Plus and minus

A day of positives and negatives equals what -- not a zero -- life isn't math. Although zeroes are what happened on Jeopardy the other night. Apparently, it was only the second time that all three contestants finished up with a total of zero dollars. Bye bye was the negative message they got. Out the door with them.

And I'm not sure how today's negatives and positives weigh out to any kind of balance.

A positive is the fact that it's Australia Day, though by the time this is getting posted, the fireworks displays will long be over. Yet even that day of celebration by many is observed as a Day of Mourning by that country's Aboriginal people.

An announcement about the Doomsday Clock also spelled out worse news today, as the clock has again moved closer to midnight.

Yet today while I was out walking on errands, I encountered a Peace rose in bloom. Not far from it, I found another bunch of those happy little flowers I've been seeing everywhere, those early harbingers of spring, the snow drops.

With those in mind, I'm counting this as a plus kind of day.

A loo with a view?

Or is this really just an inflated case of affluenza. Free toilets by the side of the road.

Sure, a toilet might need to be replaced. But all three at the same time?? Maybe white is no longer in vogue.

It's hard not to agree with the comment made by the graffiti artist: waster.

Half a month, half a month...

...half a month onward -- already. And it feels as though I've accomplished very little. But for once at least, I have an excuse: the flu.

This hasn't been an ordinary flu. It's one that heard me cough more times than maybe in the rest of my life, or that's how it seems -- endless.

I've had rounds of advice from family and friends -- everything from apple cider vinegar to tea and honey. As you can see from the photo, I've invested in just about every kind of cough drop in town, most of which were soothing, but only offered the most temporary ease.

One good thing about this bout of illness is that I've had to stay upright. Attempts at horizontal sleep nearly always failed. But as result of my enforced verticality, combined with an amazing lack of energy, I've been able to do a fair bit of reading.

Best catch-up read was Margaret Atwood's The Heart Goes Last. I bought it last fall, but never even opened it until this month. The ending is a bit lame, a little too happy-happy for me, but most of the book with its too-believable scenarios kept me turning pages.

Less engaging was Kate Atkinson's A God in Ruins. Although I may yet persevere, I gave up at page 86. And yes, I did read her previous novel Life After Life, which also took a while to understand enough to follow. This may be just a case of the same sort of wizardry on her part.

But my most fun reading discovery was a series of tiny messages -- not just the ones on fortune cookies (though we did read plenty of those as we relied on takeaway food more often than usual) -- but the ones on the wrappers of all those Hall's cough drops. Almost too small to notice at first, the tiny words offer various encouragements: "You can do it and you know it" or "Nothing you can't handle" or maybe my favourite (I'm translating from the French here) "Don't let yourself fall down," especially appropriate for the icy-deck mornings we've been having.

But now, back to heeding Tennyson's word, the one that follows after all those 'half a league's: Onward -- and please, with no more flu-ish distractions.

Finishing up the Christmases

Yesterday was Orthodox Christmas, the day when thousands of Christians around the world celebrated the holiday that most of us have already put behind us.

The amaryllis that burst into blossom on December 25th has finished and its flowers are shriveling into what looks red crepe paper. Even the Christmas cactus has begun to drop its spent petals.

So today seems like the day to finally get the last of the decorations down and put away.

I've already put a few of the sugary treats into the freezer. I'm sure it'll be fun (and tasty) to have a butter tart or two in June.

For now, it's a time look forward, onward to a still pretty shiny-new year. It's one with no explicit resolutions, but plenty of already-formed and half-dreamed plans.

Water over the dam

Year's end and I think about events of the year, accomplishments, failures, happy times, family, and friends. I guess it's all considered just so much 'water over the dam', a phrase that apparently means the same thing as 'water under the bridge'. Though in this case, it's water over the falls.

Of all the definitions, Google's is the closest to what I am thinking about tonight. They suggest that those past events going over the dam are simply that -- the past -- so, "consequently, no longer regarded as important or as a source of concern."

But concern is exactly what I am feeling tonight -- that unfinished tasks from 2015 might be abandoned if we don't keep them in focus.

I have a list of them, and it's hard to arrange them into any firm priority. So, randomly, a year-end list of questions and causes that need some attention.

Why do the BC Ferries charge a reservation fee? The Washington State Ferries reservation only costs if you fail to show up when you said you would. Face it, it's a convenience for the company to know how many to expect. Maybe people showing up should pay an inconvenience fee for throwing out the count. And really, a higher rate if it's a last-minute reservation? I am shaking my head.

How does Christy Clark get away with acting so bossy? Does she think she is the Queen? Why did BC's taxpayers have to pay administration costs for a referendum with results that were a foregone conclusion (despite the $7 million campaign put up by the 'Yes' side). Why doesn't she have to have a referendum before she can commit ten billion (plus, you can bet) dollars of our money on the Site C Project. And how can she declare BC as not willing to participate in the strategy proposed towards repairing the Senate -- I'd think, where that's a federal proposal, she wouldn't have the authority to make such a decision.

