out on the big limb

Too much hope

2012-01-21T14:57:00.002-08:00

Apparently that’s what our group of ‘outmates’ brought to our fellow writers, the inmates at Matsqui Penitentiary.

The powers-that-be at the institution have decreed that our occasional retreat weekends, where insiders and outsiders get together to workshop samples of our current writing, have forthwith been cancelled.

This was a program that cost the institution almost nothing. Okay, the prison provided us with lunch on both Saturday and Sunday. But really, these meals could not have cost a lot, as they were usually grilled cheese or sloppy joes or hot dogs – the same fare given to the men for their midday meal. Further, we brought our own supplies for making coffee and tea. We even brought doughnuts for all (including a separate box of doughnuts for the guards).

Reasons for the program’s cancellation? Several petty-sounding issues have been cited, but it mainly seems yet another way to punish the inmates.

It sounds mostly as though the men were getting too much out of it. Especially too much in the way of self-respect.

Yet, if inmates don’t get the chance to develop self-respect while they’re incarcerated, how – when they’re released – can they be expected to reintegrate themselves back into society as self-respecting, law-abiding citizens?

Styrosnow?

2012-01-17T11:11:00.003-08:00

We've had some more snow, only this time it looks less like snow than some sort of packing material.

Not hard like hail (though that's what it looks like), just perfectly round 'flakes' (er, pellets?) that look like snowballs so G.I. Joe and Barbie could have themselves a party.

And no, Virginia, there's no such thing as climate change.

First snow

2012-01-13T23:10:00.001-08:00

...of the year, first snow of the season.

After a successful evening in Vancouver, as part of SFU's TWS series, when I got off the bus at our local park 'n ride, a few flakes were just starting to fall.

By the time I drove home, it was really starting to fall, and I just had to walk outside and look around. The photo is a picture of our street. No tracks in the road yet, all fresh and white and new.

And no flash, just my trusty little Nikon Coolpix set on auto 'scene' and me holding my breath for the duration of the exposure. There aren't any streetlights on our road, only a few porch lights burning -- I guess for just such an occasion as this.

Dead Poets Come to Life

2012-01-09T15:07:00.005-08:00

While that header looks a lot like the plotline for a zombie show -- think: The Walking Dead -- the event in question couldn't be further afield.

Every other month, a dedicated group of Vancouver poets host readings in which they celebrate the work of -- yes, dead poets. They call themselves the Dead Poets Reading Society, and should not be mistaken for the similarly-titled film with Robin Williams.

Yesterday's event had series founder David Zieroth reading from the poems of Thomas Hardy. I'd known Hardy as a novelist (Tess of the d'Urbervilles, Jude the Obscure, etc.), not a poet, and Zieroth offered just enough in the way of introduction and backnotes to really make the poems (if not the poet himself) come to life.

Diane Tucker then presented poems by Christina Rossetti. Again, I was surprised, especially by the underlying sexuality in the poems. As I said to Diane afterwards, 'I'd always pretty much dismissed Christina Rossetti as being kind of an old fart.' Hardly poetic, but that's what I'd thought.

Miranda Pearson then read poems by Stevie Smith. Pearson's lovely English accent made it almost seem as though Smith might be in the room. And yes, she read the most famous of her poems, "Not Waving but Drowning" -- the phrase Janet Frame picked up in her great(est?) novel, Faces in the Water.

Garry Thomas Morse (pictured above) did a similarly eerie reading of work by Jack Spicer. This wasn't too surprising a choice for Morse, as his 2010 collection, After Jack, is a kind of transformational homage to Spicer.

The event ended with John Donlan presenting examples of the lifework of Edward Thomas, a poet I'd never heard of. Like, duh. I'm supposed to know these things, aren't I? Thomas was killed in World War I, only three years after he'd turned to poetry. It's interesting to imagine what he might have written had he lived.

Several of the afternoon's presentations seemed almost like channeling -- but maybe I was just getting into the spirit of things.

The next reading in the series will celebrate the poetry of Irving Layton. The event will take place on March 11th, the day before what would have been Layton's 100th birthday. Maybe see you there.

Good intentions, at least

2012-01-01T17:43:00.003-08:00

No, I don't take the plunge at the annual Polar Bear Swim, but I do my best to always attend, at least cheering on the crazies -- er, participants.

Still, this is part of my resolve to walk more this year. A walk along the promenade at White Rock beach is always a great way to start the new year. And a good way to put one resolution into practice.

Year of the Road Trip

2011-12-31T21:47:00.003-08:00

I like looking back at year end, to see what happened, what registered as being important. It's all part of setting myself up for a new year, new adventures.

Biggest of all in 2011 had to be the road trip in The Rattler. Coast-to-coast and then some, exploring North America.

I saw so many places I’d never seen before - Amelia Earhart’s birthplace, the Grand Canyon, the Outer Banks of North Carolina, the Royal Tyrrell Museum...

Even better, I saw so many friends I hadn’t seen in years – Bob, Betty Joan and John...

Best of all, everyone in my family stayed healthy - with appetite, desire to go places, do things.

And as kind of bonus, I had a new book published, fiction at that – a new step for me.

It seems a good time to count the good things that have happened. It's probably a good way to start gathering more good things for 2012. Try it.

Puzzling

2011-12-27T17:35:00.000-08:00

A quote in a friend's Christmas card has had me puzzling for an answer. The query she posed (from a novel by Colm Toibin) was this: "Tell me something you are sure is true..."

At first it seemed easy enough, but the more deeply I thought on it, the more difficult it became.

But because one thing is pretty-much-true -- this is my week 'off' -- I've been playing at another kind of puzzling. I'm hoping by week's end, I'll be able to reclaim my table for more substantial things than 'puzzling' with pieces of jigsawed cardboard.

Return of the light

2011-12-22T09:30:00.020-08:00

In this time zone (PST) the winter solstice occurred twelve hours ago. From here on in, so long as the clouds aren't too thick, there'll be more light in the sky each day, leading us into spring towards summer.

Those of us who observe the Solstice aren't the only ones lighting our homes. The menorah candles are casting light for Hanukkah (Chanukah); trees and windows and eaves bear coloured lights.

These traditions seem to be so ingrained, it's almost as if they're part of our genetic heritage. But whatever reasons we have for illuminating our homes, light brings hope and joy to our celebrations.

Whatever you choose to do this time of year, enjoy!

An early visit

2011-12-21T15:56:00.001-08:00

Look who I spotted!

He was just arriving at a local day-care centre. I must admit I was a little surprised to see him stepping out of a car (snowy white, at least), and I asked him where the sleigh was. He explained that the reindeer weren't feeling very well, so he'd let them stay home to rest up for the big night.

This sighting was almost as exciting as when I was little and came home from the Santa Claus parade with this lie for my mother: Not only had Santa waved to me, he'd called out my name in greeting. Wasn't I the lucky one not to get a stocking full of coal.

The good, the bad, and the sometimes-ugly

2011-12-19T22:36:00.037-08:00

The past week has seen the deaths of three people who represented each of the attributes above.

The good, Vaclav Havel. Man of the arts, leader of his country as it moved out from under the Russian thumb. If ever there were a combination of intelligence, creativity and integrity in a leader, he'd get my vote.

And then there's the matter of the unquestionably bad, Kim Jong-il. It's hard to think of a leader who might present a greater contrast to Havel than this man. Dictator, suppressor of human rights, threatener of nuclear war -- how awful could one person be? And oh yes, the propaganda about him was always amazing, like the story of his first game of golf, when he shot the Superman score of 38.

And then there was Christopher Hitchens. Although he was no world leader, he certainly exerted a broad-reaching influence with his books and other assorted writings. And though his work was always thought-provoking, he did express a few sometimes-ugly opinions. To my mind, the worst was his support of the unnecessary war in Iraq that G.W.Bush created. (If only that trillion dollars could have been put to better use.)

And while Hitch certainly didn't expect any kind of afterlife, who knows what conversation might be if these three were to meet up? Wherever they may be (or not be), may they rest.

What's so smart about smart meters?

2011-12-13T17:42:00.001-08:00

I haven’t been able to figure out what, exactly, is supposed to be so dumb about the old ones.

They seem to track our power use just fine. BC Hydro hasn’t complained that it’s not tracking accurately, so what’s the trouble?

Supposedly the new ‘smart’ one will let me know when I’m being wasteful. Only hang on, I can figure that out. Or, if I’m not sure, I can go outside and look at the meter. If it’s whirling too fast, I know there must be something on that’s eating the power. The clothes dryer? an electric heater?? something to check, or maybe turn off?

One goal of the new ‘smart’ ones might be to make a bunch more human jobs redundant. Yet even that won’t be much of a savings. Meter readers don’t make big-time wages, and most of them now serve double-duty, reading gas meters at the same time they check the electricity consumption.

Oh, Hydro's got their promo up and running (what did that cost us?) and even claiming this will make our power cheaper. But if that's the case, why were they seeking a rate hike? Maybe to pay for these? Meters that a lot of people seem to not want?

Many groups and individuals have posted information about the perils posed by these new devices. Here’s a link to more information. Here’s even one with information about how to replace your ‘smart’ meter with an old one; this same article also contains links to forms for making official complaints to Hydro – and more.

The old meter that’s outside my house still seems to be working just fine.

Whatever happened to the concept, ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.’ Or, is this just some deal cooked up between BC Hydro and the company that supplies these? Because if it is, I suppose that might qualify as some kind of (even if dirty) ‘smart’.

Not-quite-winter walkabout

2011-12-03T17:26:00.001-08:00

The calendar says December. The morning sun is so low in the sky, it enters the window almost horizontally. Easy to see that Solstice is near.

Today was cool, but without a breath of wind -- perfect for taking a long, lazy walk.

Sneaky

2011-12-01T14:11:00.002-08:00

I’ll bet there’ve been times while you’re paying for a purchase when someone has asked, “Would you like to give $2 to the food bank? ...breast cancer research? ...your local hospital?”

Of course you would. You’re a good person. But wait a little minute before handing over your money.

Next time a cashier asks whether you’d like to donate a couple of bucks to X or Y charity or noble cause, think about where it’s going and why they’re collecting it.

The first place it’s going is into a bundle of dough handed over by kind-hearted souls like you. And the supermarket (or Post Office or other fill-in-the-blanks corporation) is holding onto it, counting it, and getting ready for the day THEY get to donate it to charity. Such presentations are often accompanied by plenty of frou-frah – frequently, even a photo op for the local paper.

They’re using YOUR money, then getting the credit. And that credit is not only of the feel-good variety, but also the tax credit for making a charitable donation.

If this practice annoys you, don’t take it out on the cashier. That person has been directed to ask – in fact, MUST ask every single customer, and can be reprimanded for not doing so.

These days when I’m asked, I say: I’m sorry you have to ask me to make a donation. I prefer choosing my own charity and then making a direct donation – that way I not only know where it’s going, I’m the one getting the tax credit, not your employer.

And where it’s just turned December, this is a good time to think about who you’d like to share with, where you’d like your charity dollars to go. Without the coercion of yet another corporate ploy.

Power out, wicked thoughts

2011-11-22T12:53:00.001-08:00

It was windy last night, and this morning the power was out, knocked out sometime before dawn.

Wickedly, one of my first thoughts was that with the router down, I wouldn’t be able to get on the Internet. No emails to read or answer, no intrusions from Facebook. A morning to do whatever I felt like, not what anyone else might be asking.

