Rings? Or chains?

The last few days have seen the high-alert mentality around the 2010 Olympics go into a mode that only be called bizarre.

B.C. entrepreneur Wil Tarnasky was taken to task by Canadian Olympic Committee for an image on his heat product,Toasterz. Apparently, the flame on the packet looks altogether too much like the flame on the Olympic torch. This story sure makes it look as though these ad-police have altogether too much time on their hands.

And then, earlier today, American broadcaster Amy Goodman was detained at the Canadian border. Although she was scheduled to speak in Vancouver about health care, border guards apparently challenged her on whether she was going to talk about the Olympics.

If she hadn't planned on doing so, you can bet she will now, and likely will continue to do so once she gets home to her radio show, "Democracy Now!"

Today it was also reported that the City of Vancouver has, as a result of public pressure, backed down on some of its bylaws controlling protest during the Olympics.

Although I try to make a point of not picturing or promoting brand-name products, I'm wondering how much longer I'll be permitted to eat my favourite brand of yogourt.

Renovating -- a reality check

This is what happens when you have to move everything out of two rooms and into some other part of the house. One of the joys of renovating.

If you look above the top of the wicker chair, you'll spot an 'open' cardboard box that looks something like a dollhouse. That's our working/planning model for what will go where. Because I'm the more anal member of our pairing, I also have a to-scale version on graph paper, with the pieces of furniture on bits of sticky notes so I can move them around.

I bet you can guess what I want for Christmas this year -- for this to have magically gone back into its new space!

An anniversary

Rhona McAdam is one of my favourite poets. When it comes to turning ordinary words into something else, I think she's about the best.

Consider this, from her poem, "Anniversary"

It’s been a mother since my year has died,
a clutch of grey hairs, a loosening of skin.
Each day I move closer to you, the sound
of my own voice hums in my bones, a family sound.

And yes, today is the first anniversary of my own mother's death. When I thought about what to write today, I couldn't help thinking of Rhona's poem. There is nothing complicated about any one of the words. The biggest word in there is ‘loosening’. But put the words together, and they make up more than simple sentences. We know about the poet’s mother’s dementia, understand that the poet herself is dealing with aging, yet she never has to say these things directly. The arrangement of these simple words leads us to those understandings. To me, that is what constitutes the magic of poetry.

Being remembered by those who love us may be the truest immortality any of us has a right to. By honouring my mother today, I hope I'm giving a bit back to her. The little shrine I made includes treats I've pulled out of the freezer, ones I've saved for such an occasion as today -- Christmas cookies. Why? Because my mother, Carole, was born on December 25th, a date that sadly isn't even noted on the place where her body rests (rules -- but this isn't a time to get me going on bureaucracies).

In closing, one more stanza from Rhona's poem, which by the way is taken from Cartography (Oolichan Books, 2006):

It's been a mother since my year has died,
a hot, dry mother, a cold snow and rain
and now wind, wind as we've seldom seen it
tearing the leaves from the trees and howling.

Oddly, this has been a week of wild winds, ones that have made me concerned for all the trees that live in our yard. I hope, when those predicted winds rise again tonight, my mother will be amongst them, singing.

An Open Letter to Carole James

Yesterday I learned that a committee headed by MLA Doug Donaldson had spoken out unanimously to reinstate funding to the arts and culture. I was elated, especially when I realized this committee consisted of MLAs from both the opposition and from the governing Liberals, the very party that appears to be behind the recent drastic cuts.

And then the second part of the story came through. Because the HST wasn’t part of the package, you were saying No to the whole thing.

This sounds a little like the diehard vegetarian who turns down a Thanksgiving invitation from her estranged family because she doesn’t eat turkey. Rather than saying yes and simply not taking a chunk of meat, she misses out on the mashed potatoes, the Brussels sprouts, the rest of the trimmings – even the pie. But even more so, by turning down the invitation, she misses the chance to regroup with people who are important to her.

The recent slashes to budgets have been downright mean, affecting sectors already running at bare-bones levels. More frighteningly, the cuts have looked like government-by-backroom-schemes rather than legislative decisions. Even the Feds, through comments by Heritage Minister James Moore, have questioned the economic sense of these massive reductions in funding.

Yet when the opportunity arises to join with fellow MLAs to speak out on this important issue, you seem to think it’s a good idea to just say No.

I’m sure I’m not the only one who wonders just how many of these cuts have been dreamed up – not by the Liberal Party as a whole – but by Campbell, his ego, and the members of his innermost circle.

