I was there

On Friday I was welcomed to the remarkable Holly School. My job there? To present new ways of looking at poetry to a class of Grade Sixes.

I gave the students a small project to work on, answered questions and shared poems by many writers. I was even allowed to give input on a couple of student poems that had been sent to me in advance of the class – little tweaks, like adding sensory images to strengthen the work.

One of the most exciting parts of the day came when the class was suggesting ways that poetry is different from other kinds of writing. As they offered ideas, I was recording them on the board. And then there was this, the topper: It has language that makes you say ‘mmmm’.

This visit was part of the Federation of B.C. Writers’ Off-the-Page program. Through that plan, writers are paid to work with students in schools. But really, this day paid me in ways richer than money.

After the class, I was met on the playground by children playing skipping-rope games. When the slapping of the rope triggered my own memories, they listened as I chanted: "Down in the valley where the green grass grows, there stands 'whoever', sweet as a rose. She sang, she sang, she sang so sweet…"

After that, a group of girls wanted me to watch while they presented a dance for me.

And then, after all that rousing activity, a girl shyly presented herself, asking if I would mind listening to her play the theme from Titanic on her recorder. While its sad notes flew into the spring air, I couldn’t help it, my eyes filled with tears, remembering my own grandfather who’d travelled steerage on another steaming ship. Really, what a lovely way to close out a beautiful visit to a wonder-filled place.

They're heeeere...

If you want to say today's title 'correctly', you'll have to turn your mind back to Poltergeist.

It's also likely you'll need to double-click on the vehicle in the centre of the image to see them, as my camera's zoom capabilities aren't on a par with theirs. (The car is out in the road beyond the parking lot, facing right. The sign above it seems serendipitously placed.)

Still, I'm pleased that I managed to click even this much -- when the local newspaper reported on Google's team visiting to take its famous Street View shots, they didn't have a pic. It was kind of a fluke that I caught them uptown, just after they'd come around the corner. I guess you might call them a gaggle of Googlers.

Halfway

Today is the halfway mark in National Poetry Month. Depending on whether you love poetry or not, I suppose there's a question that leads from that -- along the lines of whether the glass is half-full or half-empty.

The other day, the postman brought this loveliest of greetings -- a postcard from Sandy Shreve with a poem from her latest book, Suddenly, So Much, on it.

The poem's story is of a cormorant who's flown in from the sea to fish in a city lake. There, "...in this park where we unleash our dogs" is this seabird. Haven't all of us, at one time or another, found ourselves in situations (and not always by choice) where we've been in a place outside our usual boundaries? Whether we've been brave enough to do as this cormorant -- "...he bares his breast" is probably quite another matter.

When it comes to the poem's form, it proves to be an interesting variation on a palindrome -- quite an accomplishment for a work of poetry.

Sandy's website shows off more versions of the postcard poems. You can even learn how to buy some to send for your own poetry project.

What's the reason...

for dyeing Easter eggs? Aside from the fact that it's fun and they're pretty...

Happy 40th Birthday to the Internet?

I don't think it was a late April Fool story, but I'm sure having a hard time tracking down any back-up.

I caught the beginning of 'Q' this morning on CBC. Jian Ghomeshi was doing one of his 'serious' intros (one of the thoughtful-sounding ones with the Moby music in the background). He explained that today is the 40th birthday of the Internet, the first day a typed message was composed for what was then still a brand-new dream.

I have to take my hat off to his researchers at the CBC. All the stories I found speak only of October 29, 1969 as the day the first message ('lo') was sent. Still, I did find a lot of cool stuff about the history of the Internet.

The story I liked best of all told about Len Kleinrock, a guy who grew up loving comic books (didn't we all?) and built a crystal radio set. From a crystal radio to the Internet, a pretty impressive leap. Once upon a time, I think I had one of these. I'm pretty sure it was marketed as a 'rocket radio' -- for its shape, vaguely vibratorish. There were no batteries or dials. It just plucked radio from the air and sent it into an earpiece for personal tunes. Great for lying in bed and listening to rock and roll when I was supposed to be asleep.

And if the Internet really doesn't qualify as turning 40 today, I found a football player who does. Happy 40th, Ricky Watters!

Writing a Poem (in 48 hours)

That might not sound like a terrible challenge, but when you're given a list of 10 words that have to appear in the poem, the task becomes somewhat more difficult.

The Canadian magazine, CV2, has been setting just that challenge every spring. I've participated in the event since 2002, when I was travelling in the Blue Mountains of New South Wales, Australia and had to find a cybercafe to get the 10 words!

This year's batch of words is: parlour, effervescent, kumquat, noxious, sink, quagmire, gradation, improvise, freak, dial.

Over the years, they’ve tightened up the rules. No longer am I allowed to make 'freakish' out of freak. 'Sinker' instead of sink is now verboten.

I have a few more hours (until 10 p.m. my time zone) to finish and submit my work. In the meantime, I'll do my best not to freak, even if I do feel like I might sink into a quagmire of noxious verse....

Solidarity with women in Afghanistan

Amazing. Even Steve Harper has spoken out against the changes to laws in Afghanistan.

For my part, a poem, published previously in a publication called Writing for our Lives.

