Hangin' up the skates

Well, as I mentioned earlier this month, I've decided the time has come to quit writing new posts for this blog. I'm not too ashamed of my track record here, as Out on the Big Limb started with this little post way back in 2006. Most of the time back then, I wasn't even using photos on the posts. 

As promised on its header, the blog has gone all over the place, with everything from rants about Site C (there are several, you just need to use the 'search' feature up in the corner). 

Not all the posts are political rants, I promise. One that currently brings a mix of pleasure and sadness was a celebratory poetry event where a whole bunch of poets read their poems that had been selected to ride around on the bus for a year. I have to say sadness as well because it was only a week ago that Sandy Shreve died. She was the poet who served as the driving force behind the establishment of the Poetry in Transit tradition (which yes, still endures). 

Sometimes I just raved about movies, and occasionally even food (though most of the foodie posts remain on my other old blog, What's fer supper?).

But here it's the 16th of February again, the second anniversary of Alexey Navalny's death in a Russian prison camp. It's only this week that the cause of his death, a poison, has finally been revealed. No surprise, but that doesn't make it any better. I can only imagine what a better world this would be if he had somehow become the president of that country. 

But, like the photo says, for now it's adios, as I'm calling it the end. 

Not exactly a valentine

My son, a lifelong fan of Star Wars, offered as explanation of recent events that there'd been "a ripple in the Force". It sure seems that way, with the news being filled with so many deaths of famous people. 

I suppose it may have started when we lost Catherine O'Hara, who made us laugh at almost anything. 

And then the longtime voice of hockey in Vancouver, Jim Robson as well as actors James Van Der Beek and Bud Cort. 

Cort didn't like the fact that his role in Harold and Maude made him seem typecast. And for his sake, I'm sad that happened to him, but will always love his portrayal of Harold (though I also loved him in M*A*S*H and Brewster McCloud, those wonderful films by Robert Altman). 

But those faraway deaths pale in light of the hideous tragedy at Tumbler Ridge here in northern BC. Twelve-year-olds murdered. At school. Beyond heartbreaking. 

Sportify

Wow, but what a lot of sports were on TV this weekend!

For quite a few years, I observed the Super Bowl by calling it another name: Superb Owl, and did a few posts on this blog with that tagline. But yesterday's game was different, as for once, the Seahawks were in the game. And not only were they in it, they won!

They've been in it four times, but only won once before -- and it turns out that was twelve years ago. It seems kind of appropriate that this should be the year they win, considering that twelve has always been their special number. 

But it wasn't just football filling the screen, the Winter Olympics are taking up space as well. Because this month's posts are partly a look back, it wasn't all that long ago the games were in Vancouver. The cauldron is still downtown, looking over Burrard Inlet and the North Shore, and as you can see, still looks quite beautiful. 

While I don't usually watch a lot of sports (though do love watching golf and curling -- both of which I find calming, go figure), yesterday was different. Good thing these big events only come along now and then!

2-6-26

I've been posting words on this blog for a long time. Today is just ten days shy of another blogiversary -- this time it will be number twenty. 

Considering a range of life spans for various creatures, twenty years, once considered the length of a generation, seems like a reasonable enough time to sign off. 

Looking back and looking ahead. A lot like the Buddha in my friend's garden, always looking ahead while focussing on the now and recalling the who-knows-when behind. 

So, onward with the ten-nine-eight-to-signoff countdown. 

Shadowy

The story of the groundhog has never quite made sense to me. As I understand it, if he sees his shadow, he runs back into his hole in the ground to wait out another six weeks of winter. But if he doesn't see it, he reckons that winter has run its course. 

I've always thought that if it's sunny outside, it might well mean that spring has arrived early. But no, legend tells us the opposite. Maybe his shadow frightens him into going back inside. 

Although I'm not sure whether groundhogs even live here, marmots do. But that's a different critter--still, it seems to be the one we rely upon to predict the end of winter. 

I've been thinking about shadows, how they grow or shrink according to the angle of the light, and of course, how they follow us, tagging along faithfully, as long as there's light to be had. Robert Louis Stevenson probably said this best in his poem, "My Shadow". Whether we're looking back or ahead, that shadow is bound to be near, just as mine is in the photo above.