Ruby's first snow (she was just three months old)

Meant to post this for Ruby's birthday wish but formatting problems played havoc... Hope it works now.

Happy Birthday, Ruby!

Ruby turned two years of age today. We celebrated as we do every morning with me in more layers of clothing than an onion has and her refusing to get cold.

And to think it seems like just yesterday I had a life before I had a dog :)

[Photo taken with my BlackBerry -- the touch screen version being the worst bit of technology I've ever owned..]

Happy 2010

Merry Christmas

Dang, I suck with photoshop!

That aside, the best of the season from me, Who Who is Now Landed and Ruby the Portuguese Snow Dog.

Judoka

A friend, and a sensei, was visiting with his wife from the southern part of the province for a Judo tournament at the university. He had three judoka with him competing. I always thought judo was a bunch of grappling with hands full of robe, but watching more closely today to try to anticipate throws in order to capture them with the camera, it became clear that judo is not simply technical attempts to kick the butt of your opponent's centre of balance, but profoundly beautiful in that technicality and its bow (forgive the term here) to strict formality and manners.

more Judoka

more Remembrance Day 2009

Remembrance Day 2009

In the photos here, included is a shot of double Memorial Cross recipients -- Kitty Elliot who lost her husband, brother and cousin in WWII, and Rebeka Bulger who lost her husband to the violence in Afghanistan in July. Insanity 65 years ago, insanity four months ago. Bulger's brothers looked so much alike and surely like their fallen sibling and I looked into the face of the 87 year old woman and tried to see the face of her brother so long gone.

Included too, a shot of an old vet fallen from his chair, later quietly carried from the hall he appeared okay, perhaps simply exhausted from a march on legs too distant from their last formal drill.

I wound up in the press pool taking photographs this morning so I felt a bit "distant" from the ceremony, somehow -- nothing more cynical than a reporter, except perhaps the camera guys.

The image of the young boy saluting so earnestly was the trigger for my tears today, however. Children. In uniforms. But as a friend said looking at the enlisted men and women today, they are all children, really....

Lest we Forget

11h 11/11/2009 Edmonton

Within days of arriving in New Zealand in the mid '80s, I hitched a ride with a man who stopped to offer a ride, he said, because I looked like a Scot, with my beard and plaid tam upon my head. Himself a Scot transplanted to New Zealand some decades earlier his face noticeably went to remembrance, when he learned I was Canadian.

As he drove he told me of being a kid during the second world war, the rationing, the fear, the doing without. Then surely I disappeared in the car and he held out the hand not on the wheel and stared at his palm as if on its horizontal plane it held something and he told of an apple, red and travel weary in consistency, but an apple still. An apple given him at school, to all the kids at school, a gift from the orchards of Canada.

"Thank you," he said, tears in his eyes.

We drove in silence until coming down a long steep hill a small village came into view and he asked if he might buy me a beer. Again, "thanks," as we downed the beer in a quick couple of pulls, and back to the car to continue on our way.

Lest we forget.

Happy Halloween

A giant pumpkin balloon.

Dog Park Balloons

Turns out one of the city's largest dog parks is the launch site of hot air balloons.

Dress Rehersal

Took He Who Is Now Landed to MEC today to buy him insulated pull over pants and gloves for the winter.

Edmonton has been having a remarkably warm fall; some days 15 or more degrees above average. My memory going back to my days in Brandon and Red Deer I picked up a few goodies of my own so as to avoid freezing my ass on the long dog walks in the frozen days to (soon) come.

Vatican II (not) [For PJ]

As you may know, God lives in Alberta.

You'll note this bumper sticker is actually not on a bumper, but on the door of this truck; its twin is stuck identically on the other door. Fearing that taking this photo might insult the owner of the truck (or at least initiate a conversation I had no energy to avoid) I did not stick around to capture photos of the misplaced bumper stickers affixed to the tailgate and canopy that suggested Lucifer hisself was gonna whip my ass without some help and that my meeting Lucifer was going to have a lot to do with my pro life stance...

Mountain Dog

Over the long weekend, Ruby and I joined B&F and the kids for a few days of camping. We went to Rock Lake, about 4 hours from Edmonton -- including 32 km on a gravel road (which accounts for nearly an hour of the trip).

Ruby spent a lot of time in a mountain river -- the name of which escapes me at the moment -- so cold that it numbed my feet quite literally to no feeling in less than a minute or two. She didn't seem to notice. She did get swept down stream by the current once and pulled under sweepers (trees fallen into the river). I thought she was a goner but she popped up in the middle of the branches and managed to get her front legs over the branches of one tree. F was pulling clothing off to go rescue her but as he moved down stream on shore she pulled herself laterally along the trunk (hilarious if I'd not been so worried) of the tree and then launched herself back into the river and swam to him. She and I then gave up the fly fishing (e.g. walking up river for a few kilometres crisscrossing the river as the terrain or depth and current might warrant).

Ruby is also a dog that despises being warm -- to the point she'll reject cuddling and gave up wanting on the bed as once she got there she found it too warm -- but the final night the temperature dropped to near zero and I finally as she was clearly actually cold opened my sleeping bag, dragged her inside where she sprawled out her full length against me and stayed put!