Even now, typing the words, I can feel my shoulders going down, as I think about crawling back into bed and reading by the light coming in through the window...

Oh, and the significance of all those phones? I bet if any of them were hooked up to a landline, they’d work, even if the power were out.

Writing down the demons

2011-11-21T10:27:00.043-08:00

Dawn. You can almost see the spirits, rising in the cloud.

This was another of those weekend writing retreats at Matsqui penitentiary.

The word 'penitentiary' -- a place for penitents to deal with their sins -- in other words, a place for showing regrets.

One of the most interesting aspects of this weekend's discussions was the nature of the issues facing writers, both the inmates and those of us who live outside the walls (are we 'outmates'?).

The number one demon facing all of us is the many-headed monster of doubt. I call it many-headed because it whispers to us in so many ways, telling us we have nothing to say, that our thoughts are far too mundane. How it tells us we should give it up, that it's pointless trying to put our feelings into words.

But that's where the strength of group enters the scene. We were able to remind each other that we do have things to say, and that we each have our own way of doing so.

So, those spirits rising out of the clouds -- were they malevolent? Probably not. Were they real? Absolutely.

But we dealt with them, harnessed them so we can carry on, after the group experience comes to an end.

And with that in mind, today is a day for using that harnessed strength and putting words to page again. Simply because that's what we do.

Chasing the snow away

2011-11-18T16:41:00.003-08:00

Transit is usually my mode for getting to Vancouver. Only, sometimes it just doesn’t work -- the bus or train doesn’t go where I need it to go, or the timing means the car’s the only way.

Last night was one of those times – only wouldn’t ya know, it turned out to be the day for Vancouver’s first dusting of snow.

It’s always a treat when that first icing of white decides to decorate the North Shore mountains or Mt Baker. But when it comes down onto the plain that is the city and environs, the thrill quickly fades.

The day's trip was for a cause – a downright writerly one. An afternoon meeting with my ever-helpful writers’ group, supper together, then a dash across town to the delightful Prophouse Café for an event in the Twisted Poets Series.

It felt like a heck of an honour to be reading with Michael Turner who is, after all, the only writer I can think of who’s had a book of poems made into a feature film. And of course, he didn’t bite. In fact, he bought me a drink. He was a perfect gentleman and read from a range of work that encompassed the whole of the city and then some.

The poets who read at the open mic were amazing as well. From Dennis Bolen’s explosive work to the night’s closing reader, Miguel Burr (a finalist in the 3-Day Novel Contest, a poet who even provided back-up tunes), it was not your average open mic event. Many were very skilled poets, poets I know we’ll be hearing more from – Eva Waldauf, Shannon Rayne, Timothy Shay and of course, the evening’s organizer, Bonnie Nish.

I’m grateful for venues like the Prophouse and White Rock’s Pelican Rouge. Especially in these arts-endangered times, they provide a lot more than coffee. Food for the mind, food for warming the soul. Warm enough that when I came outside to leave, although there was a dusting of the white stuff on my car, the roads were clear and fine.

Food from Mars?

2011-11-12T17:07:00.002-08:00

No, but it sure looks as though it’s from someplace other than earth. Don't you think so?

Although there seems to be some dispute whether it’s cauliflower or broccoli, the experts at least agree that Romanesco is in the family brassica.

It was just one of the treats I found at Port Townsend’s winter version of their famous Farmers Market.

I offered the Romanesco as crudités to accompany homemade homous, then used the rest of it in a stir-fry.

So far at least, no little green horns growing from my head…

Ones of a kind

2011-11-11T13:11:00.002-08:00

When we started our big crazy trip last year, the place we began in was just across the line in Washington state. We’re taking advantage of the long weekend, and gone back across that invisible line of the border, spending a few days in one of our favourite places by the sea, Port Townsend.

Readers of this blog will know that I often observe ways to make new beginnings – whether that’s observing the formality of January first, the beginning of September, or my birthday. Besides revisiting the spot where our tour began, today presents another kind of new beginning.

Unless our calendar starts over at zero again, or we get a new kind of year that contains 22 months, we won’t have another day where we can write the date with only a single digit – and not just in this particular lifetime – ever.

I feel especially hopeful for this particular round of new beginnings, partly because we attended a very different kind of ceremony to observe this always-significant day, November 11th.

We joined in with the locals and attended a midday observance at the local Legion. A fabulous band played wonderful music, the speeches were thoughtful and respectful – and best of all, every speaker seemed to focus on peace.

Peace, that’s my kind of new beginnings (and hey, the free lunch, complete with yummy desserts was pretty all right too).

November Ferry to (and from) Gabriola

2011-11-07T18:42:00.001-08:00

I can’t think how many years it’s been that I’ve been meaning to read Malcolm Lowry’s novel, October Ferry to Gabriola. And I suppose for at least as long, I’ve been meaning to actually take the ferry there myself.

Yesterday, I accomplished one of those goals, finally visiting this seemingly hardest-to-get-to Gulf Islands.

It’s all but impossible to get there as a foot passenger, as the ferry to Gabriola is nowhere near either of the arrival points from the mainland. Luckily, I was travelling with a friend, so expenses were less of an issue and I drove.

We were there to take part in a reading for the League of Canadian Poets -- a benefit to raise funds memorializing the poet (and painter and writer of prose), P. K. Page. Here’s my colleague and co-reader, Sandy Shreve, hypnotizing the crowd with her poem about crows.

It was one of those crisply perfect autumn days. We even got a quick show from a few orcas in the bay.

From what I’ve been able to learn in reading about Lowry’s book, the main character doesn’t quite make it to the island. At least I’m lucky enough to say that I’ve finally set foot on Gabriola, even if this visit was much too short.

Anniversaries and other observances

2011-11-02T18:27:00.001-07:00

There’s something about November that lends itself to remembering. And it’s not just the fact of Remembrance Day on the 11th.

Even the words form a kind of imperfect rhyme: ‘November / Remember’.

On a happy note, today is the day to observe the 75th birthday of our national public broadcaster, the CBC. Even people who don’t listen to it mostly acknowledge the value of having such a system in place – and commercial-free at that! I can’t describe the many things I’ve learned or been entertained by or fascinated by – just by the sounds that come out of that little black box in my kitchen.

Today is also the day we still celebrate our friend Miki’s birthday. We even ate some wild mushrooms with our supper in his honour.

But that flame in today’s image is also there to observe the anniversary of Norman Morrison’s self-immolation. Technically, he wasn’t the first to take such drastic action, but he did it outside the office of then-Secretary of US Defense, Robert McNamara.

Morrison’s death marked another turning point (or maybe it was a ratcheting-up point) in the rise of the movement that helped bring an end to the Vietnam War.

Thinking of that brave 31-year-old (far braver than I will ever be) renews my faith in the idea of hoping for change. And while I’m not extolling any more self-immolations, I am firmly believing in the power of the people, especially as represented by those who comprise the Occupy-Wherever forces. May they continue speaking out, and continue to do so with the voice of consensus.

Silly and fun

2011-10-31T16:16:00.003-07:00

... and easy. Those are usually the best Halloween costumes. The ones that come together, often at the last minute. Bits of this, a little of that, with something in-between.

This is the hat I wore for my costume as The Magnetic Poet (yep, it's a metal colander -- will go back into service for pasta soon, I am sure).

With a small metal clipboard on a string as a necklace (with words magnetized onto it too), all I had to do was put on some silly clothes. A red sweater, an orange skirt, red gloves, a red-and-orange scarf...you get the picture.

Oh, and a bag of more magnetic words, which turned into a group-effort poem on my friend's fridge.

Happy Hallowheeeeen!

Bounty of an autumn walk

2011-10-27T22:17:00.001-07:00

It's amazing -- all the treasures that pop out during this, the harvest season of the year.

Like one final push before the frosts get hard, these little beauties appear in multitude.

Today's walk revealed (front and centre) chanterelles, (behind those, towards the left and upward) several varieties of boletes, (far left and far right) parasols in various stages of opening. The curly black ones just behind the chanterelles are the wonderfully textured helvellas. The rusty-orange pile on the right is simply my scarf, which got pressed into service as a 'container' when I ran out of bags to fill.

Most of these mushrooms will get eaten fresh over the next few days. The rest will get dried (five racks of the dryer are already filled with parasols). They'll nourish our palates (and memories of forest walks) all winter long.

Tales of the 351

2011-10-24T15:35:00.001-07:00

I can understand if you’re having trouble figuring out what the image is. I’m still scratching my head as to why these things have to happen.

It’s a pic I snapped the other night on the #351 bus home from town.

The Canada Line is all swish and swell, and the driverless trains just keep a-comin’ till somebody shuts 'em down sometime well after midnight. But because connector buses to the southern 'burbs have a drastically cut schedule (down to only one per hour) after 11pm, the line-ups for the buses just grow and grow as the trains blindly bring riders to the changeover station.

Plenty of concerts and other events in Vancouver start around 8 (movies often at 9 or 9:30), so it’s only logical to see that many riders will be starting to head home sometime after 11. But some brainy administrator (who’s obviously never stood outside in the cold waiting for a bus) seems to have determined that everybody who lives past Richmond must go to bed by eleven.

Sure, there’s a bit of an overhang for shelter while you wait, but that’s it. And nary a toilet in any Translink station, so hang on!

Because the bus I was on (11:50 pm) was only faintly illuminated, it was hard to tell just how many passengers were standing. My best count (I did it twice) was over 30. With the number of seats on the bus (47) and the number standing – even if my head count was off, we were well over the stated capacity (60).

I’m grateful the driver was willing to take all of us, and that he didn’t want to leave anyone behind in the cold. As he pointed out as he asked everyone to keep moving back, “We don’t want to leave them out there for another hour.”

He drove smoothly and carefully, and a number of us thanked him for squeezing us all in. I guess we were just lucky that pretty well everyone on the ride that night was nice and slim!

Translink doesn’t seem to think there’s a problem with their scheduling. As of last contact, they have ‘no plans’ to add more late-night buses. Guess we better get used to this – and hope that all the drivers on the line are willing to bend the rules for the sake of riders on the 351 route.

Theatre in the 'burbs

2011-10-18T12:54:00.002-07:00

Despite the cleaner air and somewhat lower costs of living, life in the suburbs lacks a number of elements.

Number one on the list would have to be the choice (or lack thereof) in opportunities for professional theatrical productions.

Happily, the Surrey Arts Centre runs a satellite series of productions based out of Vancouver's Arts Club Theatre. Last night's show was the season's kick-off and wow, did it rock!

Buddy: The Buddy Holly Story starred Zachary Stevenson (whose pretty much note-perfect voice was certainly convincing as Holly), but it was the work of the whole ensemble that made the performance the event that it was.

One of the elements that emerges from the show is the depth of Holly's genius. You can't help but hear how much his music influenced the Beatles, a band who patterned their name after Holly's group, the Crickets. (And where do you suppose the Hollies got their name?)

I have to say that the sound in the newly renovated theatre last night sure beat the tinny speakers on the old 'hi-fi' record player I used to listen to, playing those 45s over and over while my mother quietly went crazy.

It's just too bad I couldn't take a photo of the performance, though I can't imagine my camera would have caught the high-end energy of all that talent. Still, for a preview, here's a link to the trailer.

The Surrey show runs until October 28th. A link to tickets is here, as are listings for other performances in other 'burbs and outposts in B.C.

Sometimes life in the sticks ain't so bad after all.

