I believe....

Anyone watching the Vancouver Olympics has heard it about 3.8 billion times already. It's now embedded in the collective consciousness of all Canadians, the most epic earworm of this new millennium thus far.

Of course, I'm referring to "Believe", sung by Montrealer (!) Nikki Yanofsky.

Our Canadian Olympic coverage is underscored by this instrumental at every turn. I find myself absentmindedly humming it while cooking, folding laundry or driving. And naturally, it blares from every loudspeaker whenever a Canadian athlete wins a medal, which means - seven times so far.

The Believe movement has its own logo, too, translated into hats, t-shirts and every conceivable article of clothing you can imagine. It's been reproduced on banners, copybook covers and scarves. In short, we're all being urged to "believe", as though having collective faith in our athletes will somehow improve their performance.

The logic (or lack thereof) doesn't matter. Our country has embraced the movement, and the song, with open arms (ears??)

As I stopped into my local hockey arena this afternoon, I saw yet another banner, this one made by schoolchildren from the local elementary school, posted prominently in the lobby. Hand- coloured and cut in a slightly wobbly hand, it nevertheless represents the hopeful anthem we've been singing for the past week...

A housekeeping note: I'll be out of town this weekend, and I'm not sure I'll be bringing my laptop with me (electronics and arenas are somewhat incompatible creatures). I'll keep clicking away, but I won't be posting any new pics until our return late Sunday. Have a good weekend, gentle readers.

Unplugged

I finally got the camera cord working again. I had been faithfully snapping pics, but couldn't download them either here or to my Facebook Project 365 photo album, so I found myself silenced and speechless.

As anyone who has spent a quarter of an hour with me will tell you, this is a most unnatural state.

Things have been strange here. My work is sporadic and the bills are piling up. We're having a grey but snowless winter, and the urge to sulk and hibernate has been overwhelming. My normally boundless creative and physical energy has deserted me, and I feel dusty and underused.

Also not typical, and quite uncomfortable.

This project has been a decent motivator over the past few days. Forcing myself to find interesting angles, or looking at everyday objects in new ways, has given me a creative push on days when I'd really rather fall into inertia.

And so, these photos are somewhat abstract and unusual. This first one is of our local library, as seen from the outside. Staff has placed a red plastic film over the windows, presumably to counter the bleaching effects of constant sunlight on their collection. As I peered in, the yellow lights gave the scene a rather chilling effect.



It kinda looks like The Library of East Hades, doesn't it?

This evening, as I drove home from my play rehearsal, I grabbed the camera at a stoplight, rolled down the window and snapped a few photos of the train tracks which run parallel to the highway service road right near my house. I suppose I wasn't entirely stopped, and so the lights near the tracks seem smeared and surreal...

Monday Monday....

Still no new camera cord. I was told by a knowledgeable friend to try downloading some drivers. He was supposed to send me links... but I'm still waiting.

In the meantime, I found one more pic from Friday. There is little capturing our imagination at the moment, other than the Olympics. The joy of winning Canada's first gold medal on home soil (despite hosting the Olympics twice before, in 1976 and 1988) has suffused the entire country. Even here, in our less-than-enthusiastic province, the gold medal mogul run by hometown hero Alexandre Bilodeau has generated huge excitement and momentum for the Olympic frenzy.

And thus, why not wave our flag a little bit, in a rather unCanadian way, and celebrate a true milestone in our sports history?

Oh dear

Well, it was bound to happen. I've hit my first snag of the project.

Yesterday, as I tried to download the day's photos, I realized my camera cord wasn't working properly. *sigh* So I've been unable to load or edit any new pictures, although I have been snapping away...

So today, you get two days' worth of "old" photos, all taken Friday - the last time my accoutrements decided to be helpful. Until I can replace the cord (hopefully tomorrow) this'll have to do.

Saturday: A whimsical photo. The sun was flooding in from the south-facing windows, and I happened to be picking something up from the floor and looked up. The shadows of the barstools on the wood-grain counter were stark and interesting.

