Water's not for wasting

It's good to see that more people are paying attention to the way they're using water. Happily, our neighbourhood is full of more brown lawns than green ones. This time of year it's sure easy to see where the property ends.

By not watering, we all save on energy too -- because we don't have to mow anywhere near as often. Depending what kind of mower you have, that's a saving of electricity or gas or maybe just old-fashioned push power. Whatever, this seems such an easy way to conserve -- by doing nothing.

Maybe by next summer there'll be more people understanding just how beautiful brown is.

It's an art show!

Oddly, the weather turned autumnish today, but all the better for an art opening!
The show features the work of Kirsten Taylor as well as mother and daughter, Patte and Kari Rust. Each of the three artists spoke briefly about her artistic process. As Kirsten explained to us, her work explores several media, everything from prints to photos and paintings. Patte paints wonderful landscapes, while Kari's work shows strong influences from her work in animation.

There was something comforting about joining a crowd of enthusiastic art-appreciaters at the local gallery. Dare I say the word? It felt a bit like fall.

Black and blue

But no pain. It was another day for berry picking. This morning it was blues, this afternoon, a batch of blackberries from the back yard patch.

Hokey can be good

One of the joys of living where we do is that every once in a while it still feels like a small town.

This weekend is Sea Festival in White Rock, and one of the festival's traditions is the torchlight parade. There aren't any actual torches anymore (I wonder, were there ever?), but it's still a bit of a thrill, even if a pretty hokey one.

As in most small town parades, there are old time cars and police vehicles and marching bands. But for this parade, all of them are somehow decked out with Christmas lights or at least an array of glow-in-the-dark thingies.

This year's event was disappointing in that there weren't any pipers, an element that seems just about essential to me. At least we got some would-be Blues Brothers -- not quite the same, but fun nonetheless.

Spent with a group of longtime friends, it made for a beautiful night along the seaside, even long after parade's end.

Litteracy

That isn't a typo, as I'm not talking about literacy. My gripe is litter. Even on the rocky shoreline of Hornby Island.

It seems there used to be more public awareness campaigns about litter -- Don't be a litterbug. I'm happy to see the city of Ottawa is one place that's revived this program. I just hope the movement spreads, as I'm sick of finding junk on the ground.

Still, in my small way, I continue to 'act locally' by picking up one piece of litter every day. Why not try it? You'll be doing something positive for your neighbourhood and for the planet.

Our own moonwalk

Not really, but some of the landscape on the rocky shores of Hornby Island can appear a bit moonlike. The volcanic action (combined with seawater) that formed this island has left so many interesting shapes. The rocks in the photo below look (at least to me) like nets draped to dry.


Whether I'm walking the shoreline, sleeping in the tent, or wading in the ocean while I take pictures of seaweed, this is the best -- at last, holidays!

Thoughts on...

...too many things. It's been days since I've done a posting. And so much has gone on in the interim.

The most time-consuming (in a good way) has been the Denman Island Readers' and Writers' Festival. Audiences, consisting of locals and off-islanders, were exceptional. They might have been the most attentive audiences I've ever experienced (or been part of). And the questions they posed to readers or panelists were worthy of professional interviewers. Having so many literate, informed people everywhere made for four very stimulating and enjoyable days.

And then there was the passing of Walter Cronkite. At first, I was dismayed at his not lasting quite long enough to make it to the 40th anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon landing. But then I thought about how close his death was to the launch of the mission that took those three astronauts out into space. By now, as we approach the anniversary of the actual walk, I can only think Walter's spirit must be waiting beside the Sea of Tranquility to greet the ghosts of old footsteps.