Occupy Vancouver

2011-10-16T10:23:00.003-07:00

The movement I first witnessed last week in Taos has come to Vancouver, the city where it all started, with Adbusters Magazine. Crowd estimates vary, but when I was there in the afternoon, the people gathered outside the art gallery were definitely in the thousands.

It probably helped that the sun was shining. The day felt glorious -- like the start of a very good thing.

Speakers were amazingly eloquent, the crowd delightfully polite. One of the issues addressed was free (or much less expensive) post-secondary education, so graduates don't need to go out into the world with a debt load bigger than mortgages than used to be. The fact that government rarely seems to listen to listen to the people or even heed data was another (as in the current build-more-prisons-faster mania of the Harperites, or their tear-down the Ministry of Environment as fast as the ozone hole grows philosophy). Joblessness, homelessness -- the issues exist and can't keep being swept under the rug.

This movement may indeed be the change we've all been waiting for. Fingers crossed as we go forward, towards better lives for all.

And from the number of tents set up on the north side of the gallery, it appears that quite a number of people plan to be here for the long haul. As the old saying used to put it, 'Power to the People'. Maybe it's time.

Small beginnings

2011-10-09T23:16:00.003-07:00

The lazy-looking little stream above is part of the famous Rio Grande. Hardly looks very 'grande' but I guess everything that's eventually big starts out small.

This tiny demonstration in Taos, New Mexico (yep, there were only three people when we drove past) is the first I've seen in the Occupy Wall Street movement.

I suspect that, like the Rio Grande, small beginnings will be leading to greater things.

On being led...

2011-10-08T10:58:00.004-07:00

I like it when I seem to fall into good things, especially when each of those good things leads its way into another. That’s kind of how this trip to Santa Fe came about. The Dear Man was off to a photographic conference, and I managed to come along for the ride.

When we got here, one of the first brochures he spotted was advertising a writers’ festival. Since he knows I’m not a big-time shopper, he knew this would be exactly what I'd want to do.

Because Friday’s first reading didn’t start until 4:30, I had plenty of time to stroll around Santa Fe’s beautiful downtown. The place is almost an embarrassment of arts and culture – there’s far too much to take in on one short trip. Still, I did my best.

Although it’s probably best known as Georgia O’Keeffe territory, the galleries, museums and shops here are filled with all sorts of treasures. The handmade quilt in the photo above was only one of the many spectacular items I saw.

Walking through an underground mall of gallery shops, I spotted a number of fine Japanese prints. Falling into conversation with the shop owner, I learned that he was hoping to travel to Japan – and that when there, he hoped to make a documentary, revisiting sites referred to by the famous haikuist, Basho.

From there, it was on to the New Mexico History Museum, site of the writers’ fest. Owing to cold and rainy weather, the readings had been moved indoors, to a room holding an exhibit called From a Distant Road. It’s a remarkable exhibit of modern haiga by Santa Fe poet, John Brandi. The exhibit is rounded out by photographs from New Mexico’s Photo Archives, and these in turn are matched with excerpts from the work of – who else – Basho.

It was beginning to feel like an abundance of those serendipitous signs I love receiving; they always make me feel as though I’m in the right place at the right time. This feeling was only confirmed by the readers who followed.

Besides reading from her beautiful book, My Thin-Skinned Wandering, (even the title seems Basho-like), Piper Leigh showed us a kimono she had made. The kimono itself is a poem; the text is embedded within the sheer cloth – a gorgeously innovative way to present the work. More of what she'd probably call a "high-touch artifact" (a term she used in describing her book).

Then, when the next reader, Renée Gregorio (one member of the group Tres Chicas) stepped up, she took me only further into my day of happenstance. In fact, the coincidences were getting so thick, the day was beginning to feel like one of those Russian nesting dolls. She thanked the audience, then indicated her comfort in the venue, pointing out that the poet/artist whose work adorned the walls is her husband.

Today’s skies are blue, and the crows are calling for me to come out and play. Really, how can I possibly say no to them?

An e-Sign of the Times

2011-10-06T13:40:00.003-07:00

Yesterday was a travel day. It was only two flights, but there were far too many airport shuttles, and way too much sitting around.

In the waiting area at LAX, I couldn’t help noticing how just about everyone was hooked up to some sort of electronic device. Most of them were talking on cell phones, texting, or playing games to pass the time. Several were reading – but from Kindles or other e-readers.

Aside from a couple who were reading from old-fashioned print newspapers, I only spotted one other person reading from a traditional print-format publication. Ironically, he was reading Wired, the magazine that's all about e-communication.

And then, later the news, with the day's final irony: Steve Jobs, the man who had initiated so much of this, had died.

Even if his devices mostly seem to start with an ‘i’, he certainly did a lot to extend the bounds of our physical world to the one we inhabit now, a decidedly e-world.

Peace in the forest

2011-10-03T11:58:00.000-07:00

This was a weekend for a different kind of retreat – a getaway for doing nothing in particular.
Just the two of us, off and away. No alarm clock, no agenda, no computer.

Even the weather co-operated (mostly), allowing us to take lazy strolls through the bush. Aside from encountering several piles of bear scat, we appeared to be the only mammals around. We were on our own, alone in the midst of all that woodsy beauty. Even the air seemed to carry a tang of green.

The trees were filled with birdsong. The streams were full of salmon, splashing their way towards home.

And hidden under the softest green moss were the golden treasures of the season, the chanterelles. A bounty to bring home, to enjoy and to share.

Word on the Street was…

2011-09-25T21:25:00.001-07:00

Windy. As you can see, the winds were so strong, the Poetry Tent was deemed unsafe and had to be dismantled. There it lies, collapsed on the ground, and while you can’t see them, the poets are mostly wandering around, wondering where and when their readings will happen.

Wet. Mid-afternoon, the rains began. Booksellers especially were scrambling to cover their wares. Protected venues and indoor exhibits saw bigger-than-ever audiences.

Waiting. This was especially for the poets – still waiting (and wondering) when the readings might resume, as various alternate areas each in turn proved to be unavailable.

Warm. There’s a special kind of bond that emerges when a group is oppressed. And while the 'oppression' involved was hardly worthy of the word, there was a lot of great bonding as the throng of poets gathered in Translink’s Poetry in Transit double-bus. The powerless vehicle served as rain shelter for over an hour while the powers-that-be continued trying to find a venue for the long-postponed readings.

Wonderful. And yes, the poets finally convinced the WOTS volunteers that even without light or amplification, we could each take our turns reading a poem or two.

Wildly successful – an assessment that would likely be echoed by any of the thousands who partook in this always well-attended annual Vancouver event.

Retreat means renewal – of spirit, body and mind

2011-09-19T13:47:00.002-07:00

By definition, the word retreat suggests a withdrawing. In my case, it meant withdrawing from the mundane tasks of ordinary, everyday life: dishes, cooking, laundry, newspapers, phone calls, plants that need watering – you know how long the list can be.

It was a withdrawing with a purpose, as a way to make time to focus on writing. While it may seem extreme to get in the car and literally go away for such respite, it can be a hugely valuable experience.

Beyond selecting clean clothes for the day (from the limited wardrobe in my suitcase), there were pretty well no decisions to make.

And being freed up from making decisions is amazingly liberating. Even when the decisions are as small as ‘What should I get from the freezer for supper?’ they take up valuable mind space that could be used towards more productive ends. There wasn’t even the matter of deciding what to watch on tv, as there wasn't one.

It became easy to focus on what I wanted to accomplish. Aside from being lured toward the lake for contemplative walks, there were really no distractions. Besides, moving my feet often helps me move the wheels in my brain. Those walks were the source of many ideas and useful insights.

It probably helped that the site of this retreat was such a calming, peaceful place, nestled beside a lake, in amongst so many trees.

It probably also helped that the food there nourished not only my body, but also my sense of aesthetics, which in turn fed my imagination and creativity. The salad in the picture was only the first course in one of our many fabulous meals.

I also found it nourishing to be in the company of four like-minded companions. During the day we kept silence and worked intently.

After supper, we spent our evenings discussing what we’d written, offering workshop comments to each other.

But those evening also saw us engaged in spectacular conversations, the likes of which I probably haven't had since university days. God, the meaning of life, our views of an afterlife, secrets...These discussions were like the best slumber party I ever attended, and we didn’t even have to stay up all night to get to the good parts.

Getting in touch with ourselves seems a sensible thing to do now and then. Whether we have a specific goal in mind (such as writing) or simply want to relax and un-stress, quiet ‘away’ time can provide a remedy to the demands of everyday life.

Besides being a word that suggests a withdrawal or stepping back, it’s also worth considering the ‘treat’ part of the word retreat. I look forward to the next time I can ‘re-treat’ myself this way.

Still time

2011-09-13T14:10:00.009-07:00

If you think you’re at the wrong blog, you’re not. This isn’t What’s fer Supper, it’s still the big limb. And the photo isn’t even supper, it’s lunch.

No, I haven’t gone all fancy with noonday meals. I’m lucky enough to be away on retreat, so there’s a whole staff of kitchen workers pulling off these daily miracles.

And miracles they would absolutely seem to be if any of us were unfortunate enough to live in the drought-stricken areas of Africa.

Yes, this writing retreat is all about being silent and still – experiencing ‘still time’ to quiet the thoughts of the noisy world and focus in on the writing.

But it’s also 'still time' in that there are still a couple of days when the federal government will match donations we make on behalf of the starving children, women and men who had the bad luck to be born across the world from where we live.

The CBC website serves as a clearing house for a number of charitable groups. Of course, you may well already have your own favourite charity.

We have until the 16th to get in on the promised matching funds from the government.

I hope you feel this cause is as important as I do. And that maybe you’ll look at your next meal a little differently, perhaps with more gratitude for all you have.

Celebratory!

2011-09-10T17:29:00.000-07:00

For too many months, the city of White Rock has felt grey and dreary -- and it hasn't had anything to do with the weather. So many shop windows are papered over, the place sometimes feels like a ghost town.

But today the sun was shining -- and not just in the sky. The brightness was reflected in the faces of the many people filling the walkways and streets.

Musicians played in several venues (in fact, it was difficult to take everything in), vendors were demontrating their wares along the sidewalks. There was even a 'bouncy castle' playground for kids.

One of the day's activities was the official opening of a month-long fibre arts festival, Outside the Box. Lots of art to look at, even a dance in celebration of the medium.

No one can complain that there isn't plenty going on in White Rock these days. It's a treat to see the place so vibrantly alive.

An opportunity to be heard

2011-09-08T11:21:00.053-07:00

It isn't very often that ordinary people get to play a direct role in decisions about their governance. But yesterday provided just such an opportunity.

This July, Skip Triplett was chosen to conduct a series of public gatherings that would allow such input to occur. The focus of these sessions is the current state of gaming grants to community groups in British Columbia.

Anyone who visits this blog knows that I often write about the arts and that I frequently find myself needing to advocate on their behalf -- especially since there have been such deep cuts to funding. Heck, I've even 'gone out on a limb' and stopped buying lottery tickets!

Yesterday's session, held in Surrey, drew presentations not only from a range of arts groups, but from crime prevention groups, athletic organizations, and associations that offer child care programs or shelter for women and children escaping violence.

In every instance, the message was the same. Our community is assisted or enriched by the services we provide. Our funding has been cut. We don't know how we can carry on.

Nearly every group shared accounts of having to vacate premises, lay off staff, reduce or cancel services.

