Shaky plans?

At ten this morning, there's supposed to be province-wide earthquake drill. It even has an official name, the Great B.C. Shake Out. Sounds a bit like something that might happen at the airport or the border.

And no, they didn't choose today because it's Australia Day. Apparently, this day was selected for being the 311th anniversary (what's the significant gift for that year, platinum razor blades?) of the last mega-quake (9.0) that happened out here. Yep, that'd be 1700. Makes at least for nice, easy math.

An earthquake isn't something to joke about, even though it might be the only thing to dislodge our over-inflated real estate prices. The region's geography makes it pretty well inevitable that sooner or later, another big one will occur.

Still, I'm suspicious as to just how province-wide this will be. For one thing, the claim that schools will be participating sounds highly unlikely, as secondary school students are occupied in the task of writing provincial exams. Yet another case of one branch of government not knowing what another one is doing?

Of all the people I've asked about it, not a single one has even heard of it. Still, when the real thing arrives, you can bet that they'll know.

Not-so-Golden Globes?

Ten, twenty, fifty years from now -- when they're rolling out the classics from 2010, I find it hard to believe The Social Network will be high on anyone's list.

Facebook has changed -- and will no doubt continue to alter -- many of the ways we connect with one another. But that's sociology, combed over by technology. Documenting the phenomenon's development, and creating a script so we can meet the characters who accomplished it has value, of course. But really, best film of the year?

When it comes to listing 2010 films with longevity, I'll be putting my money on The King's Speech.

And yes, that's Oscar looking over the horizon...

It's not easy losing green

New rulings from the Metro Vancouver board will make it easier to remove greenspace, whether it's park land, golf courses or pieces of the Agricultural Land Reserve (ALR).

The picture above is now a big box development. It used to be a green space that doubled as a recreational facility for the community: 9-hole golf course, driving range and family-oriented mini-golf.

Migrating birds stopped by on their flights. Ducks raised their families in the several ponds. Native species, such as huckleberries and salmonberries, abounded in the various mini-systems that comprised the land there.

Despite public protest, the powers-that-be managed to get the rezoning they wanted, and yes, like the Joni Mitchell song says, now it's mostly a parking lot.

11-1-11

Eleventh of January. All those ones lined up, waiting to turn to something else...

It's been a day that's felt like a day for ending things (responses to copy-edits for Shrinking Violets went out). And with endings comes the prospect of new beginnings.

A friend reminded me that this is the date (in 1935) Amelia Earhart flew solo from Hawaii to California. Of course, I take this as a sign that it's time to work harder on turning the poems from my chapbook about Amelia into a full-fledged collection.

Tonight's fresh coat of snow, and the way the sky is so bright -- the photo was taken without a flash or tripod (thus the blur) -- all help contribute to the feeling that we are on the brink of change, one that will carry us forward to better things.

Poems and other celebrations

Once again, Merry Christmas. Those countries that follow the Julian calendar are observing Orthodox Christmas today. In researching the observance, I found note of a gift of poetry as a way to mark the day, so today I offer poems as well.

One is a cooperative effort, published as the new year's Monday poem by Leaf Press. This is an annual event where publisher Ursula Vaira calls for poets to send in couplets, usually on some particular theme. She and her colleagues then assemble them into a poem. This year, I was fortunate to have a piece from my couplet used as the title.

Another celebratory poem is one by Kim Goldberg. Her poem, "Ephemeral Exhibit" is the fourth one down on this site, part of a celebration of what you might call celestial poetry, though its technical name is Astropoetry. I like the explanation Kim sent when she alerted me to the posting:

The sub-genre of Astropoetry is also sometimes termed Astrohumanism and entertains the notion that our cultural differences and grievances are diminished to invisibility beneath the vastness of the cosmos.

I'm also choosing to celebrate today, as I've sent off another version (one I hope might be getting close to final) of my novella, Shrinking Violets, scheduled to be published later this spring by Quattro Books.

...and out with the old?

Well, maybe not all of it.

In the early '70s, a friend named Bryan Yates gave me this little brass calendar -- an item boldly known as a perpetual calendar. Since it promised to keep track of the days from 1971 to 2010, that sounded perpetual enough for me. Back then, 2010 seemed about as distant as Jupiter.

Only, oops -- now, even that year is gone.

So, does this mean I should ditch the gift I've kept so long? Heck, it even came along with me when I lived in Australia for the years 1989 and 2002.