I’m sure there must be many MLAs, Liberals included, who have been horrified by the cuts and are at a loss when it comes to defending the decisions to their constituents.

So it was very exciting to learn that a group of MLAs – especially ones elected under the banner of Campbell’s party – were willing to speak out in such a way.

Only what did you do? Rather than rolling up your sleeves and saying Let’s pull together and clean up this mess, you jumped on your high-horse and said No. Sure, it might have meant holding your nose to work with those you’ve cast as your opponents, but then this mess is a lot like a backed-up plumbing problem. To clean it up, everybody’s going to have to hold their nose until it’s fixed.

I suspect the only way my message might register with you is to say that by taking this non-action, you’ve probably lost even more votes for your party.

But the real issue here isn’t about winning or losing votes. It’s about seeing that the people of British Columbia start getting government that represents all of us, that it isn’t just government by the rich and for the rich. It’s about seeing that the people of British Columbia can count on our MLAs to speak out on our behalf. even when it might require some nose-holding to achieve a common good.

How disappointing, Carole James. You’ve turned down an opportunity that might have led to real change.

Remembering

Just before 11:00 this morning, I turned on the radio to see what sort of acknowledgement of Remembrance Day there might be. As I'd expected, there was a bugler as well as a piper playing the traditional mournful songs, but most striking was listening to the moment of silence. Not the usual 'sound' one expects from the radio.

The photo above shows a replica of World War I's famous Sopwith Camel, a structure that was on display in our local mall as part of Veterans' Week. As you can imagine, it drew quite a lot of attention.

This is also another of the many days when I remember my dad, who piloted a bomber in World War II. Like so many men who fought, he rarely spoke of his experiences in the war.

And there's another person I always remember on this day -- a man who not only spoke about his war experiences but who wrote about them -- Kurt Vonnegut. Ironically, his birthday was November 11th. I couldn't help thinking of Vonnegut earlier this week, when I ran across a YouTube posting of an ice cube being subjected to heat but not melting. It worried me, as it sounded much too much like Vonnegut's Ice-9, the material that debuted in his Cat's Cradle.

Taking a positive step for the Arts

Today saw a diverse group of artists gather for an Open Space forum. Our goal? To formulate answers to the day’s guiding question, What will grow and sustain our local arts community?

The day's gathering was sponsored by the City of White Rock, but drew artists in many genres from well beyond the boundaries of the city.

For a change, despite all the doom-and-gloom cutbacks we’ve seen to the arts here in BC, I think all of us left with the feeling that things are going to improve.

As one of the visual artists in attendance envisioned it, she showed us her painting of a bud ready to burst. She followed that with a second piece -- blossoming into this vibrant display.

99 bottles of beer??

Nope, this time it’s 99 days. Days remaining in the countdown to Vancouver’s 2010 Olympics.

Probably the first marathon tv-viewing I did was the hours I spent in front of the screen watching the Olympics. I remember taking a shovel out into the snow and clearing off a little frozen stream near our house so I could have a place to practise figure skating without an audience to laugh at me. When it came to the Olympics, I was a believer.

And now the Olympics is coming to a city near me. Considering all the security precautions and anticipated scenarios, that may be a city too near me.

It’s hard to get excited about something that appears to have had so many negative effects on anyone who isn’t among the elite – the only ones who seem able to afford the pricey tickets.
This photo is just one of the panels on a truck I drove past yesterday. Although the point they’re making concerns our coming Harmonized Sales Tax (again, something that looks as though it will only benefit big corporations, the already-wealthy), the visual pretty much sums up the many cuts to social services, education and the arts that are occurring on a daily basis here in B.C.

Which way to the witch's party?

Welcome! What are you doing for fun tonight?

With hopes that it's a Happy Halloween, and with thanks to my friend Ella for the terrific sign.

Almost-Halloween pumpkins

Yesterday, in the produce shop, a woman started telling me about how her brother back east raises pumpkins and sells them – not as we do here, by weight – but straight-up for two dollars each. That got both of us to thinking about Halloween pumpkins and how most of us just carve ’em as decorations for the big night, then chuck them into the compost (or worse, into the garbage). Our conversation encouraged me to find a better way of conserving those contents this year.

And then, this morning I started wondering about why we use pumpkins at Halloween. While a number of sites mentioned deals with the devil, the story that most appealed to me was the one claiming carved “…lanterns represented the souls of the departed loved ones and were placed in windows or set on porches to welcome the deceased.”

Because this is the week our family observes the death dates of two beloved grandmothers, this is the explanation I choose to believe. Then sadly, on last night’s news I learned that yet another Canadian soldier has died in Afghanistan.

