On the road for Spring!

It's officially been spring for about half an hour, but the wind blowing in off the bay doesn't feel terribly springlike. Still, I'm not complaining. I'm toasty warm and happy.

We set out on our road trip last Tuesday, but spent much of Wednesday with our travelling home, 'The Rattler', up in the air. Because it was a matter of warranty, at least it didn't cost anything but time.

Two days at Harrison Hot Springs made our shoulders go down, especially the lolling about in the mineral pools there.

Crossing the border was a bit of a nightmare, but once we were across, things were smooth sailing. The photo at the top of this page was taken at one of our stops, Deception Pass in Washington state. The bridge is apparently 270 feet above the water -- in other words, a very l o n g way down.

Highway 20 led us to the ferry that brought us to Port Townsend, where we're camped about 30 feet from the shore. The big moon last night (apparently the closest the moon has been to earth in 18 years) was a sight to behold, coming up over the bay, a ball of orange.

The sounds here are wonderful, especially for sleeping: waves lapping the beach, a bell-buoy out on the bay, and today, of course, those blustery gusts announcing the arrival of spring. A great place for recharging our personal 'batteries' as it's time to set this journey into motion.

On the road, sort of...

Well, this is the day we embarked on our North American road tour.

What with delays of one sort and another (thank you, VISA, for the boring tunes while I was on hold for what felt like all morning), we didn't make it very far today.

Still, with the weather misbehaving, we're just happy we aren't sleeping in a tent. Instead, we're cozy (and crazy as ever) in our travelling home on wheels (see two posts ago, scroll to bottom for a view of it).

Not a very exciting start, but nonetheless, a start. But if you want to follow along, click here. Onward!

100 years

Apparently, that's the anniversary we're celebrating this International Women's Day.

I'm prompted to write because I just saw a story element on tv that made me think of myself. A woman is remarking at the tragedy of a young woman (unmarried) having a baby, having that mean she'll not get a degree.

But that was my story: having a baby, then another (!) and then deciding, as a single parent, to go back to school. Couldn't have done it without the example (going back to school at 50) of an important woman in my life, my mother, Carole.

A week for arts and crafts

The arts are finally starting to get some attention out here in the 'burbs where I live. This week saw the City of Surrey hosting a forum on the arts and heritage. As always, there were aspects of the invited participants that made it feel incomplete: almost nobody under 50, nearly everyone pale winter white (not at all representative of the multicultural mix that is Surrey), and the usual, self-congratulatory lip-service over 'exciting new plans'. Yeah.

Still, I'm glad the conversation's occurring. More of same in White Rock on Monday for anyone with an opinion who'd care to be heard.

On Thursday night, Semiahmoo Arts once again lived up to its name by offering a free event featuring more one kind of 'art'. There was a free-to-the public viewing of a new exhibition of photographic art and music from the Soul of the World Multicultural Choir, led by local singer Heidi McCurdy. The gallery was packed for this month's three-man show and, happily, a number of items sold.

As for the crafts part of the week, not what you might expect. Aside from a big report being released in the U.K. on crafts that have always fascinated me, UFOs, there's a landcraft currently sitting in our driveway, waiting for us to embark on our crazy North American Tour. Look out, Kansas -- we're comin' soon!

Not the easiest of months

But then, since when is February easy?

The beginning of the month saw the Dear Man getting on a plane and flying back east to visit his mother, who was very ill.

Then, last Sunday, we received news of her death.

Today is the anniversary of my father's death. It's almost impossible to think that it's been 21 years.

Maybe there's a reason February's the shortest month.

Freedom to Read (and Write) Week

This year's Freedom to Read Week runs (officially) from February 20th to February 26th.

Once again, Marion Quednau and friends will be reading from 'challenged' materials.

Of special concern this year has been the many new forms of censorship we are seeing. A CRTC ruling saw radio stations 'bleeping' the Dire Straits hit, "Money for Nothing" for its inclusion of the word 'faggot'. And while I'm the first person to complain when the word 'gay' is used as an insult -- really, a song from so long ago seems a bit like the revisionist version of Huckleberry Finn that's been in the news. Besides, if you want to get down to it, Knopfler's song includes the term 'chicks' in what could certainly be construed as a derogatory manner -- 'chicks for free' -- come on. And heck, the dirtiest word of all is also in there: 'money'.

But much more frightening is the censorship going on in the Middle East, the blackouts that occurred in Egypt and now in Libya.

Every week needs to be a time for Freedom to Read -- and write.

A case of (too many) good intentions

Here it is, over halfway through the week, more than halfway through the month, and I'm feeling more than half-behind in things I've meant to do (and post!).

I’ve had Internet problems all day, making everything take nearly twice as long, not even accounting for the ff (frustration factor) of losing stuff -- and waiting, waiting, waiting.

But trying again, intent with good intentions.