All I have to do to keep it in working order for the year is pretend it's 1983. I could have also chosen 2005, 1994, or even 1910, as all of them are equivalents, but I still have a lot of great memories from 1983.

When you think of all we have in our lives that didn't exist then, most of us probably want to remain here in the second decade of the 21st century. Though, I don't know -- maybe one of these days time travel will present a whole new wave of tourism.

In with the new...

The start of a new year means a day of new beginnings. In my case, that even means getting to use some of the new things I got for Christmas.

At last, it seems like the right day to put things into the drawers of my new dresser -- even time to toss the old toothbrush and start using the pretty new pink one.

Of course, no start of the new year would feel complete without a walk down to the beach to watch the Polar Bear swimmers!

Taking stock

End of year always feels like a time to consider what's gone on during the previous twelve months.

On many fronts, this hasn't been the best of years. Still, I plan to take inspiration from the sprig of holly that's nestled itself into that chunk of wood. I know where I took the picture, and I plan to go back again next winter to see how it's doing.

I am hoping that both the holly and I will have accomplished much.

Expect a new look (again) to the blog in January, as well as some goals and commitments.

Want to start thinking about some of your own dreams and goals? Add a comment if you'd like to commit to any of them. We can look at them again next December 31 to see how we've fared.

...and to all a good-night!

My sister and I have always been firm believers in Santa. We're still convinced we saw him flying when we were little.

Whatever you believe, I hope that warmth and love are somehow part of your traditions. And in those, I will always believe.

Merry Christmas to all...

Return of the light(s)

Just over twelve hours ago, the earth started to pass between the moon and the sun, and a magical lunar eclipse began. Magical because totality occurs on the same day as this year's winter solstice. Apparently, the convergence of events hasn't happened for a few hundred years.

Anyway, when this special eclipse started, I was disappointed, because the sky here was cloudy. Still, because I knew what was going on up there, I thought about it, imagining what people long ago must have thought about such an occurrence.

And then just before midnight, the sky opened up, revealing a dusky orange moon, with only the barest fingernail crescent of bright light on one side. Again, I thought of those people from long ago and suspected they would have been tossing more fuel on the fire -- logs at least, if not a sacrifice of some sort.

Just after twelve, when the moon was about to go into full occlusion, the clouds returned, shrouding what showed of the moon. When it's visible but not reflecting light from the sun, it's easy to see that it's really just a big rock. Still, a pretty magical one.

About twelve hours from now will be the official observance of this year’s winter solstice, so I'm in my element. Magic in every direction. And we'll be on our way to having the light come back...

As for the lights above, they're from our little hibiscus trees in holiday regalia, with the camera trying to move as fast as the spinning earth.

Happy Solstice celebrating!

When does a park stop being a park?

When does a fence become an offense?

This week has seen a chain-link fence rise up around a nearby park. It's the only ball diamond for quite a distance, and there used to be a fun little playgound there.

No more.

Much of it is now blocked off to the public.

For what it's worth, it isn't technically public property; it's part of the Semiahmoo band's reserve. And for quite a while, the band has been threatening go fence it off, largely in response to the many dog owners who let their dogs run free there and then don't clean up after the messes they leave behind.

Still, this week's action comes as quite a shock. The reason being cited is a sinkhole that appeared last summer. Only now, the spot has grown, so I suppose this is what the lawyers advised.

In the meantime, no playground, no open field for games or kite-flying or just plain enjoying the space a park offers. In the confines of our busy lives, with so little green space left, this closure feels quite harsh.

I'm trying not to be sad about it, but right now, that isn't easy.

If you want it...

I was at a school Christmas concert tonight. One of the songs performed by the choir was Happy Xmas (War is over). The line above is one of the mantra-like repeated lines that follow 'war is over' in the refrain.

It seems there's lots to remember as we remember John Lennon.

Do you have a memory of this night, 30 years ago?

Welcome?

This is the sign that greets visitors to prison. Not exactly inviting, is it.

Yet despite signs and other roadblocks (applying for clearance seems far more difficult than getting a passport), volunteers continue to visit prisons, sometimes for writing workshops.

Last weekend was another of our Writers' Retreats at a local penitentiary. As always, it was a time for useful exchanges about work we'd prepared in advance. And because writing prompts are always an important element of these weekends, there was also a lot of new work generated.