Learning to think about leaving

You are scissors
I am paper
learning to be stone

A surprise when I read in the paper that day
a crime against the law for
a man to rape his wife
all those nights you'd wake me
two a.m. again
bade me open wide
it's your duty don't you know
alarm clock indeed
no clock needed for alarm.

Next day when you went out
to buy yourself some smokes
how I grabbed the scissors,
dug through the recycling
found the story, real;
cut around its black and white
something like a square
leaving just enough white edge
something to hang on to.

When I served the supper, meatballs in sauce
arranged over a bed of rice, salad on the side
how you held the plate, then turned
it upside down, laid it neat and flat upon the table.
I recall your smirk, how it held
the children's big eyes.

A stone grows deep inside me
hot and cold I never know
when it might be I will leave,
but hoping every day, I look
out the window for signs:

bird in the tree
rises through leaves, carrying
a song packed sideways in its throat
a sharpened cry
it circles
and heads out over the sea.

National Poetry Month arrives in White Rock

To help celebrate National Poetry Month, Nova Scotia writer Brian Bartlett has flown in from Halifax.

He spent the afternoon leading a workshop at a local elementary school. He gave individual help to every writer there. Clearly, his visit was an exciting part of the students' Friday afternoon.

Tonight he'll be reading at Pelican Rouge Coffee House, where I suspect the audience will be somewhat less rambunctious. I'm looking forward to hearing which pieces from The Watchmaker's Table he chooses to share with us.

Post-apocalyptic fiction

Because I was away on holiday, I managed to accumulate quite a backlog of emails. Among ones I’ve found is a message from Abe Books about ‘end of the world’ fiction. Since I’ve always been a reader of post-apocalyptic novels, this was one bulk message I didn’t want to delete.

I agreed with quite a few of their choices – especially Earth Abides, one of the most memorable books of my life (apparently Carl Sandburg agreed with this assessment).

There were a few that I thought they’d got ‘wrong’ – like John Wyndham’s Day of the Triffids. Even though it might have served as inspiration for Jose Saramago’s Nobel Prize winning Blindness, I don’t think it fits the category of post-apocalypse fiction. A better candidate by Wyndham would have been his The Chrysalids, in which ‘mutants’ are outcasts in the prevailing day’s society. Their genes are wildly mutated by residual radiation from a long-past nuclear war, so I think this title qualifies better.

One of the writers they didn’t mention is John Brunner. And maybe that’s because his books aren’t so much set after a specific disaster, but rather in the midst of them. Stand on Zanzibar’s premise is overpopulation; The Sheep Look Up finds its threat in ecological disasters. Can you say topical? And I’m still pretty sure it’s one of those two books that sees police maintaining crowd control (people are standing in long queues for food) by distributing joints for them to smoke.

Another two books that should be on their list are Ronald Wright’s A Scientific Romance and Russell Hoban’s Ridley Walker. Although Wright’s book is based on the trick of time travel, his images of grown-over roadways will always stay in my mind. Ridley Walker is a true one-of-a-kind. Not only is set in a far-distant post-acopalyptic future, it’s written in a ‘new’ kind of language. Although the book was written in 1980, much of its language seems similar to today’s texting, especially its use of numbers to mimic the sounds of words.

There was even an old school text, Z for Zachariah, which might well be worth a re-read.

Doing a bit of research on this genre, I’ve encountered a few more titles I’ll need to track down, John Crowley’s Engine Summer, Philip K. Dick’s Dr Bloodmoney, and J.G. Ballard’s The Drowned World . This last one presumes the polar icepacks have melted. But the oddest-sounding one of all is Bernard Wolfe’s 1952 novel, Limbo. These last recommendations are all thanks to a wonderful volume by David Pringle, Science Fiction: The 100 Best Novels.

I'd love it if anyone could up with other suggestions in this thought-provoking genre. Comments with names are always the best, but if Anonymous can suggest a great book, I'm happy enough to know about it.

Will observing Earth Hour make a difference?

Pollyanna-ish, I suppose, but I say yes, it will.

If I didn't believe that, I wouldn't recycle paper and plastic and glass. I also wouldn't remember to not run the water while I brush my teeth.

What other small things do I do? I make a point of picking up a piece of litter off the ground every day. Not huge bags of it, just one. And I don't always flush the toilet (unless there's a good reason to).

I like to believe all these small things add up. Hey, if everybody did them...

What I'd really like to think about though is instead of just observing Earth Hour, what would happen if on Earth Day we'd try going for a full 24 hours without using power? Now that could be a message even Steve Harper might notice.

It should be Pattie's birthday today

Wind Chime Woman
(for Pattie)

chittering wind chimes remind me
of you and our lonesomest times

how many nights did we spend together
banishing demons or men for each other

laughing or crying on my porch or yours, mostly
over cheques that either bounced or never arrived


so why didn’t you phone instead of going to that hotel
sitting it out alone on a bed for three crying days

and how did you ever find yourself so many pills so many colours,
how many drinks did you have to force down to work up the nerve to swallow

you knew that the maids would let you sleep in, not find you 'til afternoon
knew they all loved you and worried for you, saw how you tipped too much


but now I need to pretend, imagine you wearing your turquoise robe
picture your hair swirling red on the pillow, how you’d want it to look

and for once I hear no pounding nails or cutting lawns or
too fast trucks driving down this narrow street of ours

just the storm blowing strong
through the wind chimes

News that's new

At least to me.