I think I’ll have to get one more pumpkin for our door.

350 events

The signs are everywhere. This one's from Granville Island, under one of Vancouver's bridges.

Vancouver had an event on another bridge.

And then there were the 350 poems.

A day of observances

Every year I make a point of attending at least one of the many sessions offered at the Vancouver International Readers' and Writers' Festival. Despite the rains, I headed into the city and was well-rewarded for my efforts with a stimulating session featuring several interesting writers.

But looking back, a much more important part of the day was a side trip I took to the core of the Downtown East Side. I went to the First United Church, the place where U.S. war resister Rodney Watson has taken sanctuary in hopes of not being deported and likely imprisoned in America.

We spoke for a little while, and he confirmed that when he'd joined the U.S. military, it had been with the understanding that he'd serve as a cook. When that turned out to not be the case -- and when they tried to extend his contract and send him for a second tour of duty to Iraq, he deserted and came to Vancouver.

I've written to our government before, recommending compassion for war resisters. My local MP, to give him credit, has at least replied -- but with legalese gobbledygoop as excuses -- despite the fact that the very Parliament (of which he's a member) has passed two previous motions suggesting that war resisters once again (as in Vietnam days) be permitted entry. Currently, there is a private member's bill even more specific to this issue.

There's a twist to all of this -- one that only dawned on me as I was getting off the bus near the church. Today is the anniversary of my receiving my own Canadian citizenship. Heck, they let me stay, and the fact of that made me feel both embarrassed and ashamed about Rodney's predicament.

I'm very glad I got to spend a bit of time with Rodney -- particularly on such a significant day. I had tears in my eyes when he hugged me. He was awaiting a call from Ron Kovic, the Vietnam vet who wrote Born on the 4th of July. All I can hope is that Kovic will have some good ideas to help Rodney Watson and the rest of the war resisters be heard.

Weekend at Trauma Farm

For a while there, I’d thought a gathering of seven women would dispel any aura of trauma at the farm where our friends live. But darn it, the name caught up to us after all.

First it was the bodum imploding for no apparent cause. One minute it was resting on the counter while the flavours seeped through the water; next thing, it was weeping coffee everywhere from a sudden long crack in the glass.

The bigger trauma was the discovery of two dead chickens – hens, at that, cutting into the supply of those golden-yolked eggs. One of the worst parts was the fact that the hens hadn’t even been eaten by their killer. Only their heads were gone.

As the weekend went on, the traumas continued. Another hen lost her head to our uninvited guest, apparently a mink. Believe me, if we’d have caught him, I’d have been wanting to make a couple of swish coats for Barbie.

And, oh yes, a purse disappeared. The purse at least held nothing of much value – a bit of cash and a lipstick, no documents or credit cards.


Still, I’m glad that our home has a much milder name – no trauma or even drama to live up to.

Just the fax, ma'am

The following is a message sent to Premier Gordon Campbell, with copies to several members of his cabinet, as well as to my local MLA.

I hope you will do what you can to speak out about this horror.

To Premier Gordon Campbell:

This isn’t a matter of party lines. It’s a matter of promises made to the people of the province – promises broken and ground underfoot.

It’s a matter of commitments. And it’s a matter of tossing those commitments aside and delivering the message with a phone call that says you’re toast.

It’s a failure to live up to the groundwork that’s been laid over years, groundwork that has helped BC’s publishing industry grow into what it is today.

What used to be a faint western echo to publishing in Toronto has become a force to be reckoned with. Just look at the names of all those BC authors and publishers on the current list of finalists for prizes across the country, including the most esteemed of all, the Governor General’s Awards.

Government is quick to say that business is the basis of our economy. Publishing is a business, a business that represents our province in a powerful way. So, why should the agencies fostering and promoting this business have their funding yanked away?

The current situation is simply unacceptable.

Restore full funding to BC Bookworld, to the Association of Book Publishers of BC and to the British Columbia Association of Magazine Publishers. The work these groups do is vital to the health of the publishing industry in our province – and vital to the cause of literacy and to ensuring British Columbians can read the stories that matter most to us.

Heidi Greco

cc: Kit Krueger
Rich Coleman
Colin Hansen
Gordon Hogg

Does this look like a lethal weapon?

Apparently, RCMP officers in Vancouver thought it did.