Some of the more speculative start-ups prompted humour as well as thoughtful replies. A few of the responses to the what-really-happened scene behind Obama's stitches could have fit right in with the latest round of WikiLeaks.

Other writings were far more personal -- the kind that only come about in an atmosphere of trust. One man revealed a story that seemed to surprise even himself. After he read it, he offered in a shaking voice that he had never expressed those thoughts to anyone.

Another was seeking ways to write about a traumatic experience he wanted to get down in words, but wasn't yet able to -- the first strip-search he'd experienced. Some of the difficulty became even clearer when he told us that this had occurred when he was only twelve.

Those of us 'outsiders' didn't have as much hardship to share, but when we wrote about 'why we don't write', the excuses sounded the same, whether from inmates or 'outmates'. Everything from needing to watch a show on tv to the universal excuse, the L-word, laziness.

Today is International Volunteer Day -- a day that recognizes the efforts of the many, many people who do things they don't get paid for, but things that make a difference to their communities. They're the people who run Scout troops and arts events and food banks and baby clinics.

If you'd like to read an article about one kind of volunteer, those who go into prisons, click here for an article by Ed Griffin. Ed's a longtime prison volunteer and teacher. His article appears on a prisoner-based website called The Incarcerated Inkwell. The site contains a great deal of information, even a glossary of prison jargon. It also accepts guest articles for publication.

What do you take time to do for your community?

Jobs for humans

Strange, I suppose, but I'm all for the idea of jobs for humans.

I'm sick of being directed to use the self-checkout lanes, tired of waiting on hold while a machine drones a loop of pre-recorded pap.

What a concept. Jobs for humans. And today of all days, Cyber Monday, a day we're supposed to go online and shop our brains out.

While I understand the concept -- that virtual shops should make overhead costs lower, I'm having trouble getting my head around what happens when all of us do all our transactions online. And really, I want people to have jobs.

I'm so concerned about jobs disappearing, I refuse to go to self-checkout lines at my supermarket.

I even mail in some of my bills. I figure that somebody has to clear the letter box, empty the bag, at least throw the envelopes into the sorter, etc. Then, when the item arrives at the company in question (oh yes, a letter carrier even delivers it), a person has to open the envelope, look at the numbers on the cheque and the bill, credit my account...

Considering the many steps one simple bill payment must go through (as opposed to if I pay it online), quite a few people have to actually touch the documents -- in other words, a lot of people have themselves a job. Just thinking about the many people whose jobs I contribute to (even in a small way), I reckon I get my 57cents worth.

Crazy? Maybe. But it makes me wonder just who'll have the money to buy anything -- online or in person -- if too many of our jobs get taken over by machines, whether self-checkout cash lines or automated bill pay systems.

Next time you're shopping -- or paying a bill, for that matter -- think about whether you're doing anything to ensure at least a couple of jobs for the humans. After all, humans (especially employed ones) may well be the next endangered species.

Over the river but not through the woods

This was the view out the window of the SkyTrain as we passed over the Fraser River on Sunday afternoon. If you look, you can see a bit of reflection. The fresh snow on the North Shore Mountains is one of the reasons this part of the world is so beautiful. Thanks to Franci Louann and Poetic Justice, I was heading into New Westminster for a reading at Renaissance Books. What a busy place -- three readings in a single afternoon!

Because I can't so much as enter a bookstore without buying a little something, I came away with a couple of new-to-me titles. Still, there are worse habits. I am sure.

As for the not-quite quote on this header, it's from an old poem associated with American Thanksgiving. Best wishes for this holiday to our neighbours to the South. All of us have plenty to be thankful for. I for one, am grateful to not have to be trying to use an airport this week!

Still more remembering

This series of Remembrance Day postings has become even longer than Canada's observance of Remembrance Week. Still, I think my reasons for continuing are good ones.

Tuesday saw writer June Hutton visit White Rock. She participated in two events -- one at the local library and one at our favourite coffeehouse, Pelican Rouge. She not only read from her novel of remembrance, Underground, but also answered the many questions posed to her. Whether talking about history, her process of writing, or the poppies she'd found in a box of family treasures (in the photo), she was gracious and clear and lots of fun.

In fact, June was just the sort of person my mother would have enjoyed. And this is a special day of remembering her, as it was this date two years that her life ended. The little angel in the photo is one that came from her, and it's one of the many small objects in my life that remind me of her.

The candle's burning in remembrance of her -- and oddly, for another friend, one whose passing was almost exactly 100 days ago. How quickly time passes, but how long we remember.