But on the other hand, every group offered concrete suggestions for how the situation might be improved.

There was a wonderful atmosphere of cooperation and understanding. It felt as though we were really all reaching for answers.

Best of all, Mr Triplett actually seemed not only to listen, but to care. He's keeping a blog of what he learns at these sessions. And he's also willing to hear from others who aren't able to attend the hearings.

All I can hope is that the spirit of positive change in the air at the session will translate into real change for arts and culture groups in this province.

[Vancouver residents, please note: hearings are scheduled for that city on Saturday, September 17th.]

School's in!

2011-09-06T18:04:00.001-07:00

Today's the day students headed back to classes. But here in B.C., teachers are in the unenviable position of being without a contract (again). They've initiated a mild-sounding variety of job action, not doing tasks that are considered administrative ones. Among requests from teachers are a pay raise that will bring them to equity with teachers in other provinces -- provinces where it's less expensive to live than here -- and considerations to permit them input on class size.

Neither prospect seems likely to happen, as there's been a wage freeze here for public sector employees for far too long. Oh, unless you're a Member of the Legislature, in which case it wasn't that long ago you got a 29% increase in your pay.

As for class size, that consideration was taken away in 2002, the last time this province had Christy Clark serving as Minister of Education. This time, she's in office again, but as Premier of the province, so it doesn't seem like a good time to be looking for class size consideration. All of this despite the fact that she poses as being all in favour of whatever serves to benefit family.

On another educational front, two of Canada's universities, McGill in Montreal and Toronto's U of T, made it into the top rungs in a world ranking of top schools. Toronto inched at number 23, while McGill earned number 17.

These rankings are based on a number of factors, but one of the key criteria (constituting 20% of the points allotted) is faculty/student ratio.

It's a shame to think such a factor is important to evaluators doing world-wide ratings, but that it doesn't matter much to the powers-that-be around here. After all, the only losers aren't yet old enough to vote.

Launched

2011-09-01T16:26:00.003-07:00

Last night finally saw a BC launch for my novella, Shrinking Violets. The flowers were a gift from a friend who couldn't attend.

It may seem odd to consider that the book was launched in Montreal way back at the end of April, in Toronto and London (Ontario) in May, in Saskatoon and Red Deer in June, and only now (finally) out here on the coast where I live. Best of all, it was at White Rock's Pelican Rouge Coffee House, the site of so many local literary events.

In part, this delay had to do with the fact that so many people (including me) like to get away during the summer.

But it also had something to with the fact I like to think of September as the time for going forward with new beginnings. So, in that light, if September 1st is the 'true' new year, I guess last night was a great time for celebrating New Year's Eve, along with all the promise a new year should always hold.

Plenty of books were sold and signed -- a very nice omen for launching not only a book, but a new year.

In praise of hope

2011-08-27T14:13:00.002-07:00

There's something courageous about a flag at half-mast, especially against the blue of a summer sky. It's a combination of sadness and joy, probably the same combination of feelings so many of us are experiencing today, the day of Jack Layton's funeral.

The words of the letter he left for us have already been championed as a manifesto for change, as impetus to go forth and change the world to the better place we want it to be.

The CBC has taken his words to heart and put out the challenge on their website, How would you make the world a better place?

That might seem like an awfully big question, but it's manageable if each of simply looks within and asks, What will I do today to make the world a better place?

I'm taking Jack Layton's final thoughts seriously, especially the parts about Hope being better than fear, Optimism being better than despair.

One of my greatest hopes is that his death won't have been in vain. I'm hoping that it will serve as a rallying point for the Left to take a page from what the Conservatives have done (aligning the voices of the Right). I am optimistic that the various socially conscious factions -- be they NDP, Green or Liberal -- will find ways to heal their differences and join together.

Coming together seems like the greatest way to honour the memory of Jack, and the best of way of fulfilling his desire that we change the world. And what better time to start changing the world than now?

PS Lipstick Press has been honouring Jack Layton by posting poems.

A better-than-fair day at the fair

2011-08-24T16:20:00.003-07:00

Despite being regular fair-goers, when the PNE celebrated its centenary last year, we somehow managed to not get there. But yesterday we made up for it and as a reward, even the weather cooperated.

The food is always a highlight (little doughnuts, soft ice cream, perogies…), but this year the real treat was the performances we saw.

Chris Isaak and his always-hotshot band rocked a sea of people out under the stars (we even got to see the space station fly over).

The night’s tribute band Revolver peformed the music of the Beatles. I liked the fact that they didn't try to look like the original Fab Four (what could be worse than middle-aged men in tired wigs?) but offered some remarkable renditions of the songs.

For me, a dyed-in-the-wool survivor of Beatlemania, it was very cool to overhear snippets of conversation on the midway, especially from teenagers: “Hey, that’s a Beatles’ song!” Yep, the Beatles remain a band that’s pretty enduring. Nyah nyah to those all those dorky guys who used to criticize my girlfriends and me for loving the Beatles -- I guess we didn’t have such bad taste in music after all.

But the best show of the evening was another PNE freebie, the Peking Acrobats. As would be expected, all the acrobats were lean and fit and omigod-flexible; they'd probably been in training since they were tiny children.

The fellow balanced on top of all those chairs managed a number of stunts once he was up there. (To note: the legs of the lowest chair were balanced on four bottles that looked like they might have once held champagne; those in turn were on top of a very tall table).

After tilting the topmost chair, balancing it on only one of its legs, he then did a single-handed handstand while extending his legs most elegantly.

It must have taken years to become so skilled (and apparently, fearless).

As for me, I figure I’m doing well if I can balance on one leg while I’m reaching for a casserole dish on the top shelf of the cupboard.

A Ferry Tale

2011-08-18T20:09:00.003-07:00

Once upon a time in a kingdom by the sea there stood a series of islands, treed and green. These islands, so resplendent, especially when bathed in the golden glow of sunset, tempted the folk on the mainland, who toiled through the week at their weary-making tasks.

Long ago, in the springtime of the realm, the people from the mainland used to enjoy taking short trips to visit the dreamy islands. To get there, they would ride on sturdy ferries which in turn rode the sparkling seas, as if the waves were logical extensions of the roadways.

But as so often happens – especially in tales – change came upon the kingdom. Dark clouds of greed gathered along the horizon. A new emperor named Gordon came all smiling amongst the people and occupied a castle on the largest of the dreamy islands.

Gordon grinned to the friends he had brought to the castle and told them that he had plans to rearrange the kingdom. First, he’d appoint a new steward who would take charge of the lovely boats that plied the waters to the dreamy islands. And he appointed none other than a prince by the name of David.

Soon after Prince David took charge of the fleet, little things began to change, amongst them the fares. Though they’d steadily gone up in the past (hadn’t almost everything, save for wages?), they now rose incredibly – 40% on the main routes, 69% on the ones deemed as minor, and even higher yet in those in the northern reaches of the kingdom. But these things didn’t matter to Emperor Gordon and his friends, as they didn’t much enjoy having to wait in long lines, so they usually took a helicopter or plane anyway.

And Prince David didn’t think much about the fare hikes, as he kept getting raises and sacks-of-gold bonuses for all he’d done to do his part in privatizing the people’s network of transportation.

But then one day it suddenly occurred that not so many people were taking the ferries any more – not even the ones who’d learned to leave their cars behind and trek over as foot passengers, lugging their goods in backpacks and rolling carts.

When someone told Prince David that his fleet was losing money, he pointed out the shining window of his tall glass tower towards the sky and said, “Ah, but the weather is to blame.”

Then, when the sun continued to shine, he looked out another gleaming pane of glass, towards the towers of his old friends at the nearby bank. A small line creased his face, giving him an air of concern, and he pointed again, this time saying, “Ah, but it’s the loonie – much too high.”

The cleaning woman, who happened to be in his office, polishing one of its many windows, dared to look upon the prince, and said in a voice that was quiet but clear, “The fares are too high."

“Oh no,” laughed Prince David, “what could you possibly know? You’re just a simple cleaning woman and I am a prince.” And with that, he pointed his finger again, only this time at the door.

Emperor Gordon has gone away, off to live in a castle on another dreamy island, one that’s much too far to reach by any ferry. In the meantime, Prince David continues to offer his elaborate excuses. And while no one knows yet whether anyone will live happily ever after, one can only hope that at least this year Prince David won’t be receiving his usual bonus sacks of gold.

A great day for poetry

2011-08-14T16:04:00.001-07:00

Yesterday was the 8th Annual Summer Dreams Literary Arts Festival. Sponsored by Pandora's Collective, it's held at Lumberman's Arch in Vancouver's beautiful Stanley Park, and with all that sea and sky and tall trees around, it's a setting that's hard to beat.

The only bad part about it is that there are so many different things going on -- readings, panel discussions, open mic sessions, workshops -- it's hard to get around to see and hear all that you might want to.

The performer above, Mike Johnson, is a talented performer of slam poetry. He's part of a group that takes part in Monday night sessions at Cafe Deux Soleil.

The photo to the side is one of Vancouver's most dedicated mentors, Betsy Warland, just after she's received an award from the director of the Vancouver International Writers' Festival, Hal Wake.

Great weather, wonderful poems, what a combination. But really, shouldn't every day be a great day for poetry!

The intangibles

2011-08-12T14:43:00.002-07:00

I've been reading a pretty darn grim (but great) novel, Lionel Shriver's We Need to Talk About Kevin. It's constructed as a series of letters written by a woman to her ex-husband. As parents, they share the horror of having a son who's gone on a rampage and killed a number of people at his high school.

I'm not giving anything away by saying this much -- these bare facts are revealed almost immediately. The layers of additional information keep getting peeled back for an unbelievably gripping 400 pages.

But despite all the darkness you might imagine to be found here (and yes, you'd be right, there's plenty), there are occasional glimpses of the brightest sunlight, one of which struck me as I was reading this morning.

The narrator mentions the 'intangibles' as being the "...stuff that makes life worth living."

The passage struck me as terribly important and then, when I was eating my lunch, I realized I had a concrete image of one of the 'intangibles' in my own life: a beautiful meal of leftover salad, enhanced by some wonderful salmon, accompanied by a pitcher of cold water, flavoured by mint I'd picked from the garden along with a few rings of lime. Small pleasures, but surely one of those elements that makes life so worth living.

Prisoners have rights too

2011-08-10T18:11:00.011-07:00

Because we live in a country that still adheres to the principle of respecting human rights -- that is, the rights of all human beings -- we are expected to treat all people humanely. I, for one, believe this is a good thing and indicates that we are a civilised society.

Yet, even though we have standards when it comes to respecting human rights, we often seem to slip when it comes to the treatment of those who dwell behind bars.

Today is Prisoners' Justice Day, and I can't explain it any better than this small excerpt from a webpage about the day. It explains that it is:

...the day prisoners have set aside as a day to fast and refuse to work in a show of solidarity to remember those who have died unnecessarily -- victims of murder, suicide and neglect.

...the day when organizations and individuals in the community hold demonstrations, vigils, worship services and other events in common resistance with prisoners.

...the day to raise issue with the fact that a very high rate of women are in prison for protecting themselves against their abusers. This makes it obvious that the legal system does not protect women who suffer violence at the hands of their partners.

...is the day to remember that there are a disproportionate number of Natives, African-Canadians and other minorities and marginalized people in prisons. Prisons are the ultimate form of oppression against struggles of recognition and self-determination.