But my last question is the saddest of all -- and the most important. Why has Rodney Watson still not been accepted as a refugee? He's been living in sanctuary since 2009 -- for a crime that should not have been considered a crime: leaving the US Army because he didn't want to kill. I don't want him going over the waterfall. I want our new federal government to recognize him as a seeker of refuge in Canada, to renew the promise of what our country stands for.

Once upon a time, I believed

Once upon a time, Christmas Eve was the day my dad would go shopping for gifts. My sister and I often got to go along on these last-minute excursions. It was lucky for us, as we usually wouldn't have bought anything for our mother by then either.

He'd give us each a dollar. That narrowed it down, didn't it.

One of the best-ever (I thought) gifts was a cookbook I bought her -- and yes, that faded brown thing in the photo is it. I was surprised, and a little bit hurt, that she didn't seem very thrilled by it.

Looking back, I can see that she might have taken it as an insult to her cooking. That wasn't the intent, though I suppose she could have used some help in that department, or at least encouragement. Weirdly, I still make several recipes from it -- it's the best for basics like pancakes or biscuits -- and the best-ever barbecue ribs come from it as well.

But the thing was, it fit the bill -- literally -- as it cost a dollar.

A baster is there too (not that it's the original) as it was another one of my 'inspired' one-dollar gifts for her. And this probably came about because one of my dad's favourite stores for his last-minute shopping was not a dress shop or a jeweller's, but a place he was likely more familiar with, the hardware store. There was something about going there with him that will always make visiting a hardware store feel a lot like Christmas to me.

Best cheers, however you celebrate, to all!

New light

Contrary to what a number of sources are reporting, this is the day when Solstice occurs in most of North America. Quick reads may suggest otherwise, as most of them seem to be citing the 22nd without noting that as a Greenwich Mean Time (okay, UTC) -- in other words, when it occurs in western Europe.

Whenever it might occur, the light won't be sudden, as we gain only seconds each day as the earth turns us toward the next seasonal marker, the Vernal or Spring Equinox.

Still, the change in light will start being noticeable soon, for sure by the time the new year arrives.

But even beyond the hours and minutes of sunlight, I am grateful for the other new light that feels as though it's shining on us -- the light of welcome being shone on the refugees arriving from Sudan, the light being cast on the Inquiry that will finally be held for Canada's lost and missing women, the light of scientific knowledge being uncloistered.

Let it shine!

Winterish

It's still ten days until the arrival of Solstice, but this morning's sky looked wintry. Not in a bad way, it just had that look that comes with this time of year. As if it were quietly waiting -- maybe for Santa. 

The celebrations have begun too. Last night was the annual gathering of BC Publishers, always a good party, with tons of great food and friends. After that, a fundraiser event with poets reading from the fine new anthology, The Revolving City. More good friends, more good times. 

And I suppose the calendar, along with all this celebrating also means it’s just about time for the baking and treat-making to begin in earnest here at home. So, what am I doing, typing here in my room?!

This was the night

... when we used to hang our stockings by the fireplace, as tomorrow is the feast of Saint Nicholas. I'm pretty sure you were actually supposed to put out shoes rather than stockings and I'm pretty sure that might have been what we did the first time or two. But somehow that tradition didn't last, and we switched to the more conventional stocking.

If memory serves, I was the one who came up with the suggestion for our family to do this -- mainly because I felt my sisters and I were getting ripped off (as if, eh). You see, our parents didn't believe in Christmas stockings. A hideous thought, I realize, and one that must contribute to who I am today.

Anyway, I read a story in some book about how Dutch kids put their shoes out and had them filled with gifts and candies and thought that we deserved to do the same. Maybe it's just because I've always had big feet that this tradition didn't last long, as we were persuaded to use the more modest stocking from the mantle, a tradition we still follow today.

And I realize the stocking in the image isn't the kind that Santa or St,Nicholas or anyone else fills, but it's the prettiest stocking I own, as it was a gift from my loving sister, Lisa.

Happy Feast of St.Nicholas!

Clouded vision...

As part of our local gallery's 40th anniversary celebrations, a two-day celebration of the written word was held.

Saturday night's reading featured 15 writers and a spoken word sound-artist -- all of whom had plenty to say about living and working and writing in Surrey. Held in the charged atmosphere of a North Surrey pizza place, the event went well past the magic witching hour of midnight.

Sunday's event was more sedate, with M.G. Vassanji as the distinguished keynote speaker. Two panels followed, with various presenters speaking, including this blogger.