Reading a newspaper was my treat of the day. As always, it's the columnists who make the paper for me. The Vancouver Sun's Miro Cernetic referred to this time we're in as the "Great Recession" although really what's so great about it remains to be seen. One of those oxymorons, I guess. But at least the term feels official, now that I've seen it in print.

The rest of the paper seemed full of happier news, the best being that Oslo, Norway has figured out how to fuel its transit system on recycled sewage. As of next year, buses there will run on methane from the treatment plant at Bekkelaget. There's a renewable source if ever there was one!

There were also several different pieces that all worked their way to the same conclusion: it's time that we decriminalize drugs. Just think, if Vancouver could manage this before 2010, there might be a whole lot less violence on the city's streets. There might even be some lasting reason for tourists to visit beyond two weeks' worth of games that no one seems able to get tickets for.

But of most interest to me is the 100 yuan challenge, started up by workers in Shanghai and Beijing. The idea is to try living on 100 yuan (about $18Cdn) a week. Over 100,000 people are participating so far. Of the results I've seen, the best ways of saving money seem to be by avoiding Western fast food outlets. Sounds like a good idea, whether you're trying to save money or not.

Old news

Just because it's old news doesn't make it any better. 

Being away means I'm slower in learning about what's happened. Usually, it's stuff that doesn't matter too much. This time, I've learned that four more Canadian soldiers have been killed in Afghanistan. It seems extra weird that just yesterday I overheard a man singing that old song by Country Joe. The one that says, "One, two, three, four -- what're we fighting for?" Only when the 'Vietnam' line rolled past, I thought I heard "next stop, Afghanistan." 

Hmm. Maybe that wasn't a mis-hearing at all. 

Salsa!

This morning saw a group of locals (and visitors, like me) joining up for a two-hour dance class. The session was led by Jean-Pierre, who clearly knows how to dance and still has the great moves, despite being 68.

Salsa was the main theme, but we explored a bunch of other dances too. As it always seems to go in dance or exercise classes, women outnumbered the men, so when it came to partnered dancing a lot of us were girl-with-girl. Waltzing and polka were easier than some.

Belly-dancing was the most fun; the tarantella downright annoying. Still, the workout was fun and made for a lot of good sweating. Ariba!

Angelfish on the beach

He was not a happy camper, flapping around sideways in the surf.

It was one of those very traditional days (is this what Mexico does to people?) where the men played horseshoes and the women went for a stroll. I'd brought my snorkel and mask, but no one else wanted to join me, so that activity was out. Face it, snorkeling in the sea is not a thing to do without a buddy.

While we females strolled our way down the sand, we spotted a frantic-looking flapping in the waves. An angelfish, clearly in distress. Rennie waded out and picked him (her?) up, trying to reorient him and get him back out past the breaking waves. Not much bigger than her open hand, he was a beauty -- silver with black zebra stripes. It was hard finding a picture similar to his kind, but if you click here, then follow down to the bottom right, you'll see one of his cousins.

For a while it seemed as though he might have made it, as he was swimming quite upright, little dorsal fin straight up as an antenna, so we walked on. But then, on our way back, there he was again, struggling. We tried a few more rescues, but finally gave up as a lesson from nature.

Still, I wondered: had we been a group of men, how might our behaviour have been different? Or would they have done exactly the same things we tried?

Fiesta del San Patricio

Where better to be for St. Patrick's Day than a town called San Patricio!

Wearing our green T-shirts, we got into the car and drove over to the nearby towns of Melaque/San Patricio. A carnival, complete with rides and midway, was running full blast.
There was lots to see and do: foosball tents, Bingo games (but not like the Bingo most of us think of, I-19, O-64 -- more like 'travel' Bingo, just pictures -- of everything from roosters to the devil). There were medicine hawkers, boot vendors, even a rodeo. I enjoyed just looking at it all, snapping pictures. But that wasn't too hard to do, considering I was sipping a pina colada from a little clay pot while we strolled.

The most amazing part of the evening was the display of fireworks that ended the night. When we'd arrived, a group of men had been building a tower-like structure in the town square. A series of spinning explosives were arranged on the tower, so each would ignite in turn, one from the previous. The video will give you some idea of how this worked -- only lucky you, you won't have to worry about sparks falling into your hair!

Art is everywhere

Yesterday morning my friends and I went to Tonala and took a tour that let us meet artisans at work -- at a papier mache factory, in a glass-blowing foundry, and in the one-man studio of a very special potter, Salvador Vazquez. He carries on a technique developed over several generations of his family.

Today, we strolled around the square in 'our' little town. People from the village ran a little arts fair. There was a range of crafts (embroidery, pottery and jewellery) as well as samples of food and drink and glass beads and baskets. One of the gringas offered an interesting item that worked like an optical illusion. A spiralled piece of metal with a large marble skewered onto it. She called it a 'contemplato' -- maybe that's not the real name for it, but considering its slightly hypnotic aspect, it made sense.

Galleries seem to be everywhere. It's as if art is in the air.

A day for amazement

My friends and I have been wandering through markets and galleries and hearing music and generally being bombarded by culture.


But most amazing of all was the gallery we visited this afternoon, filled with the works of Sergio Bustamante.

It was as if a wind blew into my brain and rearranged the apparatus that shows me how to see the world. Definitely memorable.