The shirt pictured in the image above is from Matsqui Penitentiary, an institution where I sometimes take part in writing workshops. It was a gift from one of the men in the program.

I understand that this year, the men at Matsqui weren't allowed to sell the shirts they've made, nor were they permitted to wear them. A small violation of rights, perhaps, but the denial of small rights only leads to the erosion of other ones. But then, all of this is easy for me to say because I live outside the confines of those walls.

For an eye-opening look at life 'inside', check out I. M. Grenada's weekly blog, The Incarcerated Inkwell. It's well-written and a great look at a very different way to have to live one's life.

Popomatic fun

2011-08-08T20:08:00.008-07:00

If you recognize the phrase above, chances are good that you remember the game it came from, Popomatic Trouble. And if you click on that link to the game, you might be amazed at the vocabulary the copy contains – capricious, liberated, reciprocate – hardly the stuff of 140-character u r 2 cool messages.

But tonight’s experiment in Popamaticism comes in a different form, an innocent-enough looking cob of corn, only this cob contains popping corn.

The directions actually say:

Place ear in the centre of your microwave. Be brave! You don’t need a container or paper bag. You can’t see the fun if you do.

So, obedient type that I am, I did as they suggested. And while it wasn’t heaps of excitement to clean up the after-mess, I’ll admit it was fun watching it do its thing. Besides, I got a bowl of one of my favourite snacks as compensation for any inconvenience.

Would I do it again? You poppin’ bet I would.

Ripening

2011-08-06T16:53:00.001-07:00

Another perfect day for picking a load of berries, this time the easiest to pick, blueberries. All the perfectly ripe ones nearly picked themselves, pretty much just rolled off into my hand.

The rows were full of people who had the same idea for a good way to spend the day – plenty of families were picking, with kids of just about every age in tow.

Maybe it’s part of being out in the open air, or maybe it’s the illusion of privacy afforded by the rows of tall berry bushes, but whatever it is, lots of chatting goes on amongst pickers. Inveterate eavesdropper that I am, the conversations I enjoyed most were those of the kids.

Sure, there were plenty of burp and fart remarks, lots of laughing. But there were also some treasures: “After you get your tonsils out, can you still sing?” Or, “Every day someone dies and someone is born.”

And on the thought of someone being born, today is the hundredth anniversary of Lucille Ball’s birth. As an enduring performer, she has to be one of the funniest. I’m sure if I were to watch a rerun of just about any episode of I Love Lucy, I’d find something to laugh about. Today’s paper ran a nice piece about remembering her, and referred specifically to the chocolate-factory episode, a memorable one, to be sure.

But back to those fields, where I heard other conversations. Several languages rose into the morning sun – Spanish, some Eastern European sounding language I couldn’t identify, a Chinese dialect, and just in the next row, the softer-sounding (to my ear) Japanese. I remembered that today is the day Hiroshima was bombed and almost wanted to say to them, “I’m sorry.” Instead, we chatted a bit about the berries, about how big and sweet they were, how impossible it was not to keep sampling them. And I can’t help wonder, had the times been different, could it really be that we would have needed to be enemies, rather than being strangers who could laugh together and enjoy the day in a field of ripening berries.

Nice timing!

2011-08-04T16:01:00.003-07:00

This morning I discovered that an African violet I'd rescued from a fifty-cent table some while ago had finally decided to bloom. The blossom is just the first on a curled stem of buds that look promising.

Later in the morning, I received word that the first review of Shrinking Violets had shown up. And in the most wonderful place -- the Globe and Mail.

But then, a couple of friends who've read the book said, "Oooh, spoiler alert!"

So, if you've read the book (or don't mind a possible spoiler), here's a link to the piece which considers four current novellas from Quattro Books.

I can only hope that with the rest of the blossoms to come, there might be even more such good news.

Now's the time

2011-08-01T17:12:00.000-07:00

It seems appropriate that today, BC Day, should be when I finally get to sending off my ballot in the HST referendum.

Besides representing a heckuva lot of paper (four envelopes, if you include the one the whole schmozzle arrived in), this entire exercise seems like such a huge waste. But if the Liberals hadn’t pretended this wasn’t coming down the pipe and raised the issue during the last election - and then people had still elected them, it would have been different.

Only now it’s all feeling so ridiculously after-the-fact, especially the threats the government keeps tossing around, about how BCers will have to pay back the Feds for the billion-plus in bribe money that Ottawa ‘gave’ us to enact the HST.

It all seems a lot like someone’s blustery uncle decided to call a family reunion and ordered a catered banquet of baby beef liver. Only said uncle chose to ignore the fact that a) the family wasn’t even asked if they wanted a reunion, and b) they’re all vegetarians.

So then, when the whole meal has to go back to the kitchen, the uncle blusters over the fact that the family doesn't want to pay for it.

Yet that’s exactly the situation the people of BC are in – and that’s no matter what the results of this vote might be. We’ll at least have to pick up the tab for all those envelopes and postage.

I’d like nothing more than to turn over the bills for all of this to those who ‘ordered the banquet’ on our behalf – Gordon Campbell and his gang. Only, oops, Gord’s already sailed to calmer (and more lucrative-sounding) waters, so he won’t get dinged for this.

Anyway, it’s time to walk up the street to toss these yellow envelopes into the box. If they get picked up tomorrow, I am hoping that they’ll make it to their destination by Friday’s deadline.

No matter which way anyone votes, the fact that this issue has earned itself a referendum indicates that the message these ballots are carrying is pretty important. I’ve got my fingers crossed that postal workers will give these look-at-me yellow envelopes the priority attention they deserve. If you haven't filled yours out yet, now would be a good time to do it.

Industrious

2011-07-30T15:33:00.002-07:00

It's hard to see the work that's going on here, but there's a bumblebee toiling away in the flowers out on the deck. He's certainly doing more than I feel like I've been doing, as his little 'saddlebags' look nearly overflowing with bright orange pollen.

The flower is probably happier too, knowing it's been 'serviced' so well -- and on such a lovely summer day.

A sign to remember

2011-07-26T16:44:00.001-07:00

I suspect this will be the last time I see this low a price for fuel. It was on our way home yesterday, and no, we couldn't resist the thought of less than a buck a litre, so put some into The Rattler's big tank.

Sure enough, only an hour down the road, everyone else was selling it for at least a quarter more. Lucky timing!

And we even got some of the fresh seafood while we stopped. Nothing beats Fanny Bay oysters.

Sailor's delight

2011-07-24T22:38:00.002-07:00

Sunsets at the dock are one of the reasons I love coming back to Hornby Island. Ah, those red skies at night!

Not a solution

2011-07-19T20:45:00.003-07:00

You've gotta hand it to the folks at BC Ferries. They've come up with a new way of saving paper.

No longer do they print out schedules for travellers to consult. Instead, they print cardboard notices that direct tourists to go to their website. But they don't just print one notice and post it for people, they print out hundreds (probably thousands, but this photo -- from one station on just one of their boats -- only bears witness to hundreds).

When I made queries at the head steward's office about sailing times for the ferry I hoped to link up with later in the day, I was told to go to the website for the PDF of all routes. "But," I explained, "I'm on holiday, so my devices are at home. I can't go to the website." Further, when I asked whether a single printout could be posted someplace on the boat for benefit of such travellers as myself, the answer was no.

But I wasn't going away, and when they saw they weren't going to get rid of me so easily, they asked me to come back in a few minutes so they could look up the route in question.

After browsing the shop and using the washroom, I came back to see if they'd found the info I needed. I'll admit they were somewhat sheepish when they said they hadn't been able to access the site.

Later during the crossing, I found a brochure about Hornby Island and there, among its informative tidbits was the schedule of ferries that would take me there. Hurrah!

Remember too, this is the same service that has signs once you leave the boat, saying "Thank you for sailing BC Ferries". The brilliance of it all -- like, how else were we supposed to get the car from the Mainland to an island?

And how welcoming is this new policy for other tourists who might not be wired up as we're all apparently supposed to be?

Clearly, a bright idea

2011-07-16T00:22:00.002-07:00

No, that isn't a brain in a bottle. Just the result of some fooling around with the distortions a bottle of clean water can create.

For the most part, I’m not too keen on bottled water. The more I learn about it, the bigger a scam it seems to be. It sounds like an awful lot of it is just overpriced tap water. I think there used to be a joke about selling ice cubes to Inuit (though the joke is old enough they were probably called Eskimos). Anyway, I’ve pretty much put bottled water into that category – something most of us really don’t need.

But a news article brought my attention to an idea that's made me at least rethink some of my disdain for the bottles the water comes in – it’s an idea for using them to make a kind of skylight/solar-powered light bulb.

The idea is simple. A one-litre bottle gets filled with water, then a few teaspoons of bleach go in with it. A hole gets cut into the roof and the bottle is fitted into the hole in the roof, along with some bracing and sealant. Then, when the sun shines, the light gets diffused into and around the room. No power bill and, thanks to the bleach, there’s no accumulation of algae. So the water remains clear. The fixture is apparently good for about five years.

This is the sort of invention that excites me and makes me believe there is promise for our crazy human race. I want more of these good ideas – simple, inexpensive, non-polluting. General Electric used to have the slogan, Progress is our only product. Ha. The recycled plastic bottle as solar light fixture – that’s something I can really call progress.

An odd sort of wish

2011-07-08T13:35:00.001-07:00

Because I’m trying to break my habit of taking endless photos – you can’t believe how many gazillions of images I need to delete – today’s garden shot is one I took way back in Newport, Washington, the town where we bumped into the rodeo.

But the reason I’m thinking about gardens is a walk I took yesterday. Yes, the flowers in everyone’s gardens were beautiful, but the part that really got me was the smells! It seemed that nearly every yard had its own particular fragrance.

It made me want a camera that could take ‘snapshots’ of scents – something like the ‘odorifics’ machine owned by Ruth Gordon’s character in the cult classic, Harold and Maude.

I guess I’ll just have to take a walk again today, and fix some of those lilting scents in the odorifics file cabinet of my mind.

Fruits of a long weekend

2011-07-04T17:47:00.001-07:00

This is what happens when three women get up early on a Saturday and head for the strawberry fields. In only two hours, we picked nearly 80 pounds of fruit. It's probably a good thing we ran out of buckets, as the little Honda couldn't have held much more -- at least not unless one of us had decided to walk home.

I've spent part of the weekend dealing with my share, but made the most headway today -- ten jars of Christmas-gift jam and a few trays of chocolate-dipped strawbs.

Besides these, and the ones we've already eaten (plenty, trust me), there's still one more bucket left in the fridge. And look out, the raspberries can't be far behind!

Happy birthday, Canada

2011-07-01T09:56:00.001-07:00

Even the newspaper says that it's a day to celebrate! The front page is full of newlywed royals and best birthday wishes.

Canada's 144 years old today -- and we're home again.

Closer to home

2011-06-28T21:30:00.003-07:00

When we drove through Stevens Pass, there was still plenty of snow, but as we made our way down the last mountain road, we could see that we were finally getting closer to home, and stopped for a leg-stretch at Iron Goat Trail.

The salmonberries were green, but well on their way. The blackberries in bloom looked as though they'll bear a good crop. Even a slug came out to welcome us.

Heading further down the road, I nearly yelped at the first sight of arbutus (or, as they call them here in Washington, madrones or madrona). It won't be long now 'til we're back at Chez Hoser.