Thinking of astronauts, I must record how thrilling it was to see the shuttle on Saturday night. With very little ambient light here on Denman, the night sky is intense; the Milky Way sprawls, the dipper stands out sturdy enough to imagine it might indeed have been what spilled out all that milk. Yet while we were walking from a party, a bright light caught my eye and made me look up. A twinkling star, as bright as the famous one from Bethlehem might have been, hurtled across the sky while we stood and watched. It moved quickly and disappeared within less than a minute, I'm sure. Still, I felt so lucky to have seen it all. Silly as always, I waved to Julie and Bob.

But now it's time for holidays. Tonight we'll be sleeping in the Hoserdome, our tent. Will post again when I can and with luck, I'll have seen more night sky -- and will have made some wishes on shooting stars and maybe waved one last goodbye to Walter.

It’s festival season!

Summer, and the season of folk festivals and jazz festivals and writers’ festivals is in full swing.

One that's going on this week is the Harrison Festival of the Arts. It offers some of everything: music, theatre, dance, visual arts and even a taste of the literary arts.

This year’s Literary Café featured the multi-talented Andreas Schroeder, and poets Elsie K. Neufeld and Leonard Neufeldt. The focus for this year’s event was a celebration of the Mennonite literary tradition in the area. Neufeld and Neufeldt (that looks almost as confusing as Thompson and Thomson) have worked together on many projects that showcase Mennonite work. The 2006 anthology, Half in the Sun, presented poems and prose by some of B.C.’s Mennonite writers.

Mellow offerings from the Nelson Boschman Trio bookended the event.

From the left, the photo below shows Elsie with the evening’s host, Cheryl Isaac.

Next stop? The 7th annual writers’ festival on Denman Island.

Sweet welcome home

Even though I was a bit jet-lagged, the morning was so beautiful, it was easy to get up. Three of us went out to pick some gorgeous B.C. raspberries.

With the size of them, it didn't take long at all to fill all of our buckets. Now it's just a matter of freezing as many batches as I can while we eat our fill. Ah, summer!

Corny but true

Look how tall that corn is on this, the 4th of July!

Canada Day, extended

Yesterday was Canada Day, but since much of the country took the day off, I guess I did too.

We had a bocce championship in the afternoon, and the winners won a swishy chocolate bar that had the word ‘Excellence’ on the wrapper. Since good winners always share, they passed it around for all of us to sample.

The barbecue supper came close to getting rained out, but an umbrella over the barbie meant the cooks could put the finishing touches on the sausages and ribs. Whew!

Since the park we tried going to for fireworks got flooded, their event was postponed until Saturday, the 4th. Where I’d been thinking about borders and their significance (or, more to the point, their absurdity), this seemed apt enough. Canada Day fireworks on the 4th of July. I reckon.

My thinking was reinforced by the DVD we rented last night, The Wind that Shakes the Barley. It’s about the ‘troubles’ that raged so many years in Ireland, a place where brother fought brother, where the invisible border of religious difference played such a big role in dividing a country.

So, my wish as I extend this year’s Canada Day? For all of us to try to find ways to pay less attention to the borders we’ve created, all those invisible lines that lead us to think of someone else as ‘Other’.

And to celebrate, here’s how our own little fireworks show played out.

Bought these at the local convenience store.

Found a bucket of sand to stick them in, for firm and safe grounding.

The Dear Man went waaaaay back in the great big yard here.

After a bit of fussing, the fuse took light.

Hurrah, colours in the sky!

Freaky Day

Last Thursday, the 25th, must have had some kind of planetary strangeness going on. It seemed like a day where, if something could go wrong, it did.

Jevon did some damage to his car that was totally flukey; the proofs for my chapbook manuscript ballooned from its modest 28 pages to a sudden 35. I nearly lost the author who was coming to town to present a reading. And she'd come all the way from Denmark. Yikes. And oh yeah, besides Farrah Fawcett dying, there was that whole strange thing with Michael Jackson, wasn't there.

I would have probably forgotten what a screwy day it had been if it hadn't been for the fact that even here in Ontario where we're visiting, I keep hearing about more about things that happened that same day.