International Females, Celebrate!

Where yesterday was International Women's Day, it seems a bit bizarre for today to celebrate the birthday of Barbie. Yes, that Barbie. The doll.

She's turning 50, but gosh, those tits of hers look perky as ever.

And here I thought this was supposed to be the age of reality. Or is it really just the age of the reality show?

C'mon, Mattel. I saw that picture you posted of Barbie sporting that head of shiny white hair. But hey, now that she's turning 50, how's about lowering the bar (or is it just the bra?) on that chest of hers? I understand she's getting tattooed soon to prove just how cool she still is. I wonder, will Ken's name be among the artwork she gets?

BTW, this link to International Women's Day may appear to be a bit unfriendly, but really there's a whole lot of great information. And despite appearances to the contrary, sign-in does not seem to be required. Worth a look.

And yes, I acknowledge the importance of today's birthday girl. Just think of how many girls first 'tried out sex' by smooshing their Barbie and Ken dolls up against each other.

Anyway, cheers to you, Barbie. You're holding up well, though I'll still never understand how you can bear to keep standing on those itty-bitty tippy-toes all these many years. Ouch, but happy birthday to you. And many more.

Punktuation Rules!

Okay, so I'm kind of a nerd. But was yesterday ever fun - I was in a whole roomful of like-minded nerds.

The occasion was a seminar sponsored by our local branch of the Editors' Association of Canada. Led by Frances Peck, we spent the day considering (and arguing about) punctuation and mechanics. If I've already lost you, you're probably not an editor. But if you are still with me, consider some of the wonderful things Frances said.

She reminded us that punctuation marks help us navigate our way through sentences, indicating pauses and also helping us make connections. She used phrases like "maintaining syntactical interest" and employed beautiful words like "idiosyncratic" - and best of all, she offered the important-to-any-editor caution that hyphens might drive us mad, describing those small black marks as "the mosquitoes of punctuation."

Goofy-sounding to a non-editor? Probably. But did I learn a lot? You bet!

Black and whites on display

Last night saw an opening at the local Community Arts Council Gallery. They change the art displays every month and this month there's work by Tatiana Saydak and Chris Mackenzie. The show for March is an array of small sculptures in company of a room full of black and white photographs.
That's Chris Mackenzie, in front of some of his work. His photos, all taken with film - no digital work here - included images shot with infrared film.

Because I'm always uncomfortable taking photos of somebody else's photographs, I can only say I was impressed enough by his work to buy a piece. If you want to see his work, you should go to the gallery - or failing that, visit his website. Ones he's featured as 'peeks' for this show are some interesting results from long exposures at night time. Definitely worth a look.

Perception Shift

I have a thing about numbers. I like certain ones more than others. Sometimes this is based on associations with birthdays or other events. Sometimes my reasons are more superficial – when I fix on a number for the way it looks.

Thinking about numbers displayed on the clock, I’ve always loved the tidy lines of 11:11. And next best has always been its shorter cousin, 1:11.

But today, with three more Canadian soldiers killed in Afghanistan, and the number of deaths there now jumping to 111, I’m pretty sure I’ll be thinking differently when 1:11 shows up on the face of the clock.

Instead of admiring the shape of the number, I'll be viewing it as three red soldiers standing tall. And I’ll be thinking of three men – Warrant Officer Dennis Raymond Brown, Cpl. Dany Olivier Fortin and Cpl. Kenneth Chad O’Quinn.

Writers who don't retreat

These are some of the writers who took part in a writers' retreat at Matsqui this past weekend. Only, I always have to question why these sessions go by that name. I haven't noticed these people retreating from much.

Most of the other participants aren't in the picture because they couldn't come out to the parking lot to stand beside that lovely wall. And no, that isn't because it was raining and they were afraid of getting wet. They didn't come outside because they aren't allowed. You see, Matsqui is a federal penitentiary.

So, who are these writers? They're poets and playwrights and novelists and short story writers. And why do they do this? Well, why does anyone volunteer for a cause they feel passionate about?

Freedom to Read

Most of us probably take such a notion for granted. It's a given, like the freedom to watch whatever tv show you might click to with the remote. Unfortunately, that isn't always the case.

I was part of an event that's become an annual tradition in Mission, B.C. -- a presentation of readings from books that have been 'challenged' (my, aren't we polite?).

Included on this year's roster was everything from a picture book called The Waiting Dog and Beatrix Potter's Tale of Peter Rabbit to the poetry of Joseph Brodsky and the prose of Mark Twain (Huck Finn).

This year's event featured a number of junior readers. The photo is of Allie, who's participated in this reading for three years now. Ever the professional, here she is doing one last mental read-through before she performs.

Long live the book, says I, and the freedom to read what we choose.

No more bullying

Today is Pink Shirt Day -- a day to boldly wear pink and stand up to bullying. I'm so tickled pink about this, I'm even wearing pink socks! Look at those feet, such exemplary friends. Even when moving backwards, they're always co-operative, never bullying.

The week's biggest news

I can't help but think this might have been a week for believing in astrology. It sure felt as though there were planets (or some other controlling force) at odds with each other.

Many would contend the biggest story here in Canada was the visit from Barack Obama. Yes, that was big, but it also served as a what I call a 'smokescreen story' for another, bigger story -- a story that isn't finished and that won't be going away.