Yippy-Ty-O-Ty-Ay

2011-06-26T20:54:00.018-07:00

That's how Frank Zappa put it. And it pretty well sums up this weekend.

Yet again, our plan of no plans took us to a place that offered just the right change of pace. After one of those flukes where The Rattler decided which road to take, we found ourselves in Newport, Washington on the weekend of the town's annual rodeo.

Both of us had been on the lookout for a friendly rodeo, and several times back down the road, we’d been close. But we’d always either just missed it by a couple of days or it had been cancelled on account of bad weather.

But for this one, all the signs were right. We even found ourselves welcomed into the free grassy field where the rodeo contestants and their families were camped. With horses for next door neigh-bours (and yes, they neighed) and a band of excellent musicians parked not far away, we pretended that we had cowboy boots and went along for the ride.

Along with the rodeo events, there was a carnival, a Saturday morning parade, and plenty of junk food to choose from on the midway, including some very delicious huckleberry ice cream.

Among the people we met was the McMillan family, a dedicated crew of trick-riders. The video below shows one of the tricks the youngest, seven-year-old Davey can do.

A great break as we find ourselves truly on the road home.

Paintbox memo

2011-06-23T20:55:00.019-07:00

When we were visiting Glacier National Park, we saw a lot of artists painting landscapes en plein air. While out walking, I had a nice chat with one of those painters. She claimed her picture wasn’t ready to be captured in a photo, but didn’t mind my shooting an image of her well-used paintbox.

Since then, I’ve received terrible news – a friend was suddenly killed in a car accident. Although I’m still shaken by the fact, I’ve been able to think about the fragility of life and how important it is for each of us to do the things we’re here to do. Whether that’s painting or quilting or scribbling words or baking pies – or even just making sure we’re good to each other – it’s important that we use well whatever ‘paintbox’ we may have been given.

To mark the Solstice

2011-06-21T16:56:00.001-07:00

The sun peeked out this morning, so we packed a lunch and headed for the trail up to Avalanche Lake. We weren’t the only ones with the same idea, but there was plenty of room.
I knew that today marks the sun’s highest point, and that solstice would occur in this time zone at about ten minutes to noon.

I’d worn my watch, and as the time drew nearer, I started looking for some way to mark the occasion (if you’ve been to this blog other years, you know this is one of my traditions). And then, with hardly a minute to spare, there it was.

Who knows who might have built this little tower (I suspect a cooperative effort, with many contributions) or how long it might have stood. Or why they chose that particular spot of ground.

I just know that it appeared at exactly the right time, and can’t help but think it must bode well for a wonderful summer.

On the shores of Lake McDonald

2011-06-19T10:10:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, we had a wonderful hike along the shores of this beautiful lake. There was even an interpretive path through an area that had been burned out in 2003.

Again, we find that it's spring all over again. Even the mountain wildflowers are in bloom.

Small town charm

2011-06-17T16:34:00.001-07:00

Travelling through northern Montana means there aren't a lot of places to shop for supplies. Still, it's often amazing to find the array of goods available.

This general store, not far south of the Canadian border, had the usual -- T-shirts and hats with funny sayings, plenty of fatty snacks and watery beer. But it also had some fabulous antique furniture. The counters were glass cabinets, edged with what looked like oak. And this old cash register -- well, I had to take a picture.

I love the assortment of foods arranged around it. If you look closely towards the right, you'll see they still have a hooked stick (blue) for reaching down the cereal from the top shelf.

Prices might be a little higher than in the big-city supermarkets. But hey, the personal service and added charm make it worth it.

Gooncouver??

2011-06-16T17:03:00.002-07:00

The spot pictured in the photo above seemed an appropriate place to watch the seventh game of this year's Stanley Cup Series. We weren't (quite) the only ones in the bar who were cheering for the Canucks, though I have to admit it got harder, especially by the last half of the third period.

But worse than the game are the reports we've heard on the radio while we drove today. Sounds like the usual drunken goons riled up the mob mentality into a downtown of violent chaos.

I can't help but wonder, would the same thing have happened if the Canucks had won the Cup?

Let's just hope this isn't the last chance for Vancouver to prove itself as the 'world class city' it claims to be. Right now, I'm afraid it's looking like a 'no class' kind of place.

When it rains...

2011-06-14T11:27:00.003-07:00

Because we're stopped at the house of one of my favourite Scrabble partners, she and I have spent a lot of our time having a marathon.

I've come to the conclusion that when you get lousy letters (all vowels, all one-pointers), they often seem to come in streaks.

That was the case when I played U-R-I-N-E, although at least I got to lay it on a triple score, which helped. But when I pulled my next tray of tiles, there were the same darn five letters. Good thing the million dollars a game we play for isn't something either of us will ever collect!

C'mon baby, light my fire

2011-06-12T09:20:00.001-07:00

We've been on the trail of dinosaurs again, so Alberta is where we've been wanting to be. When we arrived at our campgrounds in Drumheller, we found that they have mobile fire pits.

I've heard about 'bringing home the bacon' but bringing home the firepit, well, that's a new one!

Big trucks and bigger bugs

2011-06-10T18:07:00.000-07:00

Okay, maybe the bugs aren't really bigger than the trucks. They just sometimes look that way -- especially when I'm taking pictures through the smeared-up windshield.

But yes, the trucks are big here, with many of them pulling double-trailer loads.

When we were in North Dakota, I even saw a few triples. They reminded me of when we lived in Australia. The 'road trains' there were common, and sometimes consisted of four.

Our 'truck' may feel small compared to these big rigs. Still, it's a great way to be moving our own freight.

Not a boathouse...

2011-06-07T20:41:00.001-07:00

...but a house with a boat.

Although you can see a truck parked out back, that vehicle wasn't going anywhere. This was one of several houses near Glasgow, Montana that had been turned into islands by the cresting Milk River.

Since this shot, we've moved north into Saskatchewan. The photos may not be as dramatic, as we haven't seen houses so affected as this. Still, there appear to be many, many fields that won't be able to be planted this year. Bread at seven dollars a loaf? Could be coming, sooner than we'd like.

Hockey Night in Montana

2011-06-05T16:08:00.003-07:00

With so many campgrounds across the northlands closed due to flooding, we haven’t had a lot of choices in places to stay. And now with the Canucks in the Stanley Cup Final, Cable has become one of our crazy considerations. I know, we could have a satellite dish, but aside from now during the playoffs, tv hasn’t been all that important. Besides, we’re supposed to be ‘camping’ -- aren’t we?

Our goal for the night, Fort Peck, is the site of an earthen dam built in the ’30s. The lake beneath the dam, although it looks beautiful, turns out to be much higher than normal. When we stopped at an overlook, a local pointed out the water’s traditional boundaries. Where the beach has always been is far out from the current shore. It looks as though it will take some while for the waters to recede, revealing that strip of land again.

There’s something downright weird about looking out over a lake and admiring how lovely and calm it is – but then realizing that it’s way too big, that it constitutes a disaster for many, and that despite its placid surface, it holds such menace for those who live near its shore.

As is the case at so many dams this year, even the spillway at Fort Peck had been opened, in hopes of redirecting some of the water. This is such a rare occurrence, our local friend couldn’t remember it having happened before. Still, in the midst of all of this, we knew we had to find a place to settle for night. Phoning around revealed campgrounds that were closed – or, of the couple still open, none with Cable.

Resigning ourselves to a night without hockey, we spotted a campground high above the lake, one that wasn’t on our list of possibilities. It didn’t have hook-ups for Cable or Wifi or water (we have a tank on board), but it did have great views. Turns out it also had hook-ups for electricity -- and nice, clean washrooms with big roomy showers, complete with deliciously hot water.

I made an easy supper and George prepared the site for a bonfire; we were set for a peaceful night of watching the stars come out.

But then, he came inside and started fiddling with the funny, old-fashioned antenna on top of the Rattler. And as it turned out, even though it only picked up three or four stations, one of them carried the game.

Happy campers, or what – especially with the results of the game!

PS We still had the fire, and had ourselves a great view of a sky full of stars, some of which we thanked – for finding this place and for not living on one of these vast floodplains.

We're in the West again

2011-06-03T21:00:00.001-07:00

Yesterday, we drove the breadth of the state of North Dakota, making our way from Fargo, on the eastern edge, to Medora, almost at the border of Montana.

Along the way, we saw a lot of big things -- a big flood on the Missouri River, with water extending much too far over its banks; a big metal sculpture (supposedly the biggest scrap metal sculpture in the world -- according to Guinness); and some critters with mighty big heads, buffalo. Today we saw even more buffalo, as we visited Theodore Roosevelt National Park, home to the largest free-roaming herd in existence.

While we were there, we also saw several groups of feral horses. Technically, these aren't the same as mustangs (wild horses), as these are the offspring of horses that probably escaped from ranches. The colts, with their springy long legs were wonderful to watch. I couldn't help but think of the story I'd heard in Tennessee, about Daniel Boone letting his lame horse go free. These horses looked like they could have been related to such a happy creature.

But the picture of the boots? They're from a shop in town here. And they say a lot about just how western this last third of the state has felt. It's almost as if we passed some magical line across the land that tells you it's time to put your cowboy hat and boots back on.

From Calm to Crazy

2011-06-02T08:13:00.005-07:00

We started the day by going to Itasca State Park, home of the lake in Minnesota where the Mississippi River begins its journey south to the Gulf of Mexico.

The photo isn't quite at the river's source, (though it's certainly still considered part of the headwaters), just a little ways downstream, where it takes its first bend. Aside from the occasional buzzing mosquito, the place was about as peaceful as you could imagine.

We walked around, took lots of pictures, chatted a bit with the other few visitors there (such a treat to be a tourist during off-season -- no crowds), and lolled away a few hours.

By late afternoon, we were looking for a campsite -- this time one with Cable as necessary component (usually not even on our agenda), as the Canucks were about to play their opening game in the Stanley Cup Finals.

One by one, we ticked various campgrounds off our list, either by phone call or paying a visit in person.

When we came upon our last-chance site, we discovered that the park where the campsite was located had suffered from the recent spate of terrible weather. The river running beside it had overflowed its banks by many feet; many trees appeared to be growing out of the water, they were so immersed. Huge tree branches were scattered everywhere -- hard to see in this snapshot out my window, but there's a giganto branch torn out of its tree, lying on the ground. And wouldn't you know, the wind damage to the trees happened during a storm on Monday night, the same night we were wondering whether we should run from the Rattler to the safety of the campground's washrooms.

Anyway, when that campsite proved to also not have Cable, well, we wussed out and found ourselves a motel room and ordered pizza. But the team's opening game made the added expense well worth it.

The experiences of the day also reminded me of how very glad I am that we decided to buy the Rattler, rather than having this be a 'tenting' tour. By this time, we would have had to spend many many nights tucked into the dry warmth of hotels.

Stormy weather

2011-05-31T08:02:00.001-07:00

Last night, in the middle of the night, it sounded as if the Rattler wanted to blow its way back to Kansas. The winds were rocking the unit so hard, it felt about to roll over in the grassy field where we were camped. The thunder-and-lightning special effects were out in full force, as was the rain -- a steady gush of sideways stream.

I didn't get any pictures of the nighttime storm, but did have this shot from a week or so ago, when stormy gusts forced us to stop and shelter near a farm equipment business (all we could find out in the middle of where we were).

When the rains and wind eased, I decided to take a snap of the 'metal flowers' I'd been watching from our bed while the storm ran its course.