It’s two years today since Robert Dziekanski died at YVR after being Tasered. He’d arrived hours earlier from Poland, but because he didn’t speak English, he wasn’t able to adequately ask for assistance. When he became agitated, the police were called to help deal with him. Then, shortly after their arrival, Dziekanski was dead. It seems police had reacted to Dziekanski's picking up a stapler and waving it in their direction.

Fortunately, this is a digital age, and Paul Pritchard recorded what he witnessed.

So, what’s the lesson here? It might be, don’t travel to Vancouver if you don’t speak English.

And if that’s the case, that might mean you better not come to the Olympics.

Outside of Vancouver’s Punjabi Market or areas of Richmond, there’s not a lot of evidence of multilingual signage.

To give the airport some credit, they’ve established an information booth near Customs and it offers services in a number of languages. I’m not sure though what its hours are, and whether it would have benefited Dziekanski, whose death occurred in the middle of the night.

Canada Line, the rapid transit system that takes visitors from the aiport into the city, doesn’t even have signage in Canada’s second official language, French. So, if your English isn’t very good, maybe you’ll have to hope to find a taxi driver who speaks your language.

Any other lessons to consider on this sad anniversary? Hmm. Maybe, be careful not to pick up a stapler if the RCMP are around.

No rant, just gratitude

It's Thanksgiving, so I'll lay off for a day, and think about some of the many things I'm grateful for.

The photo is one I snapped in a coffee shop on Saturday. It went on to be thankful for, among other things, the fact that modern Barbie dolls are flexible -- makes it much easier to dress 'em.

On a more serious note, it's Gratitude Week in Vancouver, an initiative with the goal of ending homelessness. Sadly, that's a problem that won't be going away anytime soon.

But I can certainly say how grateful I am that I have such a wonderful place to live. Warm and dry, with a cupboard that's full.

Donating a dollar a day to a food bank or shelter can make a huge difference. That might be something to work toward for some holiday sharing.

Further tales, hypocrisy squared

It's a hurry-up day, but I can't let it go by without venting about the latest round of government cuts to the arts.

This time, it's BC's publishing industry. This is an industry our premier has praised for its accomplishments on the provincial front, in the country, and on the world's stage.

One of the hardest hit is a magazine that's available to everyone in our province, as it's distributed in bookstores, and even on BC Ferries. BC Bookworld has been publishing for over 20 years. Its promotional service to BC readers, writers and publishers has served as an examplar to similar publications in other provinces.

But it's more than a magazine. It's affiliated with an online database of over 9,000 BC writers, a website that's accessed by users anywhere in the world.

Similarly, the Association of Publishers of BC has also had its operating budget slashed. It's always been a bare-bones operation, so it's difficult to imagine what might be left to cut. They've accomplished amazing feats; there's even a beta-version of digitalized BC books set to go online in January.

For a province that's poised to host the world for the 2010 Winter Olympics, it's looking as though their promises to showcase our cultural accomplishments (part of the basis of Vancouver's 'winning' the games) mean nothing.

Brags by our premier about the importance of literacy mean little in the face of such contradictory behaviours.

You can bet there'll be more to come on this topic. But for more information, follow the publishers' alliance here.

High-pocrisy

So our prime minister deigned to attend an arts ‘gala’ – one of those nasty events he complained about last year. Sure, it probably helped that this event is one of his wife’s pet projects. Still, it’s pretty amazing that he attended – even more so that he sang karaoke.

The fact I find most interesting is Steve’s choice of song, With a Little Help from my Friends. Admittedly, the choice might have had something to do with it being one of Ringo Starr’s songs. Although Ringo’s always been my favourite Beatle, even I would have to agree his voice works best on melodies that don’t require a lot of vocal range.

Steve seemed quite confident about knowing the song’s lyrics, so he can’t say he didn’t understand what the words were.

I just find it darn ironic, especially considering the recent actions allowing Marc Emery’s extradiction, that Steve would choose a song with the line, “I get high with a little help from my friends.” Oh yeah?

High in the sky -- a reminder

Last night's (okay, early this morning's) full moon was so bright it pulled me out of bed.

It was the proverbial harvest moon, celebrated in songs old and newer. If you'd like to know more background about the name, you might enjoy this story 's explanation of the name's origin.

Today was also the annual 'Run for the Cure' and it sounds as though Vancouver's run drew about 10,000 participants.

One of the reasons I'm always aware of the full moon is that I use it as a monthly reminder to check my breasts for changes or lumps.

If you're a woman who doesn't regularly check your breasts, here's a fairly long (7 minutes) but very clear video on how to go about doing this important self-check.