The same day President Obama visited Ottawa, the Vancouver Olympic Committee (VANOC) finally came out with a report they seem to have been stalling about -- that security for the 2010 games is going to cost $900 million dollars. Hmm, where the number is that high, why don't they just round it off and call it a billion? Here in the West, the story made the front page. I'm not sure that was the case anyplace else. Considering that all Canadians will in some way or other be paying these costs, it seems sneaky for this story to have come out on a day when hoopla stole all the headlines.

In sharp contrast to the news from Vancouver, Tuesday's news saw a report from Sochi in Russia that their Winter Olympics in 2014 will come in at 15% lower than they'd predicted. It will be interesting to see how this one plays out.

Another story connected to this week is one that happened 50 years ago, the cancellation of the Avro Arrow, a move that left thousands of workers without jobs and questions that still remain today. I wonder whether Obama even knows about that one. In fact, I wonder whether Steve Himself does.

But on we go, interesting times... indeed.

Dreaming of Queensland

Well, it looks as though I've taken another step towards my dreams of Queensland. My application for the Best Job in the World has been accepted.

From here on in, people have to go the site and cast their vote by 'rating' the video on the five-star bar. It looks as though you can only vote once, so I hope you'll make that first attempt count. They'll announce the top ten plus a 'wild card' on March 2nd.

I'm not holding my breath on this, especially because I've seen a lot of the other applications. Nearly everyone has used editing and special effects galore. My all-in-one-minute take was based on the thought: what would I be able to do at Hamilton Island in an ongoing blog? I knew I wouldn't be able to pull off a lot of fancy stuff, so figured go for the plain-and-simple and play on my strengths (writing and blogging).

Okay, if you want to see it (and hopefully, cast a vote for me) here's the link that should take you directly to my little vid.

And hey, if you feel like sharing this with others, I'd appreciate all the help I can get!

A photo I forgot to take

So instead, you'll have to imagine it.

Five middle-aged people, a mix of men and women, gathered at a table in a coffee shop. Two of them are seated, the other three huddle around. All of them focus on an assortment of prescription-medicine containers containing pills. By turns, unprescribed, each of them takes a bottle, opens it, holds the container near their nose and inhales deeply, sniffing it.

And no, they're not crazy. They're trying to learn what vitamins their bodies might be lacking.

If that sounds like a strange way to find out what vitamins they need, well, if you'd asked me yesterday, I might have agreed. Only now that I've heard a presentation (and done the smell test myself), I can't really dispute it.

The presentation, by poet Diane Dawber, was part of a reading she did for our local Arts Council's literary series. She also read poems from her first book, Cankerville (Borealis) and from the forthcoming Driving, Braking and Getting Out to Walk: Landscape as the Poet's Future (Hidden Brook Press, 2009).

It's hard to believe that this vibrantly energetic woman was pretty well bedridden for close to a decade. But that vibrancy also makes it very hard not to carefully consider some of the methods she's used to recover -- not only from FM, but from a number of food allergies and chemical sensitivities. Anyway, I hope you 'got the picture'. Next time, I'll try to do better about not missing such a great shot.

Here's a snap of Diane, who's a bit of a blur. It's difficult to catch her still long enough to get a flashless pic. She's just starting her reading at the always-welcoming Pelican Rouge Coffee House.

Oops!

I missed my blogiversary! Out on the big limb first came to life on February 16, 2006 with a funny little post called Tomorrow is finally here. There've been quite a few entries since then, and I send big thanks to all of my followers (even those who aren't signed on as such) and especially to those who leave comments. Here's hoping that the 'big limb' remains strong enough to hold me and my sometimes-crazy opinions.

And one more valentine

Tonight was my community pool's annual water-running marathon. If you've never done water-running, you can click here for a set of simple instructions. Those directions specify that you need a flotation device. I guess I'm weird, because I never wear one, even though the water-running I do is in water that's 12 feet deep. I'm naturally buoyant, so a belt just feels like an encumbrance.
Anyway, we did a two-hour run tonight, with three staff from the pool (Theo, Alexandra and Auriel) taking turns in leading us onward.I'll admit that halfway through, I jumped out for the teensiest minute -- just so I could take a picture of a few of the people who participated in this fundraising event for the Heart and Stroke Foundation.
I'm happy to say that I raised $495. Of course, I couldn't have done that without support from the many people who sponsored me with pledges. Big 'heartfelt' thanks to Rosemary, George, Lisa, Janny, Ruth, Barbara, Jeremy, Brenna, Gord, Lew, and Mary!

A Valentine's Day Treat

When I went to the library this afternoon, I wandered into the kids' section. Lucky thing, as hidden over on that side of the room was a display cabinet full of the most perfect bits of needlework.
Looking more closely, I saw that these were all done by a woman I used to work with. What a treat, Hiltrud, to run into these beautiful examples of your art. Even though it wasn't intentional, these felt like a very special Valentine's gift. And way less fattening than chocolate. Thank you!

Typo?

This just in from The Vancouver Sun:

WHISTLER - If every Olympic torch is supposed to say something about the country in which its Games are being held, then the torch for the Vancouver 2010
Games says cold, bright, expansive and snowy.

Shouldn't that third-last word be 'expensive'?

