love, make a stop at Beyond the Blues. Heck, it might even make you feel happy.

Say No to Russ Hiebert

Tonight's all-candidates' meeting was proof, if any more was needed, that our current MP needs replacing.

Unfortunately, the alternatives will likely knock each other out of the ring, leaving us once again with a Member of Parliament who seems to believe he can do no wrong -- that he has no reason to be accountable to his constituents. Of all the candidates, he was the only one with the arrogance to point-blank refuse to answer questions of his choosing.

But Hiebert at least was no surprise; he's been oozing arrogance since he parachuted in from Vancouver for the last election. The evening's biggest disappointment was the local Green candidate, David Blair. He gave the impression that he had done nothing to prepare for the event. Even his opening remarks were disorganized and off the cuff. I believe the best thing he could do for the community he claims to want to represent is resign from the race. At least the Green vote could be redirected to more worthy campaigners.

About all we can hope for here is what Danny Williams has been advocating, ABC -- Anything But Conservative. Thirteen days and we'll know.

Rivers without fish

Sunday was B.C. Rivers Day, a day set aside to celebrate our "province's spectacular river heritage."

We were out and about, hiking through several forests in the Fraser Valley, including areas fingered by tributaries of the Chilliwack River.

The weather was fine, the sky was blue, but where were the fish? Usually at this time of year, the waters are thick with red-tinged spawning salmon. They're often so thick in the shallow streams they look like you could walk across their backs to the opposite shore.

But not this year -- the waters run free and clean-looking, but there aren't any fish. Because this is our traditional time for hiking there, I don't think it's a matter of our timing. Still, I can hope that's all it is.

First day of autumn

A walk in the bush has to be one of the best ways to mark the changing of the seasons. Today it's mostly wandering, but all the while keeping an eye open in case there might be some edible mushrooms. It's always amazing to me the way that something as soft as a mushroom (I mean, really, their first name is 'mush') can be so resilient and can grow against rock or hunks of wood.

Of course, sometimes we encounter more than mushrooms. Looks as though some creature was feasting on venison here.

Tie-dye inspiration?

Sleeping seems almost a waste when there's so much beauty to see. This is the view we've been looking at from our 'wilderness bed'. The weather's been so perfect, we've been sleeping in the tent.

These last few nights, with the full moon shining in, it's been easy for me to understand how people might have been inspired to invent tie-dye as an art. I haven't been able to figure out how to take the night photo inside the tent without using a flash (which would give me a plain white inside, without the intricate shadows cast by the tree branches in moonlight). Still, this morning shot reveals something of the textures, if not the subtleties of the night patterns.

Hurrah!

I guess all the complaints from the public paid off. At last, sanity (and democracy) seems to prevail. The powers that be have now determined that yes, Elizabeth May, may participate in the televised debates.

It seems like such a small step, but also seems like a very good sign of things to come. Who knows, one of these days we might even get an opportunity to have proportional representation!

But much closer to home, today is also the day that George and John decided to make sausages. They made enough that we should be able to pull them out of the freezer all winter long. And really, it's quite the wonderful performance when this particular pair of men decide to cook together...

What are they afraid of?

Yet again, it looks as though the Greens are going to be blocked from participating in the televised debates among the leaders of Canada's political parties. Green Party candidates are running in over 300 ridings, yet Elizabeth May is not being given the opportunity to represent her party to the Canadian viewing public in this important forum.

What's with those guys anyway. Are they afraid they'll look bad?

In my books, if they don't take a stand insisting that May becomes part of the broadcast, they'll really look bad -- worse than they already do.

Let the Greens speak

For too many election campaigns, I've watched Gilles Duceppe engage in the national debate with leaders of the three major parties. Although he's done a great job of asking questions and demanding answers from those leaders, never once have I had the opportunity to vote for a member of his party.

Why? Because I don't live in Quebec.

The Green Party has grown to the point where they will again be running candidates in every province of the country. Shouldn't Elizabeth May be allowed to challenge the other party leaders in the debate?

Really, without her participation, the fabric of our democratic process looks awfully thin.

Hurrah, it's time for the Greens!

With Blair Wilson announcing his own 'Green Shift' -- from the Liberal Party to the Green Party, we now have a Member in Parliament.

The best part about this? Elizabeth May can no longer be shut out of the televised Debates. Where it looks as though we'll be having an election mid-October, this is wonderful timing.