A day for firsts

2011-05-29T20:47:00.019-07:00

Today is the first time I rode a golf cart around a course. There were even a few short bursts where I had to drive the thing (a definite first). Still, I was glad we didn't walk the course, as the dedicated bunch I was with decided to get their money's worth and played 27 holes. Hey, while the weather's good here, grab it! And yes, that really is snow lurking behind them on the ski hill.

My other first? Gnats. They seem to be a kind of high-flying sand flea, but at least they don't bite, something I was grateful for, as they loved zooming in under my glasses and climbing into my eyes. Gnatsty little things, that's for sure.

The other first today went to driver Dan Wheldon who snuck in from behind to take the checkered flag at the Indy 500. J.R. Hildebrand, the rookie who'd been leading this, the 100th anniversary of the race, nicked the wall on the final corner, but scrootched in for second. No winning bottle of milk for him.

I bet those race car drivers didn't have to deal with gnats. But then, they also didn't get to look at the kind of scenery I did, riding and driving around at Superior National Golf Course.

Idyllic campsites

2011-05-28T18:05:00.001-07:00

Although the rest of the group who are visiting this weekend have taken off to the golf course, as far as I'm concerned, it's a day for staying in, thinking about days when the weather was better.

The campsite above was about as perfect as it could get, especially as we were the only ones there.

I'm sure, come July, it's busy and crazy, but for one perfect evening, it was just us -- having a late night fire along the shore of Lake Besser, with no one for company but the geese and their newly hatched babies.

P.S. The golfers came home. Thunder and lightning don't mix well with metal clubs.

Re Highway 61 Visited

2011-05-27T17:05:00.001-07:00

One of my heroes made an album with a similar title. Same highway, even if I didn't make it as far south as Minneapolis and St. Paul. Or for that matter, even Hibbing. So much for birthplace quests.

Must say, I like the fact that the green sign offering distances lets you know how far to the Canadian border. There was a time when that distance was mighty significant to a lot of travellers, especially young men seeking asylum.

On a quest

2011-05-26T20:09:00.059-07:00

Not necessarily for the perfect pasty (and please note, the 'a' is short as in past; it's not pronounced like paste), though apparently we seemed to have found the spot for that. On the shore of Lake Superior: Number One in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, where this -- one of the original fast foods -- is famous.

My understanding is that they are actually Cornish pasties, which would have them originating in Cornwall. Wherever they began, they've served as traditional lunchbox food for miners. And for years, mining served as the basis of Upper Michigan's economy. And when you consider the extremes of weather here, maybe going down into a mine wasn't all that bad an idea.

The reason we're crossing this stretch of country is that we're going to visit relatives who've booked a holiday on the northern tip of Minnesota (do we have crazy relatives, or what?). It's also an opportunity for me to visit the town where my father was born: Ironwood, Michigan.

As we've seen in so many towns in the U.S., the community is putting its heritage buildings to good use. The old cinema is now used for theatrical productions of all sorts, from travelling professional companies to hometown dance recitals.

I had to take a snap of the Ironwood Theater, as my dad actually grew up to manage just such a place. I couldn't help but imagine that he'd been here as a boy.

While we were growing up, my dad used to cajole my mother, often asking her to make the proverbial pasties for supper. Try though she did, she never succeeded. And now that I've tasted Number One (we encountered several more bakeries making the same claim), I know what she was doing wrong. Hers had too much gravy, were more like beef pot pie. Not a bad thing at all, but not very good for holding in the hand and eating on a hurry-up lunch break underground.

Between two nations

2011-05-25T22:50:00.006-07:00

This campsite, though in the U.S., couldn't be any closer to Canada unless it were on a float of some sort. We're right along the St. Mary's River, part of the Soo Locks, the network of mechanical canals that make up the St. Lawrence Seaway.

Watching the big ships make their way along the route was better than anything that might have been on TV.

Hangin' around

2011-05-24T09:48:00.002-07:00

Whoever stayed in this campsite before us hung a seed-loaded birdfeeder in the tree. But this morning, when I woke up, I saw that the feeder was attracting more than birds. A family of squirrels were all over the free breakfast, including this guy, who'd figured out a way to hang upside down and get a big mouthful.

The image is a bit confusing, looking through the rungs of the ladder. It isn't there for benefit of the squirrels, that's our access to the roof of our RV, and I'm taking the shot from my 'bedroom' window. If you look beyond the trees, you can see just how close we are to the shore of Lake Huron.

Another lighthouse, another great campsite

2011-05-23T19:24:00.018-07:00

Heading for Sault Sainte Marie (both Soos -- the one in Michigan and the one in Ontario), we decided to take the 'quiet' highway, something we're doing more and more of. The Interstates don't offer much to see, and competition for the road from other traffic can feel brutal.

Moseying up Michigan's Highway 23, I spotted a sign for a state park. There are plenty of these along the way, but this one seemed to beckon.

The place was filled with birds (even I, not a birder of any sort, saw a Baltimore Oriole and a Red-headed Woodpecker). And as you can see, the lighthouse was picture perfect.

I was glad we'd taken the turn -- and doubly glad the park was one with campsites so we could stay a while longer.

Rituals of spring

2011-05-22T14:58:00.002-07:00

As we've travelled across the continent, spring has followed along with us. Sure, there've been the rain and winds at our back, but we've also been greeted by just-uncurling violets since California.

Lilacs have been with us since Kansas (I pinched my first bouquet back at Amelia Earhart's memorial site in Atchison). Here in Ontario, quite a few of them are still shut, but looking ready for that first burst of warmth to lure them open.

March is usually the month when we seek out the year's new crop of nettles. It's important to get them while they're tender as possible, so the earlier the better. Since they weren't out before we left, I thought that we'd missed them, but lucky for us the nettles behind the shed her are only now ready for harvest. Even when they're small, they carry quite the sting. But G's uncle put on his big gloves and picked a bundle for us to take along.

Earlier today, I managed to rock up with my own pair of gloves and cleaned the nettles (basically just sorting leaves from stems) in the little sink, then cooked a few batches.

Steamed up for supper, I think they're better than spinach. I've even managed to tuck two little packets into the freezer. Just in case we need to pretend it's spring all over again.

Clear skies

2011-05-20T20:36:00.005-07:00

The last few days have seen us staying with relatives, who have a beautiful property in the countryside near Hamilton. Aside from going into the city for the book launch, we've mostly managed to lie low and wait out the cold, rainy weather.

The change began yesterday, and it was lovely the way the sun brought people outdoors. I saw lawn-cutters, sidewalk-sweepers, kids playing with hula hoops -- even a boy with fat coloured chalks making art on a sidewalk.

This morning was clear and bright and tonight was warm enough to have a picnic on the deck. Tomorrow will be a day for moving on -- provided, of course, that the world doesn't decide to end.

When Ontario weather behaves like this, it's pretty much paradise. And heck, when that's the case, who needs thoughts of the Rapture?

Night train

2011-05-18T11:23:00.003-07:00

Tonight was the official launch of Shrinking Violets. Along with three other readers -- a poet and two other novella-ists (is that a word?), I read to a most supportive audience at Toronto's 'Supermarket'. I loved that venue as the site for the launch, as Reggie, the book's main character, works as a cashier in a supermarket. And even though the evening was drizzly and cold, it was fun to wander around Kensington Market before the reading began.
The photo above is from when we made our way 'home' -- to where we're staying with relatives, near Hamilton. For a while, we were the only ones riding the streetcar, and even through the mist, seeing the lake near Harbourfront was magical.
A pokey ride home on the GO train, and we were back in the country, fog-bound but content after an evening of seeing good friends (and making new ones).

Last stop before Canada

2011-05-15T09:34:00.006-07:00

The weather's still on-and-off, less than ideal. But our lucky stars led us yet again to a wonderful spot for our last night of camping (for a while at least) in the U.S.

The map showed one of those dotted-line scenic routes, so we decided to see where it would lead. The place we discovered, Letchworth State Park, turned out to be great, both for daytime hiking (even if we did get sprayed like crazy by the various falls) and for camping overnight.

As with so many places we've discovered on our trip, the park is loaded with history. The story I like best is that much of the land was logged-out and covered in nothing but stumps, but that William Pryor Letchworth acquired it and added it to the site of his museum, to remain a forested wilderness in perpetuity. I have to admire him, and credit him with having a great deal of vision. If only there were more of his style of philanthropy around.

Once again, we were nearly the only people around, so it felt as though we had our own private forest. If you listen carefully to the little video, along with the crackling of the fire, you'll hear the call of evening birds.

Midpoint

2011-05-10T08:41:00.001-07:00

Both timewise and geographically, we're at the midpoint of our trip -- and a point is all that it is. We're on Ocracoke Island, one of the bits of land that make up North Carolina's Outer Banks.

Only fourteen miles long and mostly a stroll wide, it's barely a dot on the Atlantic.

Besides being charmingly beautiful, it's filled with history -- some of it dark, as Blackbeard worked these shores, luring boats onto sandbars then plundering their wares.

The photo above was taken near Teach's Hole, one of the places here named after the famous pirate (who was also known as Edward Teach).

Today's island population seems dominated not by pirates, but by much-too-tame ducks. Mallards have staked their claims nearly everywhere you look. A pair tried inviting themselves for dinner last night, only they weren't volunteering to jump on the barbie.

They didn't seem to get it when I said, "I don't feed ducks, I eat them." Still, they did begin to shy away when we mentioned hoisin sauce.

Starting today, we'll be heading north then west -- all part of the route that will eventually, we trust, lead us back to that other coast and home.

Reconstruction

2011-05-08T07:54:00.003-07:00

As we drive through the U.S., we keep seeing reminders of the many terrible storms this year's spring has delivered.

Near the airport in St. Louis, we saw flattened buildings and trees. In Kentucky, near a roadworks site, there were trees that at first appeared to be the result of a very botched job of mechanized logging -- the complete branchwork torn off, the trunks sloppily torn. But then, the terrible realization: this was the work of a tornado.

When we saw a house with a tree resting over top of it, our theory was confirmed.

While we haven't experienced tornadoes (touching wood and being thankful), this has been a week of some personal disasters. The small ones were a smashed jar (but what a miserable task finding all the tiny splinters of glass that exploded all over the little cabin of the RV) and later the same day, the discovery of tiny moths in one of the cupboards. Ack. It meant some small bags of foodstuffs (almonds, sunflower seeds, and sadly, the quinoa) had to be tossed.

But the worst? My computer. Major crash. For me, this is a personal disaster, although fortunately, critical files are on a back-up stick.

It's probably going to slow me down in the blog and other writing departments. Still, I'll do what I can.

It's certainly made me realize just how much I depend on a machine as an extension of myself. For without words, who am I?

We're sure as heck not in Kansas anymore...

2011-05-01T21:26:00.006-07:00

Tornado warnings have been almost continuous (along with thunderstorm, wind and flood alerts) while we've been here near Louisville (Kentucky), but I'm glad to report that we're still on terra firma, with The Rattler intact.

While I'm glad I haven't been in any tornadoes, the last few days have been (for me) a whirlwind of sights and sounds and dare I say 'colourful' experiences -- all part of the wonders that were Montreal.

In addition to the horse with the pink mane (pulling one of the tour buggies that traverse the brick roads of the Old City), another colour played a role because I was part of a literary festival called 'Blue Met'. And what was I reading at the Blue Met, but a section from my new book, Shrinking Violets. So, three colours in one paragraph (and one day) -- not bad.