Letter from my mother

Well, not exactly. It's more like a fragment of something written by my mother, Carole -- a page I found after her death, when we were sorting things in boxes. Her words gave me a concrete tag to write a eulogy around. This is what she wrote:

“Today is February 8th and still another new snow has fallen – barely covering the icy packed-down dirty snows of several weeks. And this new snow, however thin, has worked its usual little miracle and sort of covered things over, wiping the slate clean – giving us once more a new beginning, a new day, still another new chance to make it all a little better. So that’s the kind of day it is today and I am hopeful. Not with that wild impossible kind of hope I used to have, but hopeful all the same. My mind goes back to a day in late March in 1933.”

It's too bad that the page ended there -- and that there wasn't another one to follow it. I wonder what that March day in 1933 might have been like. The Depression would have been in full swing, and my mother would have been six. For a day to lodge so long in her mind, it must have been a pretty special memory.

Especially when one considers what her life must have been like back then. It was a time of economic hardships most of us have probably only learned about from textbooks. But Carole and her brother and sisters lived those hardships day by day.

Yet those childhood hardships shaped her, contributing to the person she became. And I believe they taught her to always appreciate whatever blessings happened her way. And to treasure whatever wonderful memorable events might occur, including whatever it was that was so special about that day in March of 1933.

At the end of the eulogy, I challenged those present to honour my mother's memory by heeding the words she'd written. I asked them to go out each day, seeking little miracles, making fresh starts, pursuing new chances -- and most of all by doing their best, as she wrote, to ‘make it all a little better.’ And that remains my challenge to anyone who might read this. Because that's the kind of day today is -- one where I too feel a sense of hope -- just the way my mother did on that other 8th of February when she jotted down her impressions of the day.



The photo, probably from around the time of that special day in March, is of my mother visiting her dad at the hospital where he was destined to spend a number of years.

Fun with poems

One of the highlights of my week was a workshop I presented to students in grades four and five. They were full of great questions and were more than willing to try the several odd assignments I gave them. Here's one student working on "I'm silly," a poem about the mood she was feeling,
I especially like her line, "Not like jumping on a chair with a whoopee cushion on it."
Whee! If only we could all be so free in expressing ourselves!

I reckon we've made it

When I drove past this field and saw the farmer out there on his tractor, turning over all that rich, black soil, I just knew it -- once again, we've made it through the winter. It's spring!

Superb Owl

Once again, today is the magical day that comes but once a year -- the day Superb Owl rises into the air, granting the wishes of boys and girls and women and men across the world. Sound familiar?

The wikipedia entry for The Great Pumpkin sees "...Linus's belief in the Great Pumpkin as symbolic of the struggles faced by anyone with beliefs or practices that are not shared by the majority." Since the keeper of this blog often falls into the same minority category as Linus, it seems appropriate for me to be a follower of Superb Owl.

But because I also truly love the music from the Charlie Brown series, I'm suggesting you click on this link to a video of Charlie Brown and the Great Pumpkin. If you're very good, and if you don't blink when you're at the 2:15 mark, you'll get a quick glimpse of Superb Owl, rising into the air, on his rounds to grant our wishes. Wish well!

A murder of crows?

I've always disliked that particular collective noun. But then, that might be because I like crows. For one thing, they're smart. For another, they're always so nice and shiny.

I've been trying to think of a better name for a group of them. When I see crows near a garbage bin, I think a plunder might suit them. But then, hearing a huge number of them, as in the video below (shades of The Birds), I consider the word cacophony. A cacophony of crows -- it even sounds cacophonous. But since crows aren't always loud, that might be nearly as unfair as murder. How about a riddle of crows?

I don't think they get it

And by 'it' I mean poverty or even living on the edge. By 'they' I mean Canada's Conservative Party.

I listened to Jim Flaherty's presentation of the budget. It covered a number of issues the Conservatives don't always seem to address -- employment insurance, social housing, and even plans for tax relief on home renovations. I also heard them talk about developing high-speed Internet access as an aspect of building infrastructure.

So what were some of their ideas that seemed like their heads were in the clouds?

I think they're naive in thinking that very many first-time home buyers will be helped by being allowed to withdraw $25,000 from their RRSP funds rather than the current $20,000 permitted. Heck, I'm a home-owner and I don't even have (nor never did have) as much as $20k in my RRSP. If you're poor (and I'm not any more), both of those numbers are an impossible amount.

When they talked about tax-relief on home renovations, they had to throw in the idea of building 'a deck' -- not quite the same thing as replacing a furnace that doesn't work any more. Or even better, renovating 'the cottage'. Nice, if you're one of those families who have a cottage. But I'd like to know just what percentage of Canadians that really means. I'm certainly not a part of that bunch -- and of all my many friends, I only know two who qualify.

But the thing I found most interesting was the changes on income tax for the lowest-paid earners. It sounds as if the base amounts will be raised and that basic exemptions will be increased. While I wholeheartedly support these actions, the ineffective part is the fact that these changes will go into effect retroactive only to January 1, 2009.

If they were serious about stimulating the economy now, when it really needs a push-start, they'd make these initiatives take effect January 1, 2008. This would put a bit of extra money in people's pockets almost immediately. To me at least, that's an idea that would make a lot of dollars and sense.

New beginnings

Today feels like a day of new beginnings. It's the first day of the Lunar New Year. This, the Year of the Ox carries the promise of living up to the famous Chinese curse: May you live in interesting times. Interesting too is the fact that Barack Obama's sign on the Chinese zodiac is Ox. Feels auspicious!