Our auntie got stuck in traffic as the freeway was all backed up -- all because (on a dry day, not in rush hour) a car was overturned, resting on its roof in the middle of the road. I haven't been able to track that one down. I think it's probably best left alone.

When we went to visit my brother-in-law, Leo, he pointed out the house across the street. There was a huge tree leaning onto the roof and it was set for demolition (too damaged to fix). He tried pointing out the barn as well, only it wasn't there anymore. You see, there'd been a tornado. Luckily for Leo, it had only touched down across the road, then sucked itself back up into its cloud and moved on.

And like I say, I would have let this go, but when I bought today's paper, the front page had a terrible story about newlyweds killed after they'd just returned from their honeymoon. This occurred on Friday, not Thursday. Still, it could well have been within that very odd 24-hour span.

Halfway to Christmas

Okay, call me weird. I'm probably the only person in the blogosphere not writing a tribute to Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, or even a belated one to Ed McMahon.

I'm observing June 25th, the day that's midway on the calendar to Christmas.

Partly that's because my mother's birthday was Christmas, so today would have been her half-birthday -- and I'm the kind of person who makes note of such oddball things.

But it's also because I've started preparing some of the goodies I'll be giving away in December. The picture shows a little batch of jam I made with those berries I picked.

The block stamps are ones I found in a sale basket the other day. I expect I'll be using them when I make this year's batch of cards.

And yes, I admit it, I feel sad over the deaths of each of those three artists -- as different from each other than almost any three performers I can think of. May they rest.

Market Day in White Rock

I suppose for many, Sunday is still a day for church-going. I'm not among that group, but hey -- whatever you believe is fine with me.

I still needed a few bits of local greens to round out yesterday's Sunday supper, so the Farmer's Market seemed like the best place to go. As usual, I ended up buying more than just those few vegies. I bought jars of honey, salsa, some baked treats, even granola.

But the real treat of the morning was running into friends, standing around and having a little catch-up chat. That kind of unplanned encounter always gives me such a strong sense of what community is all about. And maybe that's as close as I will ever again get to anything like church.

The day was cold and gusty, a big change from what we've been having, but the singers persevered. From left to right, they're locals Heidi McCurdy and Laurel Murphy. The singer on the right is Katia Leonardo, over here from Portugal. The little vid gives you a tiny sampling of what you'll hear this Wednesday if you can make it into Vancouver for a show at the Jazz Cellar.

First of the season

Even though it's felt like summer for a while now, Solstice doesn't officially arrive until 10:45 pm tonight (PDT).

So, even though I can't really call this the first of this summer's berry-picking sessions, I'm still considering these strawberries the first of the season.

The morning was just overcast enough that we didn't need to work up a giant sweat while we picked, teasing the reddest berries out from under the leaves.

The trick now will be to get jams made, berries frozen and best of all -- to eat as many fresh ones as possible!

The Nose Knows

A walk to the beach led me to an ugly discovery. The sculptured bear on East Beach, even though he’s never been my favourite piece of public art, had been the victim of a senseless attack.

He’d lost a good chunk of his nose.

It must have taken a huge amount of effort – or at least some solid tools – to gouge out such a chunk of this massive piece of stone.

It’s too bad whoever did this couldn’t find a more productive outlet for that kind of energetic strength.

A friend reminded me that rubbing the nose of a statue is a superstition associated with bringing good luck. Mean of me, maybe, but I’m hoping that the missing chunk of nose will follow the person who did this, and trail him (her?) with all sorts of bad luck. The nose knows…

Big Break Sunday

After spending the last two days indoors at a conference, it felt good to walk around in a beautiful setting, Hazelmere Golf course, site of this year’s Surrey Invitational.

We caught up with Derek Gillespie (of this season’s Big Break XI, aka Big Break PEI)on the third hole, and for a while we seemed to be the only ones following him.

Here he is, nearly at the 18th green, looking all intent on just where the ball might be landing.