And I promise, from here on in, I'm back to looking forward -- with any luck, just as the angel above is doing -- with wonder.

Studio time

This weekend seems dedicated to studio time. Last night it was participating in SFU's The Writer's Studio reading series.

Feature reader for the event was Gurjinder Basran. Her book, Everything was Goodbye, won Mother Tongue Publishing's Search for the Great B.C. Novel contest. The section she read seemed spot-on authentic.

Other readers were Bonnie Nish, whose photo is at the left. Her poems ranged from those considering "...a childhood gone wrong" to ones remembering her mother, who died less than a month ago. Nish's musings "On being Ashley Judd" was a funny (and useful) poem for those of us who are less-than-drop-dead-gorgeous.

Other readers were Kerry Sandomirsky, an actor whose piece about self-induced bondage had everyone in Vancouver's Take 5 Cafe in stitches. SFU graduate Leslie Hill read a convincing memoir set in Toronto, 1969, while UBC's Natasha Boskic read love poems, and even offered one in multimedia format. The first set was closed by Morgan Chojnacki, with a delightful scene from her Quebec-based story -- even the snowballs in it seemed fresh as the 16-year-old character she presented.

The first reader after the break was Andrea Winterbottom, who's a frequent participant in the Writers' Retreat workshops at Matsqui Penitentiary. Others were Jennifer Irvine, whose "Unfashionably Green" mixed childhood memories with bittersweet comments about losing a parent. Hilary Mandel's story "Couch Love" seemed all too familiar, as my partner and I are caught up in the throes of getting rid of a beloved couch (though having a heckuva time finding a better one). And squeezed into the second set was my piece -- a condensed version of the first chapter of next spring's Shrinking Violets.

Today was a day for the cardmaker's studio. Not affiliated with any university, this is an annual event that sees my friend Brenna and I puttering with craft supplies while we try to be creative. At the rate of about an hour per card, we're not exactly planning to go into business. Still, it's something we both enjoy. Besides, it's a great excuse to sit and visit.

Tomorrow's a studio of another sort -- a day that will be spent in the kitchen, crafting up a feast of Mexican-style foods.

All this creativity, and in the span of only a weekend!

Remembering

Or, to put it another way, a day that's about not forgetting. The rock with its plaque of remembrance rests outside the White Rock Legion, a place where there'll be a lot of stories told today.

Those of us who don't have particular memories of war are among the lucky ones. And as I type these words, I can hear the old planes as they do their 11 o'clock flyover. How fortunate to know that no bombs will fall from them.

Canada Reads -- a lot!

This year's Canada Reads event is the 10th Anniversary, so they decided to run it a little bit differently.

Instead of presenting us with the five finalists, they opened the competition -- and asked readers to nominate the Top 40 fiction titles of the last decade.

By clicking on any title on the list, you can read more about it. So if there's a book you're unfamiliar with, now's a great time to learn about it easily.

Now, we're supposed to vote for a favourite -- a tricky proposition, at least for me -- to only choose one. Using those votes, they'll create a shortlist of ten. After that, the final five contenders will be announced and will be defended, as they always are, by a panel of dedicated celebrities.

The ballot is at the bottom of the list. There's even a contest for those who want to try their hand at predicting which books might make the Top 10 (near the bottom of their page, after the ballot).

We have until midnight Sunday (Eastern time) to cast our ballot -- only one per voter, which I appreciate. No ballot-box stuffing!

Which book do you think should win this year's Canada Reads?

Spirit of the light

According to a piece by Douglas Todd in Saturday's Vancouver Sun, this is the season when it's easy to find 'thin places' -- places where the membrane between the physical world and the spiritual one is thin enough to allow spirits (or ghosts, if you prefer) to pass through. But he's not the only one to recognize the 'differentness' apparent during this time of year.

Diwali, the Indian festival of light, also occurs during this auspicious time. Celebrations in Vancouver begin today and run through the weekend.

Today's the day Mexicans celebrate Dia de los Muertos, or Day of the Dead. It's also the day Roman Catholics observe All Souls' Day, a day when prayers are believed to release those who might have been trapped in purgatory.

It's hard not to think there must be something special about this time of year. With so many different belief systems observing important rituals involving the dead during this time, I can't help but suspect there's something to it.

I've got a candle burning in the kitchen, and who knows -- someone on the other side may well decide to come by and say hello.