It's also the day our Canadian government gets back down to business, after the too-long hiatus brought about by the proroguing of Parliament.

And on the other side of the world, it's Australia Day That day not only marks the country's birthday, it's the traditional end of summmer. Once the fireworks are over and the pavlovas are eaten, it will be the start of the school year.

Prose Poem Workshop

To some, the idea of a 'prose poem' might sound oxymoronic. To those of us who attended Jen Currin's workshop today, we're feeling a lot more convinced of the genre's legitimacy.

Currin led us through a condensed history of the form and offered many fine examples of a range of these works. She also gave several excellent exercises, all of which reinforced concepts she'd helped us discuss.

Participants praised Currin's presentation, with comments on how informative the session with remarks such as 'Awesome!' -- and the one I thought summed up the day the best, 'Much learning happened here.'

As you can see from the photo, besides learning a lot, we had a great time.

Jen Currin reads in WR

Vancouver poet Jen Currin was the Community Arts Council's first reader for its 2009 series of literary readings.

Besides reading from her two books, The Sleep of Four Cities (Anvil Press) and Hagiography (Coach House), she read a number of works in progress. These pieces, called 'Chronicles' really engaged her listeners.

Currin was gracious enough to answer all the questions posed by the audience and signed many autographs, leaving this Friday night crowd very satisfied.

Saved by Obama

At the beginning of his term, Barack Obama has announced that the dreaded prison at Guantanamo will shut down. One of the ramifications of this announcement is that the military tribunal for Omar Khadr will be suspended.

A few things to consider: How many years has Omar Khadr been kept in Guantanamo? He's 22 now, and he's been there since he was 15. He remains the only citizen of a Western country still there. Australia and the U.K. got their nationals out years ago. But not not our Steve Harper.

That landscape we usually see from our beach is Washington state. Often, the fact that border's so close makes me nervous. Today, shrouded in fog, it looks much too far away.

Yet another irony

This is supposed to be the day when Hope takes over after too many years of letting ourselves be ruled by Fear. Even this rock down on the beach looks to be in agreement.

Yet today, when so many people are celebrating the cause of freedom and new beginnings, our Canadian government plans to start deporting a number of American soldiers who sought refuge in our midst. These are people who stood up for their principles, who didn't want to do battle in a war they couldn't believe in. Only this Canada of 2009 is sending them back to the U.S.

This despite the fact that Parliament dealt with a motion last June (yes, more than half a year ago) that would allow objectors and resisters to stay here.

Anyone on Facebook might be interested in seeking out the group called 'War Resister Action: Let Them Stay Week'. They've outlined a number of measures we can participate in to show our distaste for this current stance. Truly, I am embarrassed over this lapse in understanding who we are and what Canada has always stood for -- right back to the days of the Underground Railway.

A book for Obama

Today I received a notice listing Barack Obama's favourite books. It was quite a mix, and included a John Steinbeck I'd never even heard of, In Dubious Battle. Also mentioned was the poetry of Derek Walcott, but happiest of all, I think, is the fact that he's read all seven Harry Potter books.

I've got a book I think he would like. It's called 47 and it's all about the meaning of freedom. It's a first-person account of being a slave, but it moves well beyond historical fiction.

That's even the age Obama is, 47.

What were they thinking?

Yesterday’s Vancouver Sun contained a tiny report from the U.K.

“Three retired military officials” were discussing the use of nuclear weapons and, in particular, Britain’s Trident defence system. According to the report, they called the system “… ‘completely useless’ against modern threats.” They were quoted as going on to say that “…it was ‘unthinkable’ that Britain would launch nuclear weapons…” And to that, I thought, ‘Hurrah!’

Unfortunately, their statement didn’t end after the word weapons. It went on to include the rider “…without the support of the U.S.”

Really, how is it that anyone is still even considering the use of nuclear weapons – under any circumstances?

Doubt

The film, that is. Although yes, there's much that could be said about the concept of doubt itself: the ultimate underminer of self.

Although there were a few glitches (aren't there always) in this version, the portrayal of the nuns felt chillingly accurate. Just as Meryl Streep 's character (Sister Aloysius) does, too many nuns in my life seemed to do their best to make almost everything sinful, especially if it was easy or fun.

Really, they must have stayed up late, collectively working up new sins to dump on our heads, giving us more to lie awake and worry about going to hell over. I remember a few who would have loved Sister Aloysius's aversion to ballpoint pens. I'm sure they'd have backed her up by extolling the obscenity of their in-and-out action. See, they've still got me!

Hosers Down Under

Another trip to Australia keeps coming up as food for conversation. And now Tourism Queensland has created a job that sounds like exactly the way to go -- working as caretaker on Hamilton Island on the Barrier Reef. Already, there are thousands of applicants, but that won't stop us from dreaming -- or applying.

Wow, I can see it now...

Hungry for spring

It's been bugging me since the new year began -- I'm ready for spring. I can't remember ever being quite so antsy for it. Maybe it's just all that snow we had.

It probably didn't help looking through old photos from Hornby after Billy Little died. Some of them were of springtime there -- buds bursting open on trees, the ground practically tearing itself apart with all the shoots coming up.