In my role as a panelist, I'd been asked to speak about the history of creative writing in Surrey, so that's exactly what I did -- at least to the best of my ability in 12 minutes.

During the brief Q&A that followed, questions seemed to indicate that there were two very different groups in the room -- or at least that's how it felt.

I'm still feeling somewhat unsettled by the experience, but have already begun writing an essay about it, though it's pretty slow-going, as I feel that I am groping my way along, not really able to see what's ahead. Kind of like the way the world looks through that icy windscreen in the image above.

At least the weather bureau is promising that tomorrow will see a change in temperatures, that we won't be stuck with all that scrape, scrape, scraping. Some warming up, even if it means rain, sounds fine with me. And maybe -- just maybe -- tomorrow will also bring a bit of clarity on some tricky issues that are lingering in my mind.

Full moon party

Well, no party exactly. If you're interested, you'll need to get on a plane and go to Thailand. The Full Moon Party at Haad Rin has turned into something that sounds well beyond my interests, with over 10,000 attending.

The full moon this month was not only visible here (no clouds, hurrah), but the camera contributed some special effects to this, the so-called 'beaver moon'. It gets that name from a time when this full moon, the last before Solstice, indicated that the time had come to go hunting for the beavers whose pelts were so very valuable.

It has also been referred to as the 'mourning moon' to coincide with saying good-bye to things no longer needed. Maybe it's a good time for cleaning and tidying up, or perhaps for cleaning out the pantry for donations to the food bank.

Better yet, maybe it's a good time to dig deep into the wallet for donations to charities who might help those less fortunate. Yet another kind of full moon party.

How is this an improvement?

The world is changing -- especially in the part of the world where I live. Not so very long ago, this lot held a modest house and a number of trees stood in the yard. Not any more.

I'm no fortune-teller, but I'm pretty sure there will soon be a very large house rising here -- one that will extend to the farthest legal reaches of the lot, both sides and back.

Interestingly, the people who live in the modest house just next door are apparently planning to stay, as they are in process of installing a new roof.

Something seems very wrong when houses that are barely forty years old are demolished, just so extreme (some call them 'monster') homes can be erected. It seems to me that if I wanted a mega-mansion, I'd want to build it on a piece of land worthy of such a house, and not squeeze it in on a lot in a neighbourhood where it doesn't look at all like it wants to be part of the same community.

Are deer smarter than people?

When it comes to crossing the road, this deer looks smarter than many of the human pedestrians I see.





For a start, the deer actually looks in the direction of oncoming traffic to see whether it's safe to step out (also note: the deer is not wearing earbuds, nor is it texting).

Once having determined that it's safe, the deer steps carefully toward the crosswalk.

Halfway across the road, checking again -- this time, looking the other way for oncoming traffic.

Okay, getting there --

What do you suppose the chances are this deer could give lessons to people?

What a weekend!

It was such a busy weekend, it's taken a few days for me to catch my breath and do a posting.

The photo is from Friday night, downtown Vancouver in the rain. I was on my way to attend the opening night of an opera (yes, moi, an opera!) at SFU's Experimental Theatre, a performance of 'air india [REDACTED]' a production by the Turning Point Ensemble.

Irish composer Jurgen Simpson created the opera, using words from Renee Sarojini Saklikar's children of air india as the libretto. The performance is, to put it mildly, powerful, with a full orchestra (or, what looks like one to my untrained eye) creating the threatening mood required by the story. This is, after all, the story of a plane brought down by a terrorist's bomb.

The mood is enhanced by the almost-eerie voice of Daniel Cabena, a voice that's classified as a counter-tenor -- to my ear, it could have been a female voice -- that's how clear and high-pitched it was.

But enough of the show. You can read reviews that describe and interpret it better, I am sure.

Saturday had been a day I'd been looking forward to: a symposium to brainstorm/discuss what the city of Surrey might look like in 2030 -- or, as organizers put it, a chance to play at being a city planner. Unfortunately, aside from meeting some interesting people, the day proved to be a disappointment.

For one thing I was stuck at a table forced to discuss a topic that would have been pretty much at the bottom of my priorities for the day (crime and safety, ugh, can you say 'Steve Harper' yet again?).

And, as I have long suspected, 'tools' put out for us to work with included Lego. I'm firm in my beliefs that too many of our traffic/mall design problems have resulted from planners using 'Lego-thinking' in their plans -- that they fail to consider how their designs will function once people and/or cars come into the equation.

Happily, I was at least able to end the weekend on a satisfying note, working on homemade Christmas cards with one of my best buddies.

We did it!

Earlier today, I had the privilege of breaking out of my usual pattern by watching daytime TV. The reason? Our new prime minister, Justin Trudeau, was being sworn in. This felt like history-in-the-making.