It’s too bad the greens were so hard. They really seemed to play havoc with the day’s putts.

We probably should have invited Derek over for supper last night. We could have helped him warm up on the ‘putting green’ on our deck.

Even if the video is mostly a sideways view, this is a pretty fun way to spend part of a summer evening.

There's a Heart in Art

One of my best pals used to wear a button that read “Ya gotta have art” – so true.
But to have art – at least in this country – ya gotta have support for it, especially when it’s in its fledgling stages.

Where do writers and photographers and designers get much of their early exposure and on-the-job learning? Little magazines.

In an article that appeared in the Saskatoon Star-Phoenix, John Barton, editor of The Malahat Review was quoted:

“The small magazines are integral to Canadian arts and culture and help cultivate homegrown talent,” said Barton. Yann Martel, author of Man Booker winner Life of Pi, published his first story in The Malahat Review in 1988.

Ask Margaret Atwood where she first published her work. Waves? Branching Out? Blackfish?

Yet despite the history of our literary magazines, Steve Harper and crew have a plan that will gut them, probably shutting many down. The article (see previous link) sees John Barton reminding us “That funding has allowed the magazine to increase contributor fees, redesign the magazine and increase staff salary -- all of which produces a better product…”

And really, don’t such factors (increased contributors’ fees, staff salaries, etc.) all do their part toward sustaining a healthy economy? The contributor is now able to buy a loaf of bread – and hopefully something to have with the bread.

Those artists and authors who’ve had their work in that small magazine can, with these publishing credits, knock on doors to bigger opportunities – and, for example, have their book published or get a show in a gallery.

For a start, why not subscribe to a magazine or two.

There’s a Facebook group you might want to join, even if its name is long: Coalition to Keep Federal Support of Literary, Scholarly and Arts Magazines.

If you’re a letter writer, Heritage Minister James Moore needs to hear that this ‘adjustment’ would not be a good idea for Canadian art – and in turn, for our heritage. After all, what are cultures remembered for? Their art.

"It's all good" has had it

I don't want to hear this inane remark any more.

The truth of the matter is: It isn't all good.

Especially not all the crap we've been stashing for a rainy day. Probably not even half of that is any good.

And the world? Nope, it isn't all good either.

Sure, some things are pretty good, or quite good, or even mostly good, but no. It's not all good. So please don't say that any more -- especially not to me.

And Someone saith...

Christopher Hitchens, probably best known for his atheistic beliefs, has proposed some new commandments, add-ons to the traditional Ten.

The first of three scheduled guests in the ROM’s series, Three New Commandments, Hitchens led off the series with his proposed new shalt-nots.

One of these condemns genocide (though another commenter pointed out the redundancy of that one – as ‘Thou shalt not kill’ should already apply, whether to one or many). Hitchens also proposed commandments against slavery and child abuse. Hard to rail against someone opposing any of those.

Still, he’s inspired me to come up with three of my own, and I’m hoping that others will suggest even more, especially ones that might be particularly applicable to the 21st century. And so, a ‘shalt not’ and two more-positive imperatives.

Thou shalt not produce spam nor participate in forwarding chain-letter type messages (You know the ones: 'Forward to 10 people within the next 10 minutes…').

Share whatever bounty comes your way by donating money or time. If the only sharing possible is singing praise to the evening sky, so be it; share what is yours.

Honour thy children (and grandchildren), for they are the future.

Two more speakers are scheduled in the series and will be adding their own suggestions for commandments. It will be interesting to see what A. J. Jacobs or Camille Paglia offer as new words to be carved in stone.

Jacobs describes himself as "...officially Jewish but...in the same way the Olive Garden is an Italian restaurant." He's the one who wrote about an experiment he lived: The Year of Living Biblically -- and oh, what a beard he grew!

Paglia has been the bane of talk-show hosts for years, but is also a lover of poetry. I'm hoping one of hers might urge us to honour poetry more than we do.