One of the "tricks" I've been reading about in the Project 365 forums is to see ordinary things in new ways and through a different perspective. I think this photo (my skills notwithstanding) fit in with that philosophy.


Sunday: Later that day, I headed to the local mall. One of the boutiques there had an absolutely gorgeous chandelier, draped with iridescent satin. When I sat down in the "waiting" area and looked up, I thought I was seeing a giant suspended orchid in the ceiling. A beautiful effect, and definitely worth a shot!

The eyes of the world

There is little else being discussed here tonight but the start of the Vancouver Winter Olympics. Seven years in the preparation, with countless thousands of volunteers working tirelessly to prepare a Games in this, the southernmost host city in the history of the Winter Games.

We've heard the jokes about the lack of snow... but what was not lacking tonight was joy, creativity and pride. The Opening Ceremonies were a mixture of cultural stories, music and sparkling visuals, marred only slightly by the malfunction of the indoor cauldron right at the end.

Speaking of which... this Games featured the longest-ever Olympic Torch Relay, spanning 106 days and nearly 45,000 km, through some of the world's harshest winter conditions. Our country embraced these Olympics, and in particular this Torch Relay, with so fervent a spirit of national pride that most commentators were left speechless. It's never been done before, and will likely never be attempted again. But what a spectacular event it was.

What broke most people's hearts, however, was the news this afternoon, even before the official start of the Games, of the death of a Georgian slider. The horrific accident was looped on all our news segments, and cast a pall over what should have been a joyous afternoon and evening. A moment of silence was observed, and athletes were urged to compete in his memory, in a spirit of international brotherhood and sports(wo)manship. So tragic, and yet a reminder of the tremendous lows that form the shadow side of victory and sporting excellence.

With that sober thought in mind, here's to a wonderful and successful Olympic Games, Vancouver! This girl's totally on board, right down to the mittens.

Ugh

I've been felled by the late-winter equivalent of Chinese Water Torture - an insistent, long-lasting cold that I've managed to ignore for days. Today, it decided it would be ignored no longer. So I spent most of today curled up on the couch, blowing my raw red nose and feeling like I'd been run over by a snowblower and spit out the long chute onto my front lawn. In a word - yuck.

Since I didn't venture outside the bounds of the living room today, it became a bit of a challenge to figure out what to post as today's picture. At 11:15 pm, I figured I would just snap a pic of my constant companion today.

Not every day's an adventure, I guess.



PS Very, very excited about tomorrow's Olympic Opening Ceremonies from Vancouver. I'm hoping to spot my BFF among the 3,000-strong children performing in the choirs at the Richmond Olympic Oval (affectionately nicknamed the ROO) as part of the Opening Ceremonies. It helps that she's about the size of the average 5th grader... she's been prepping for this for well over a year, and tomorrow is the day it all goes down.

Go Vancouver - I'm cheering for you, as you reveal your beauty and attitude to the world!

The Write Life

Anyone with a modicum of sentience has realized by now that I'm a frustrated writer.

Check that - I'm often frustrated, and I'm a writer. And sometimes, yes, my worlds collide and I strain to express what's inside.

It's been a curse and a blessing since I was a kid. My classmates would bemoan the 2-page composition they needed to write for English class. I'd have trouble limiting myself to 5 pages, and often used a dictionary, a thesaurus, and a typewriter to bang out my ideas.

And this was in the fourth grade.

Although I make my living from business writing now, fiction is what truly nourishes my spirit and tugs at my heart. And so, in a fit of mad inspiration, in 2007 I signed up for National Novel Writing Month, which (as the name implies) is the insane attempt to write a 50,000-word manuscript in 30 heady, creative, and likely unhygienic days.

I won NaNoWriMo in 2007 with 5 days to go, completing my first novel, a thriller set in the 1980s in my hometown. In 2008, I went for something completely different: a magical realism story about a mythical painter who exists across multiple eras and countries, and whose work changes the lives of everyone who encounters it. I won that year too, hitting the magic 50K mark in a coffee shop at about 5 pm on the last day of NaNo month, after a marathon 36 hours without sleep in which I wrote nearly 30,000 words. If it wasn't for the last minute, I'd get nothing accomplished.