All the more reason to spend that $100 BC-Liberal bribe (oops, incentive cheque) from last June on a donation to the Greens.

Piper on the wharf

What a time to be stuck without a camera! We're out on the dock at sunset, and a man approaches, walking down the pier, carrying a small suitcase. He opens the case and starts pulling out various pipes and connectors. We start chattting and he explains more than I ever knew about bagpipes and how they work. There's still some light in the sky, and looking out over the sailboats moored at the marina, I'm thinking about my friend, Jackie, who died of a heart attack so recently. And then, those magical pipes begin. Oh Jackie, you'd have loved this night, camera or no.

Those silly Conservatives

Not wanting to promote Canadian artists abroad? Whose great idea was this one, anyway?

Peacekeepers' Day

No more Nagasaki as the marker for today's date. Even Canada has now recognized the importance of observing Peacekeepers' Day.

Sea Festival at White Rock

White Rock used to host an annual Sandcastle Festival. But then too many rowdies started showing up and it turned into a headache -- and an expensive one -- for the locals. One year, I remember walking through the shallows, admiring the many constructions, taking a few photos...only when I stepped out of the water and onto the sand, I realized my feet were bleeding. I'd been cut by bits of broken beer bottles embedded in the flats. That was probably the last year for the event.
But wait a minute, now it's 2008 and White Rock's decided to give it a go again. This makes the Sea Festival feel complete. Oh, and besides sandcastles, there's all sorts of music and vendors -- even fireworks!

Snowbirds over White Rock

Photos don't do them justice, but...

Camping at Chez Hoser

Really, how many people are able to camp in their own yard? And yes, this is a plain old regulation city lot. We're just fortunate that so much of it is covered in trees.

88 and its meaning

Hugs and kisses.

For me that's what 88's always stood for. It goes back to something I learned from a girlfriend whose uncle was a ham radio operator. The shorthand used by those radio operators (early version of texting?) employed various compressed abbreviations or numbers as quick substitutions for commonly used phrases. After all, for the most part, they were sending their messages in Morse Code.

For my girlfriend and me, numbers were fun to use in coded messages, and 88 was one of my favourites. Hugs and kisses were a great way to close a note.

Only now that number's meaning has changed, as yet another Canadian soldier -- James Hayward Arnal -- has died in Afghanistan. His death takes the number of number of dead Canadian soldiers up to 88. And no, I cannot refer to Cpl. Arnal as a 'casualty' -- there is nothing casual about death.

A perfect evening for a ballgame!

Sitting in the outfield bleachers, in amongst players from the Czech Republic, it felt a little bit like already being at the Olympics. This was the closest I'll be getting to Beijing, but just think -- I was able to walk to this event!

I wasn't the only one happy to focus on the game -- I loved these people who decided on taking the worm's eye view.

And to top it all off, the Canadian women beat the Australians, 8 - 2.

A bad day for Canada

In fact, a day of shame.

The freshly released video of CSIS interrogating the then-16-year-old Omar Khadr in Guantanamo raises more questions about Canada's complicity in allowing a Canadian -- and an underage one at that -- to spend so many years in an unsanctioned prison.

As if the release of that video wasn't enough cause for shame, today was also the day Canada deported Robin Long, one of the 200 or so American soldiers who have come to Canada because they disagree with Bush's war on Iraq.

The most fitting comment on these events seems to be a section from Keith Maillard's "The Intervention of the Duke" (a piece from his book, Dementia Americana, Ronsdale Press, 1994 which also appears in Crossing Lines, an anthology from Seraphim Editions, 2008). The brilliant leader referred to in the poem is none other than Pierre Elliott Trudeau, a Canadian prime minister who was unafraid to stand up on behalf of Canada and the country's code of honour.

-22-

He doesn't look half bad twenty years later --
the only statesman in the western world
who would allow himself to be photographed
upside down above a trampoline. He said no
you may not inquire of any young man arriving at the border
as to his status in the armed forces
of the United States of America.
We thought Canada meant peace.
My eyes filled with tears when I crossed
into Quebec and saw the Maple Leaf flying.
As soon as I could, I became a citizen.
For all my jokes about maple syrup, I was proud.
Now it makes me sick to see my country play the yapping cur,
chasing the tail of the American dog gone barking into war.
- -

O, Stephen Harper, if only you could take a page from the annals of your predecessor. What a great country we might once again be.