So what have I done, but bought myself a few little $1.99 bits of wonder: a hyacinth (with triple blossom no less!), a primula in cheeriest pink, and some magical mini-irises. A little bit of spring in the house on a day that's really still winter.

Jian Jun An

Thursday evening was the Community Arts Council Gallery's opening for January's featured artist, Jian Jun An. That's him below, standing in front of his painting.

Because both of these images depict birds, you might think his paintings are all focused on nature. But in fact, the work is quite diverse in both subject and style; these just happened to be two of my favourites.

Even though there aren't any people in the painting, the piece above makes me think of Andrew Wyeth. Something about the same rolling line of the fields...

Orthodox Christmas

Today is the day when part of the world celebrates Christmas. If you read the article embedded in 'Christmas' you'll see that the Orthodox calendar has other interesting elements to it.

I like their belief that the new year begins on the first of September. That date always feels like a new start somehow. And wouldn't New Year's Eve be much more fun on the warm and still-light evening of August 31st?

So, how will I observe this second chance at Christmas? Probably by taking down the last of the decorations and putting them away for another year, even the little angel who looks as though she's being blinded by the sun.

Thankfully, the snow is finally melting, but here's a link to a poem called 'Snow' -- a cooperative effort, based on contributions from many poets (including me), compiled by Ursula Vaire and the women who run Leaf Press.

Billy Little, 1943-2009

If I'd been able to be on Hornby Island today, I would have been attending a memorial for Billy Little, a one-of-a-kind poet.

No one can deny it -- he lived an eccentric life, one guided by the Muse. He was opposed to war and other military actions and spoke against them with great conviction.

Although he published numerous chapbooks, the only book I know he left us is St. Ink: Selected Poems, published by Capilano University Editions.

Whenever I was on Hornby, I'd run into Billy somewhere -- sometimes at the bookstore, often at the recycling depot, but most usually in amongst folks gathered at the outdoor market. Sadly, like Billy, the market no longer exists, though this photo of it does.


As my friend Lesley reminded me, Billy wore wonderful hats. One of her favourites was a hat that looked like a toucan. Who else but Billy could get away with such gear!

He lived as a poet, down to the final crossed T. And I can only say good on him for outlasting all the medical system's predictions and making it to 2009.

49 Songs for Obama

Monday the CBC is starting an all-Canadian music search. They're looking for 49 songs representing those of us who live north of the 49th Parallel. The 'winners' will go into a playlist for Obama that will supposedly be presented to him on January 20th, the day he's inaugurated as President of the U.S.

I've got a few ideas for songs I think he'd like, or maybe just ones he should listen to. Some are likely obvious, others maybe not so much.

Neil Young 's "Rockin' in the Free World".

Almost anybody's version of Leonard Cohen's beautiful anthem, "Hallelujah", but preferably Lenny's own or k.d. lang's.

And you couldn't skip the Tragically Hip. Lots of candidates for songs here, but I have to nominate my fave, "Ahead by a Century".

From here on the West Coast, I nominate Wyckham Porteous for "Deep into the Water" -- a place that Obama's certainly stepping.

For fun, the compilation should include Leslie Feist singing "1234".

Think the new Mr. Prez could use a shot of humility? He could try the Barenaked Ladies' "Celebrity". Or for that matter, if he wants to offer a recipe for the economy, how about their "Shopping" song? Or even better, "If I had a million dollars".

If you want to know more -- or better yet, you want to get a vote in, here's a link to the CBC's 49 Songs site.

And if Barack is going to understand Canada better, which songs do you suggest for him?

Polar Bears in White Rock

Yesterday we strolled down the beach to watch the noonday Polar Bear Swim, an annual New Year's Day tradition. Crazy as ever, they made quite a splash!

Welcome to the MMIX, aka twenty-oh-nine

Here we've arrived at the last of the single digit add-ons to the twenty-first century and we still don't seem sure what we're calling this decade.

The 'two-oughts' seems awkward. Nobody says 'ought' anymore. The 'two-ohs' doesn't do it either -- sounds more like something from Roman times. More like CCIX than MMIX.

My vote's for calling this decade the twenty-ohs. And it won't be long (365 days) until we begin the twenty-tens.

But until it's time for wishing a happy new decade, I'll stick with plain old Happy New Year.

Word of the Year for 2008

I've been reading bits from here and there about what the Word of the Year might be.

Of those I've read about, I like staycation (a vacation that doesn't involve travel) and monumentous -- a great hybrid if ever there was one.

But my candidate -- at least for its arrival as a completely new word (I bet I'm not alone in this admission) is what happened to our Parliament: prorogue.


I'm also partial to the new significance that tossing one's shoes has taken on -- not just what you do when you walk in the door.

Happy Last Day of 2008.

Two more soldiers

...Roberge and Kruse. More names to be added to the list of Canadians killed while on duty in Afghanistan. There's a horrible double or maybe even triple irony in their deaths.

They'd noticed what appeared to be a device and called for help, so by rights, shouldn't have been killed by one.

Their deaths occurred while their comrade's body was being flown home to Canada. His corpse was on the same plane as Minister of Defence, Peter MacKay. During that long flight home, did MacKay have second thoughts about our role in Afghanistan?

And that soldier, riding in his flag-draped coffin, had one of the saddest names a fallen soldier could have, Freeman.