I also closed off National Poetry Month by giving away the last item in my book-a-day project. A book that seemed to suit both the festival and the urban setting was
Evelyn Lau's Living Under Plastic, a book I love very much. And I'll admit, it was my second copy that was left behind. My own special signed one remains at home on the poetry shelves.

Back to the road tomorrow, where there'll be more posts from who-knows-where.

Simon says...

2011-04-29T17:38:00.000-07:00

Simon is the name we call the little man who lives inside the GPS. He has an English accent, and is always very polite, even when he's telling us (for the third time) to "Please turn around as soon as it is possible."

Although we do our best to keep him up to speed by letting him on the Internet too, the updates don't always work, especially in construction zones. Sometimes those little diversions confuse him.

If you look at the photo above, you'll see that Simon seems to think we're off in a field someplace. Another time, when we were taking a ferry, the little blue VW that serves as our avatar appeared to driving over the water -- shades of Herbie the Love Bug!

While at first I scoffed, thinking a GPS was 'just another gadget', we would have been lost without him. And I say this quite literally, especially when we tried to find the place we planned to stop near Louisville, KY -- a feat that required crossing the Ohio River into Kentucky, then taking a complicated series of cloverleafs so we could get to a town in Indiana. Huh!?

A century on

2011-04-27T16:52:00.002-07:00

One hundred years ago today, my maternal grandfather, James Murphy, landed at Ellis Island.

He was only a teenager, but he came on his own from Ireland, trying to start a new life.

What if he hadn't had the courage to take that journey? Where would I be today? In fact, would I have been able to stand there next to him, holding his hand -- would I even exist??

This is the house...

2011-04-25T19:03:00.002-07:00

...where Amelia Earhart was born.

I was able to spend several hours there today, looking around in rooms where Amelia once ate and slept and played.

Best of all, I had a wonderful conversation with Louise Foudray, who's not only the official caretaker of the museum, but a fountain of information. I just hope I'll be able to decipher all the notes I scribbled down, and that this day's visit will help inspire more writing about Amelia, as I want to expand the little group of poems that make up my chapbook, A: The Amelia Poems.

Easter Bunnies

2011-04-24T07:54:00.001-07:00

These bunnies were sitting on a bench on the porch at one of the nicest RV parks we've visited. Their photo looked like a keeper for sending Happy Easter greetings.

Even though we're living in The Rattler, coloured eggs and chocolate are also part of the day.

Springtime greetings!

On the trail

2011-04-22T19:18:00.002-07:00

We seem to be following the historic Santa Fe Trail.Today we made it to Dodge City, the classic Western cowboy town. The Boot Hill Museum here turned out to be lots of fun -- we even had a couple of sasparillas at the Long Branch Saloon.

The museum had an incredible array of displays, and was filled with fabulous memorabilia and information. Learning about the slaughter of the buffalo (numbers going from a million to a thousand in under a decade) was horrifying, especially with this being Earth Day.

We're ridin' the trail through Kansas, while the eggs boil up on the little stove, as we start to get ready for Easter.

No yellow brick roads

2011-04-21T19:54:00.004-07:00

But plenty of yellow grass. And plenty of irrigation machines and oil wells.

The photo above shows the view I had as we drove away from last night's canyon-top campsite. Heaps of dust rising from the dirt road as we depart -- take a look in the rearview mirror.

After a night of dry camping, we were ready for electricity and plentiful water, so stopped at a 'proper' RV park. Cutesy as anything, everything is Wizard of Oz, right down to "Auntie Em's Laundry".

Cutesy or not, tomorrow will be another day for moving on.

Wasn't it Horace Greeley who said, "Go East, young man!" Or something along those lines...

In the tracks of dinosaurs

2011-04-20T19:47:00.003-07:00

The hike was over five miles in -- and then all those same steps back -- but it felt worth it to stand in the tracks of dinosaurs, creatures from some 150 million years ago. The site? Picketwire Canyon, one of our last stops in Colorado.

I love the story of the name 'Picketwire' -- it comes from the French name for the river that runs there -- 'Purgatoire' -- in turn, named for Spanish treasure-seekers who died there without benefit of clergy (thus, relegated to the pains of purgatory). Somewhere along the line, somebody couldn't say 'purgatoire' and decided it sounded like 'picketwire'. If you say it with a movie-version cowboy-Western accent, it just about works. How many idiosyncrasies of language come about from just such mis-hearings, mis-speakings?

We dry-camped tonight, isolated on a ridge in the Comanche Grasslands of Colorado. Lying in bed, I stared out at an ocean of stars, and couldn't help but think that the light from some of them might well have originated the same time those dinosaurs were making their muddy tracks.

It's a clean machine!

2011-04-19T19:41:00.004-07:00

We've made our way through the last of the mountains. From here on in, things should be mostly flat.

Yesterday and this morning saw us poking about in Great Sand Dunes National Park. The photo I missed taking was capturing the lightning and thunder (and rain and hail and wind!) that paid a visit during the night. It was as if someone was taking our photo -- everything lit up -- "say cheese!"

After all that sand and dust and taking us safely through all those steep mountain pases, The Rattler had earned some tidying up.

Vacuumed and washed, what an improvement. Laundry this afternoon as well. Even the sheets are fresh and clean. Ahhh!

Four toilets?

2011-04-18T08:28:00.002-07:00

For all of our spontaneous meanderings, one place I’d been set on seeing was the site marking the convergence of the boundaries of four states – Utah, Colorado, New Mexico and Arizona. Four Corners Monument is the only place in the U.S. where this occurs.

For a start, I have to say that it was disappointing to discover a gate where a fee was charged for entry. After all, it’s only open air, there’s really nothing to ‘enter’.

Sure, it’s only three bucks a head, but I wasn’t happy about it. Besides, it seemed contradictory that the nation doing the collecting is one that doesn’t purport to believe in notions such as lines dividing state from state.

Really, after seeing them collecting those handfuls of dollar bills all day long, I’d have expected more improvements to the site than just brick-and-concrete sales stalls for selling souvenirs.

And I’ll admit to being off-put by the thought of souvenirs. So many places where I’ve stopped to look for gifts, when I’ve examined them, they’ve held tags that read “Made in India” – as if that makes them ‘Indian’.

Instead of spending entry fees on building fancy sales stalls, what would be so terrible about replacing the Smell-o-Potties with a couple of proper restrooms?

Somehow, I don’t imagine I’ll be making a second visit here.

One month to Toronto...

2011-04-17T08:30:00.005-07:00

The flowers above are tiny wild violets. I took the photo while we were passing through California. Anyone who's read Rattlesnake Plantain knows that I have a thing for wildflowers.

But it isn't wild violets that are leading us to Toronto, it's my new book, Shrinking Violets.

The launch event is set for one month from today: Toronto on Tuesday, May 17th. I love that it's being held at a place called 'The Supermarket' as the book's main character works in one.

So, how many miles is that from southern Utah?? I guess we better put the pedal to the metal -- or at least stop gawking at every red rock -- as we have a lot of country ahead of us.

P.S. Just consulted the atlas. Even the most direct route (which I know we never take) is 2,000 miles. And no, I don't want to even think of that in kilometres.

How do they do that?!

2011-04-16T20:46:00.007-07:00

How long has that how-many-tons hunk of rock been balancing like that? Especially with that lean to the right, along a hillside at that... I'm just sure I don't want to be any place nearby when it gets tired of doing its trick.

Today, when we went in to Natural Bridges National Monument, we discovered that this is
National Park Week, so we didn't even get to use our fancy pass. Who knew.

Touristical, but cool

2011-04-14T15:42:00.005-07:00

After a couple of lazy days in Page, Arizona -- the Dear Man golfing while I puttered with books and words -- we decided to be brave little tourists, so we could see Antelope Canyon. Because it's on Navajo land, you have to go in with a group and a guide. A bit crazy to be there amidst so many people and languages, but memorable sights, that's for sure.

There are plenty more beautiful images of this probably over-photographed site, with everyone practically jostling to get the 'perfect' shot of the beams of light streaming down from above. Still, I'm happy with the weird little vision I got, looking up into some tumbleweed tangled near the ceiling.

Natural wonder overload

2011-04-12T08:28:00.000-07:00

Even though the weather reports hadn’t been favourable, we’d both really wanted to see Bryce Canyon National Park. Happily, our day there was bright and sunny. But because there’d been so much snow, it wasn’t possible to do any kind of hiking around. We had to drive from viewpoint to viewpoint and see what we could.

Still, it was all pretty breathtaking.

Since still more snow was predicted for the following day, we took this as a sign to head a bit southward before we start moving towards the East.

And truthfully, I’m feeling as though my eyes (and brain) are nearly saturated with all this scenery!

The right day to be in Zion

2011-04-10T20:07:00.006-07:00

As with so many stops along this tour of ours, someone was smiling on us when we went to Zion National Park.Even the shuttle bus drivers were getting out and staring up at the cliffs. They said that the combination of snowmelt on the high cliffs and the day's bright sun were creating a day of rare sights.

The 'sun' in the photo above isn't really the sun. My photographer buddy explained that it's actually just a 'lens flare' -- a technique that real photographers like to manipulate. For me, it was just a matter of blessed good luck.

But then, that's been the kind of adventures we've been bumping into all along our trail.

The video below is something just for fun. Because our vehicle is wider than a standard car, there's no room to squeeze past any oncoming traffic. We had to have the tunnel (over a mile long) cleared for us to go through. Of course, we led a few other cars, and we all had fun tooting our horns -- great echoes!

Still too wintry for the mountain roads...

2011-04-09T19:56:00.006-07:00

Although the roads down here in the valley were mostly clear, the mountain roads were too hazardous for us to venture out towards more national parks.

Both of us were glad that the U.S. government managed to get its budget squabbles resolved for the time being, as national parks would have had their gates locked. And here we are in Utah, a state that may have more national parks per square inch than other one in the union.

Besides taking too many photos of the incredibly varied landscape, the usual weird
sights along the way also caught my eye, like this sign. But an even better sign came my way today, as I found my first (ever?) four-leaf clover.

Exploring the nearby lowlands proved to be fun. And by the time we got back to town, things were melted enough that the Dear Man (die-hard that he is) got in nine holes of golf.

Grand Canyon Days

2011-04-07T21:06:00.004-07:00

How many people are lucky enough to spend almost two full days poking around the Grand Canyon! Heck, we even got to camp there for an overnight.

The object in the photo above is a Graflex View Camera -- just one of the many tricks the Dear Man carries around. It's a 4 by 5 camera, so each image it takes is captured onto a photographic plate that's 4 inches by 5 inches in size.

If you click on the picture to enlarge it, you might be able to see that the image in the viewfinder is reversed. The side-to-side aspect is tricky, but the upside-down sky is clearly there.

These images will be black-and-white, and likely processed in our little camper -- more of the magic tricks I get to travel with.

As for my own snap-snapping efforts, I took waaay too many. It's just a good thing
mine weren't on film -- or, on those hard to find 4 by 5 plates.

A damn big dam!

2011-04-05T19:30:00.004-07:00

Today was a driving day, but one with several great stops, one of which was the famous Hoover Dam. It was busy, with lots of tourists, and this is supposed to be 'low season'.

Today's miles were all in the name of getting us to the Grand Canyon.

Further down the road, we ducked onto the Historic Highway 66. I got a kick out of the Burma Shave signs!