2008 is also when I met Pat and Mike, at a Write-In for NaNo participants. Pat is a gifted writer of fantasy, crime stories featuring a unique detective, and lately, a four-book trilogy (yes, I know what I just wrote) in the science/thriller genre. The woman is utterly possessed when writing; she won the Muskoka Literary Festival last year, outwriting her closest competitor by many thousands of words, and emerging from the 3-day event with the complete first draft of her scientific thriller.

Mike is quieter but no less fierce. He's into dark stories and historical fiction. I'll always think of him as The Professor because of his penchant for research - before, during, and after he writes his pieces. He's no less successful, having just sold his first short story for publication, and working on the second draft of his 2009 NaNo novel.

Together, the three of us hang out in coffee shops across the city on the occasional week night, summoned by someone's impromptu message on Facebook, and drawn together time and again by the prospect of laughs, ideas, coffee and conversation with fellow writers.

And so it was tonight that after my play rehearsal and without prior notice, Mike dropped in to pick me up and drive me over to yet another Second Cup location with Pat. Several fun, productive and laughter-filled hours ensued... along with, maybe, a pretty good short-story idea...

Signs of spring? Yuck!

So you know all those sentimental thought-kins about the loveliness of spring, robins bobbing about, the first tender shoots springing hesitantly from the lately-frozen ground, etc etc?

Well, fuhgeddaboudit.

Around here, the signs of spring are messy, disgusting, and best acknowledged with rubber gloves and a long-handled shovel.

Having a tall mountain of snow covering our lawns and sidewalks hides a multitude of sins in my part of the world. In this relatively snowless year, the sun still manages to do its warming work despite the frigid temperatures. That's why it's never truly a good idea to look at the puddles on the side of the road outside, and assume you won't be needing Hot Paws and a fleece scarf to run your errands on foot.

When the tall mountains do melt, as they did here, what's uncovered is often a veritable Lost and Found of old garbage, brownish-grey vegetation and discarded junk.

And yes, the gloves and mittens. Sad and alone, they point nowhere in particular, soggy and greyed, waiting patiently for their former owners to reclaim them and become useful again. A particularly local sight: a single mitten or glove, of any size and description, upright on a metal pole - waiting to go home again.

It ain't poetry - but it's truth. Sad mittens are a sure sign of spring, around here.

Redux

We headed back to the mall to return something today, and I caught my daughter doing one of the things she does best...

This photo was too busy in full colour, but I like how the B&W and soft focus bring the attention forward to her, and not to the food court and shoppers all around her...

A day of rest

Does anyone really rest on Sundays anymore?

My daughter and I headed to the mall this afternoon. I despise shopping on weekends; I'm not fond of crowds, parking is always at a premium and everything in the stores has been pawed through several times over. Still, when the kid has a hectic homework, social life and sports schedule, and needs (*something which I am not allowed to mention on this blog*), it's fairly difficult to come up with a time that's convenient to everyone.

So off we went to our local multi-story shopping emporium.

The area I live in is fairly recently built-up (starting in the early 1970s) but our mall has been renovated with an eye to both design and nostalgia. I especially love the Art-Deco style lighting throughout... it really stands out against the modern steel beams and glass ceiling. Today was another bright, frigid winter day - and the contrast was really startling.

We did find the unmentionables, and I got out of there with only three small bags and a slight dent to the credit card. A successful afternoon all around!

At the arena

I've spent the past decade ferrying kids to various sports venues all around my city, area and province - and sometimes, outside of that, too. My kids have variously been divers, soccer players, karate devotees, badminton players, wrestlers and ringette players - the latter being the sport that draws the most "??" reactions from people unfamiliar with this most Canadian of sports.

The easiest way to explain ringette is that it's just like hockey, yet completely different. It's played on an ice surface, with 5 players and a goalie on each team; but that's about where the similarities end.