I had a photo I'd taken and saved especially for Valentine's, even found an article about writing a love poem I intended to use. Oh, sigh.

And it seemed a natural follow-up from the last posting, on Walk Myself Home, to write about the Women's Memorial March held on Monday.

Then, getting fluffier in my thinking, this big blue machine by the name of Watson showed up on Jeopardy! At least at this point, here in the Pacific Time Zone, where we haven't yet seen tonight's show, Watson is beating the proverbial pants off his competitors, Ken Jennings and Brad Rutter.

While it's impressive to see Watson's comprehension of 'natural language' it's crummy seeing two such brainy humans getting slapped around so badly by a bank (okay, banks and banks) of microprocessors (or whatever they are). Both Ken Jennings and Brad Rutter have earned payouts in the millions, but it looks as though neither of them stands a chance against Watson. And I suspect it's largely a matter of who can buzz in the fastest. Hands down (as there are no ‘hands’ involved), when it comes to speedy reflexes, the winner is going to be Watson.

One thing Watson has made me think about is Robert J. Sawyer's www trilogy -- okay, only two are out so far, Wake and Watch -- but it's hard not to think Sawyer's vision (those who have read these will know what I mean) could indeed be soon to come true.

A time for change

Last night, a friend and I went in to Vancouver, to attend an event celebrating a remarkable new book, Walk Myself Home.

The venue, the Carnegie Community Centre, certainly felt right. It's a heritage building that, like the sign above says, serves as the heart of the community.

Early evening, and the building seemed packed. People were gathered around tables, playing cards or mah-jong; several quieter tables focused on chess. Moving to the library, nearly every seat was taken, heads bent to books or taking notes.

But back to the reading, that took place in the centre’s theatre.

Readers offered short memoirs, poems, even an account of a court challenge with long-lasting benefits to victims of abuse. Although the event was sponsored by the Vancouver Public Library, the setting was anything but library-like.

Hosted by Elee Kraljii Gardiner, who runs a Thursday afternoon creative writing program at the Centre, she spoke of how the book’s contributors have formed their own community – providing accommodation and meals for out-of-town contributors, supporting each other in many ways.

I’m sure I’m speaking for everyone who attended when I say that we felt included in the circle of communities this book has engendered.

I especially loved the fact that most of the questions at the end came from men. And that with the questions came thanks and other hopeful words.

As the book’s subtitle explains, Walk Myself Home is “an anthology to end violence against women.” I’d like to believe that the ‘end’ part of that phrase is correct and coming true.

On the trail of truth

Today is the Sunday I traditionally honour the creature I call the Superb Owl. This year's pursuit took a much different track, as I went to a place where owls actually live.

I took part in a hike that followed the aptly named Witness Trail. The trail, created by a troupe of volunteers, attempts to follow the route of a proposed freeway, part of a project referred to as Gateway. This roadway (really, I can't call it a freeway, as at least its bridge component will be tolled, and not 'free' at all) is one that many of us believe is ill-advised, especially for the sensitive habitat it will destroy.

The Witness Trail meanders along the Fraser River and an area known as Surrey Bend. This undiked floodplain is an area containing both wetland and forest, and is home to many species whose habitat is now threatened. The beavers have been doing their best, busily rebuilding their dams, but how will the birds rebuild the towering trees?

Despite recent activity that appears to be full-steam-ahead, the South Fraser Perimeter Road is being challenged in a lawsuit for violating endangered species and environmental assessment laws.

The snowdrops aren't yet open, but they are persisting. Like the snowdrops pushing up from under the cover of winter's soggy leaves, this issue must come out of the darkness of secrecy and into the eyes of the public. Because, as the Gateway Sucks website reminds us, "It's not a done deal. We can do better."

For more insight, take a listen to what Ben from The Wilderness Committee had to say while we were out in what remains of the forest today.

Year of the bunny

Okay, not the year of the bunny, it's the year of the rabbit. The metal rabbit, if you want to get fussy.

Since I didn't have a metal bunny (er, rabbit) hanging around, you'll have to make do with a photo of a real, live one. Taken last October in a nearby park.

Bunny. Rabbit. Whichever you prefer, it's apparently supposed to be a calmer year than last. We'll see, eh.

In the meantime, Gung Hei Fat Choi!

A place for art

Just about everywhere I've looked the past few days has been a place where some kind of art is staring back at me. The painting, by Genevieve Pfeiffer, is a recent splurge. Some people fall for clothes or shoes or jewellery. With me, it's books and small pieces of art.


Friday was an opening at a gallery in Vancouver. Two of my closest pals compare notes on one of the photos in the show.


Saturday was supper (its own work of another-kind-of-art) at the home of an artist friend. The tour of his studio served as a second dessert. While in that very magical space, my friend and I talked about how interesting it always is to see what people hang on the walls in their homes.

What do you suppose the art in your home says about you? And really, isn't every place a place for art!

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...