One thing I still don't understand about last night's light show is why the moon seemed so much higher in the sky (almost directly overhead) than usual. If anybody has an idea, please let me know.

39 and counting

And no, except in my sister’s case, that hasn’t got anything to do with a birthday.

That’s how many dollars I haven’t spent since I quit buying B.C. lottery tickets at the end of August.

I keep thinking about part of a letter to the editor which ran in The Vancouver Sun earlier this month (September 15th). Although attorney Phil Rankin was addressing the government’s failed promises regarding legal aid, he raised a valid parallel about the way our government has diverted lottery monies from cultural venues and charities -- the very places we were led to believe would be the beneficiaries of those funds. Rankin wrote:

Remember the seven-per-cent legal services tax, which was supposed to be spent on legal aid but was instead taken — by both the Liberals and the NDP — for general revenues? It’s very much like Social Development Minister Rich Coleman’s announcement that charities aren’t entitled to lottery revenue. What hypocrisy. First they take bingo nights away from churches and food banks, promising them lottery revenue; then they deny the charities lottery revenues after addicting the population to gambling to solve their revenue problems.

When even James Moore, the federal Minister of Heritage calls B.C.’s arts cuts “devastating”, you have to know that something is very rotten out here in the West.

Since my earlier posting, a friend and I have started a group on FaceBook – STOP buying BC Lottery Tickets. It's an open group, so you don't even need an invitation to join.

I understand that some artists are uncomfortable with the idea of speaking out against the gaming cuts (especially when they’re involved in groups who were lucky enough to be on the receiving end of those three-year grants the government decided they couldn’t back out of).

However, I can’t help but think we have social responsibilities. I look back to history, and specifically to events in the southern U.S. during the early ’60s.

It was a time when people who weren’t white were blocked from attending many public schools and universities, couldn’t drink out of the same drinking fountains as whites, had to ride in the back of the bus.

Still, many whites believed that such ill-treatment was wrong. Even though they themselves were allowed to attend school wherever they wished, could apply for any job they wanted, experienced no impediments to voting, etc., there were many courageous whites who travelled to the south and stood up to say that segregation laws were wrong. Some of them even died for their beliefs.

Just because we might not be the ones who are suffering (yet) doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take a stand on behalf of our colleagues whose funding has been cut.

So far, I’ve saved $39 – not enough to change the world, not enough to make a dint in anyone’s disappeared budget. Just ask folks at the Helen Pitt Gallery how much they've had cut from the operating budget of their 35-year-old art space.

But maybe if a bunch of us pooled what we save by not buying lottery tickets, we could assemble an amount that might make a difference.

I'm still trying to figure out ways to fight these dreadful cutbacks. As always, thoughtful comments/suggestions are appreciated.

Must be something in the air...

September is traditionally the month for getting back to work, whether that means school or just plain more thoughtful pursuits. This month has been no exception.

The last week has been filled with events pointing us in the direction of thinking and creating. Specifically, for me, this has meant lots of poetry.

Last week was another event promoting a new collection from Mother Tongue Press, 4 Poets. As one might suspect, the book celebrates the work of four writers, in this case "New BC Poets" -- and it does so in a way that stimulates a deep understanding of their work.

Mona Fertig, editor and conceiver of the series, has given us a book that contains more than just poems. Each author makes a statement on his or her Poetics, provides an interview, lays out draft versions of poems, and even offers a poem in translation.

The event I attended at VPL saw only two of the poets in attendance. And though I regretted not having heard Peter Morin or Al Rempel at earlier events, Daniela Elza and Onjana Yawnghwe gave readings that kept us listening intently.

Daniela, who's doing graduate work in education at SFU, brought along a collaborator for part of her presentation -- a dancer! Su-Lin's performance worked wonderfully with Daniela's words; I can only think of one other time I've seen these two arts mixed so successfully.

But if that event wasn't enough, there was Thursday's reading by four local authors, followed on Sunday by one of Vancouver's most vibrant literary events, Word on the Street.

I was lucky enough to serve as host for an event that featured Evelyn Lau, Russell Thornton, Colin Browne and Vancouver's current Poet Laureate, Brad Cran. The little Poetry Tent was full, with an overflow crowd spilling out onto Library Square. It was great to see such enthusiasm for this genre too many people choose to ignore.

But of all these inspiring events, the sight that meant the most to me was one I saw yesterday -- and naturally, it was one of those times I didn't have my camera. It put the phrase 'word on the street' into action, literally.

A girl was walking down the sidewalk, steadily moving forward, but with her head bent to an open book. Now, that's being engrossed by the power of the written word!