Ringette is a fast, non-contact game that requires a player not simply to push a puck with a curved stick. Instead, the girls (only girls can play this sport) have to spear a rubber ring with the flat end of a stick, and pass it over 2 blue lines to their teammates. It requires lightning- quick reflexes, excellent skating skills and precise hand-eye coordination.

My daughter's been playing ringette for half her life. This afternoon, we traveled to a rink in the northern part of the island to watch her team's last regular-season game. When we arrived, a group of pre-novice (5 and 6-year-old) girls were just finishing up a practice.

I remember how, years ago, I loved seeing these tiny girls looking so fierce and determined in their full regalia, and how these adorable munchkins turned into the ferocious competitors that would step on the ice half an hour later.

Of course, when you are 6 years old, sometimes practice just goes on a little too long...

In winter's grip

Winter isn't just a season around here. It's a state of mind.

It's also a mighty and primal force of its own, which often humbles me with its careless power.

My little wooden house was rocked this week by strong winds that caused the siding to creak and protest, and the thin glass in my ancient sash windows to rattle about like loose coins in a poor man's piggy bank. I also freely admit to panicking a little when I spotted a rather significant quantity of black shingles on my front lawn ... then I noticed they were actually from my neighbour's roof. A selfish "whew" and a neighbourly "oh dear" ensued simultaneously.

We've been pummeled by freezing temperatures and arctic winds for the past two weeks or so. By early February, we often (and falsely) feel as though the worst of the season is behind us, and we start anticipating those balmy temperatures and first hesitant shoots of green (not to mention the mud puddles and fossilized remains of fall trash) that act as signposts to our Eastern spring.

Today, however, I was struck by the casual ferocity of our cold, cold season.

I was snapping a few outdoor pics when I noticed something that clearly did not belong. A stack of neatly piled firewood sat on the side of a neighbouring family's driveway. Nothing unusual, right? But when I looked up, I saw what looked like a Dutch wooden clog glued to an electrical cable strung diagonally in front of this house.

I figured it was just a chunk of wood that had fallen during the family's recent tree-trimming exercise and had somehow gotten caught on the cable. When I looked more closely, however, I noticed it wasn't dangling on the cable. The back of the wood chunk was firmly attached to the cable... by a thick, clear layer of ice.

Wow, Mother Nature. What a whimsical way to prove you have dominion over ALL the land, even the unfortunate bits of flotsam and jetsam that prosaically litter our day. Not to mention the breathtaking sense of timing involved in adhering wood to steel cable with frozen water, in just the right amount to set it overhead like a timber Sword of Damocles (kind of like training wheels, but for medieval weaponry).

Colour me impressed.

Now what?

Day Four of Project 365, and I'm already at a loss how to approach this project. Do I develop a theme and run with it? Do I snap randomly and hope something turns out well once I download and view the daily pics?

A writer friend once complained to me that people would ask "How do you find your inspiration?" at every single party he ever attended. That was his least favourite question, he told me, because "how do you explain that pretty much everything anyone says and does, and everything I see, hear, notice or experience, is grist for the mill?"

Thus, his conversation with his mother, the sandwich he eats at lunch, his argument with his idiot boss (don't we all have those?), and the walk to the Metro after work all get worked into his evolving fiction in some way. Granted, maybe his mother's words come out of the mouth of the love interest in his latest short story, or the Montreal Metro ride gets moved to Paris - but the experiences ring more true in his fiction when they've been experienced in his (or his dear ones) own lives.

And so it goes with photography, I suspect. Maybe it's not about finding that ZING! of inspiration and praying like hell that my rechargeable batteries don't fail me at that exact moment. Maybe it's more about taking the everyday things in life, the small moments and routine bits, and re-imagining them through the eyes of a different viewer.

I'm not sure that makes sense to anyone else. But in honour of this thought, you get... a picture of my breakfast. Enjoy!