Already, from seeing the members of his cabinet and from hearing his responses to questions from the press, it appears that we really are going to get our country (and all it's always stood for) back. No more one-man rule.

Hurrah and onward!

Boo!

This is one of the pumpkins greeting trick-or-treaters at our door tonight. So far, we've had 29 little raiders, ooops -- there's a new batch!

Best costumes so far were worn by a group of five girls who looked like they'd just stepped out of lessons at Hogwarts, including one who was willing to admit she was from Slytherin. Luckily for us, they promised no evil spells.

For me, the scariest part of this Halloween might be that the shots I took today might be the last ones I get with my longtime faithful Nikon point-and-shoot. The other day I spotted a crack in its body, never a good sign for a camera.

In the meantime, safe flying to witches everywhere and Happy Halloween!

Someone special

Today is the anniversary of the day that George's grandmother died. Yesterday would have been her birthday. It seems odd how the two dates are so very near. Celebrating one's birth on one day, dying the next.

But then maybe that's the way life is for all of us. A span of eighty, even a hundred years, is nothing on the timeline of the cosmos.

And maybe I'm just thinking on this kind of scale owing to an animation that came to my attention yesterday. It illustrates just how tiny we really are in the grand scheme of things.

And yes, that's a candle we have burning for her in our kitchen, the part of the house she always knew best. A bit of whisky in a glass for her, along with fresh fruit -- the one in front is a quince, something she liked to bake with.

Canada, renewed

Last night's election results are still reverberating across the country. News coverage of the change seems non-stop, all of it about going forward. It's as if a weight has been lifted. Even the sun has come out.

Two bits of oddness were handed to me by the Universe today.

One arrived while I was sorting a box I'd run across while cleaning my office. I found some items wrapped in newspaper, some personal treasures I'd put away when we travelled in 2011 and rented out our house. The date on the paper affirmed this theory, March 9, 2011. A headline on a letter to the editor caught my eye, The Government of Harper.

The letter, sent by Jeanette Campbell of Mission, B.C. read:

     The media announced recently that federal civil servants were ordered in a December 2010 directive that all federal communications, such as press releases, had to replace the words "the Government of Canada" in their missives with "The Harper Government."

     Have Canadians lost their identity and sense of national sovereignty and pride?

     Prime Minister Stephen Harper appears to think so. Incandescent outrage?

     You'd better believe it. Next misnomer on the plate for Canadians? You guessed it! President Harper. 

Fortunately, things didn't sink low enough for her last prediction to come true. But 'incandescent outrage'? Yes. That seems to be the reason we've had this wonderful change to the Government of Canada.

As for that other bit of oddness sent my way -- it arrived in the post, an opportunity to renew my subscription to a magazine. Yep, Harper's.

Disappointing

Last night was a presentation by four of the six candidates running for election in our riding. The topic for the evening's discussion was homelessness and housing. But nearly all of the answers they gave were discouraging in the fact that they were such non-answers.

Or, if they did respond to the topic, they gave answers that were much more applicable to other, faraway parts of the city.

It was as if they all lived in the same protected little cottage, one that's covered so completely in flowering ivy it's impossible to see out.

Not one of the candidates alluded to the biggest issue in this part of the city: the fact that so many perfectly good houses are being torn down to make way for an ever-increasing number of monster houses.

If these new homes were even occupied by people who planned to stay in the neighbourhood and become part of the community, things might be different. But no, it seems inevitable that within 12 to 18 months, they get flipped.

Trees are coming down and crime is going up.

But did these candidates have anything to say about this? Not a peep.

Han Shan Project -- revisited

It was just about two years ago that poets from around the world heard the call sent out by Susan McCaslin, a writer from Fort Langley, B.C.

She'd learned that the Township of Langley had plans to sell off a tract of forest, and that once sold it would be developed for 'estate' housing. Because Susan knew how valuable this forest was -- how important it would be as greenspace for future generations -- she set about organizing the Han Shan Project.

Poets from as far away as Australia submitted poems. Susan and her husband printed out the poems, put them into plastic sleeves and suspended them from trees throughout the forest.

Soon the project received national press (thanks in large part to the involvement of artist Robert Bateman) and hurrah, the forest was saved. Then, even more miraculously, Langley's Blaauw family stepped forward to purchase a second tract of the forest, ensuring a sustainable number of trees would endure. The bench in the picture above shows a bench dedicated to the memory of Thomas Blaauw, whose estate funded the purchase.

Trinity Western University, now charged with caretaking the forest, has sponsored a symposium -- some of which has reported on confirmation of endangered species discovered in the forest. To celebrate, they have remounted the Han Shan Project, again hanging poems from the trees.

Just as the first time this decoration-of-the-forest occurred, the feeling created is magical.

The poems will be on display in the forest until early December.