Drama llama

Tonight was drama class - or rather, rehearsal for our upcoming play, David Campton's The Cagebirds. It's an avant-garde, strange little play about a (deranged) woman, the Mistress, who keeps a collection of birds/women in a cage. Each of the bird-women has a particular characteristic or personality quirk that distinguishes her from her cage mates.

I love this class so much. It's the one evening of the week that can be relied upon to provide laughs, emotion and a sense of belonging. Our core group of actresses has been together for three-and-a-half years, having performed the Female version of Neil Simon's The Odd Couple, and two thematic plays composed of various scenes and monologues, Depth Perception and Atmospheric Disturbances. We're closer than sisters and have an unbreakable bond forged through performance-night jitters and the emotional processes of becoming a different person in front of an audience without losing your identity.

Sadly, it looks like The Cagebirds will be our swan song. Our theatre closed down at the end of last November, leaving our troupe essentially homeless. We were able to find an alternative rehearsal location in a church basement, but it's a rather uninspiring space.

And it's cold - figuratively AND literally. Some nights, it's hard to emote when you're shivering and bundled in your parka while reading your lines...

Kim plays The Mistress. Tonight, she ran lines with us while our director spoke with each of us in turn about our character's background and relationships with the other birds and The Mistress. With her dance and art background, Kim's a natural at leading our group.

Looking...

Everything I've ever read tells me that being a good photographer is about changing how you see the world.

Most of us look at a scene and see... the scene. People. A sky. A series of items or objects in a particular arrangement.

A photographer sees differently, though. She sees the spaces between objects, the shadows they cast, the possibilities in the tiny details that the human eye captures that are often flattened or bypassed by the camera lens.

I'm trying to learn to see again. It's a challenge of training, of attention and of taking that one extra breath and letting my brain tell my eyes and shutter finger when to snap.

So far, so fun.

Today's photo is a tiny detail of a much larger (and more boring) photo of a table centrepiece arrangement I put together for my son's birthday party this past weekend. I've included the original photo (above), and then today's 365 Project photo is below. Can you tell which part of the photo it is?



Partly Christmas, partly birthday (a blingy ornament from the dollar store) it gave the table some sparkle. By enlarging the centrepiece and playing with contrast and colour intensity, I came up with this photo.

And yes, the de-decorating continues apace around here. Did I mention I chair the Procrastinator's Club in my community? No? I was going to tell you.... eventually. *grin*

I'm back! In many ways!

Ah, my poor dormant, dusty blog. How I have missed you (not, actually).

I'm back because more or less on a whim, I've decided to join my dear cross-country friend Lyn and do a 365 Project this year. Essentially, it's a promise to take one photo per day for the next 365. Lyn started on her birthday last Monday, January 25th and literally within minutes of watching her crystal-clear, evocative photos go up on Facebook, I felt a hankering to do the same.

Except in my case, crystal-clear and evocative, not so much.

As an acknowledged "word person" my double challenge is to develop as a photographer and give myself both the discipline and joy of fun writing on a daily basis. Hence my Swiffering of this old site, along with a bit of elbow grease on the old noggin, and away we go.

So - Feb 1 and Day 1 of the 365 Project:

As a master procrastinator, I only got the Christmas decorations wrangled and put away tonight. Partly it's the festive air they lend the house, partly it's a nod to my decidedly bad housekeeping; but I looked over at my Charlie-Brownesque fern and thought it was worth snapping a shot before everything was stored away for the next 11 months.

The reason the ornaments and lights were strung on a common household plant rather than a fragrant natural tree is that by the time I looked up from my workload and realized "Hey, I really need a tree for Christmas!", there was none to be found anywhere in my community. Or so I was told by the rather sharp-faced woman at the mall.

The thought of a tree-less Christmas was a little depressing, but the concurrent thought of driving downtown and scouring the sad Christmas-Eve-Eve offerings was even more depressing. So instead, we got creative with lights and dollar-store trimmings, and to top (or bottom) the whole thing, decided on a full-sized Italian flag as a tree skirt.

That, my friends, is how we ended up with a Friendship Fern instead of a holiday tree for Christmas 2009. And beyond.