He Who is Now Landed was grandly sad he had to work and thus miss tent sleeping and living without a flush toilet or running water for a few days :)

Duan Wu Jie

Dragon boat dragon heads during duanwu jie races on the North Saskatchewan River.

Joe, our neighbour

We live next door to Saint Joseph's Basilica in Edmonton. I grabbed this shot handheld at night and love the noise produced by the extremely high ISO setting, as well as how the auto, white balance "read" the large sodium lights.

But if it's your life?

Yah, yah...

Yah, yah, more pics of the dog.

In case you haven't noticed for the past 1.5 plus years Ruby has consumed my free time. Reference the 2.5 hour walk we went on this morning and the 3.5 hour walk yesterday morning -- the hour less today due to getting better instructions for finding a bridge across the river that did not include following the perimeter of a park which follows a near circuitous route!

As you can see from these shots, Ruby seems to be hating Edmonton. Pics taken on my cellphone.

He Who Is Now Landed got a job! First resume delivered. An interview and then the job. He's already worked a shift. Full kitchen duties with a steep learning curve -- Italian restaurant.

Hello Edmonton

The Stink of a River Dog, or, How Bad Customer Service Proved Advantageous (to the customer!)

Glacier fed, the North Saskatchewan River's water ranks excellent for quality. Before it reaches the city; after which the quality drops some 24%.

By the time the river reaches Edmonton, it no longer looks like its mother is ice. Not exactly a muddy river it does leave a dog that plays in it grimy and a bit green smelling, certainly.

Ruby the Portuguese Annoying Dog loves the river and has in the past couple of weekends started to actually swim, rather than wade, in the big flow. Unlike some breeds of dogs that simply smell like dog (I think labs, for example) Ruby, when she smells bad, smells like whatever it is that's left her filthy. As a puppy it was the shit and piss infused sand of the idiotic fenced dog parks of Toronto (before the move to the open park in Rich,er,Rosedale. Once it was the smell of the bloated (and very dead) possum she rolled in (after eating an about 15 foot rope of entrails she'd pulled from the carcass -- as an aside within an aside, that was the final straw of her zero recall which kept her on the leash for months and lead to the miracle training tool, the e-collar).

In the end, she's a dog and could care less if she smells to high heaven. Without an outside hose, washing a dog is a nightmare, and given I'm cheap the $12 do it yourself wash at Menagerie Pets in Toronto means Ruby has been formally bathed in her 19 months so few times I can recall all of the baths.

Then there's brushing. To start at the end, she has now come to tolerate being brushed, although only if she's allowed to attack and chew the brushes periodically during the exercise. It would be much better, of course, if it, the brushing, wasn't a once a week exercise when nascent matting has had a chance to take hold somewhat.

Add to this shoddy dog hygeneship the feeding of raw meat to a long haired dog (see her muzzle hair length in the last post's photo) and there is at least one glimmer of good dog care here -- I wash my dog's face twice a day. Coddling, you think? Imagine small chunks of ground, raw meat on your couch, having been deposited there when they fell from a dog's beard.

In the last blog's photo you'll also notice what appear to be Princess Leia like masses on either side of her muzzle -- those would be impenetrable mats composed of tangled and loose, but not lost, hair, burs, and raw meat remnants of meals past.

These had to go as they had taken on a smell of their own, riding tandem with the river stink Ruby now wears like a badge.

So I booked a grooming session for Petsmart -- it's cheap, they don't know a thing about PWD haircuts, but hey I just wanted the nice bath and blow dry, the clipped nails (something I've never done, as so much nail wearing down exercise does Ruby get that I'm able to rely on the twice or three times a year grooming nail clipping), even the brushed teeth add on option. I called the store, booked the appointment AND when I suggested I'd have to call my Toronto vet to get the latest Rabies vaccination confirmation was told:

"Oh no, that's not necessary. Has your dog been groomed at a Petsmart before?"

Yes, says me who is then delighted to know the Edmonton location will simply call the Toronto location and there's no need to bug the vet, worry about faxes, etc.

Arrive we do at Petsmart (me with some positive anticipation as I'm looking forward to having a dog whose face doesn't look and smell like the head of a dumpster diving indigent) and are greeted with:

"Oh, how would we get the Toronto phone number for the store???" As the two groomers blather on about the number not being on a list, and the farthest east they have is a store in Saskatoon's number, and, strangely, that the Toronto number wouldn't be in the phone book, I called information on my cell and provide the rocket scientists with the number.

Response:

"Your dog's vaccination certificate has expired."

I explain I have Ruby's rabies tag in the car, but that won't do. Clearly I conclude there's a broad ring of people who share such time stamped dog tags in order to get their dogs' groomed without getting rabies vaccinations... Sigh.

We leave. Then it occurs to me I had Ruby vaccinated before I left for Edmonton and they would have required her new certificate (which I remembered then the Toronto store calling the vet to get as much at the last grooming in Toronto). I call Petsmart in Toronto and remind them of this. Oh, they finally say, "yes, yes, here it is. We were looking at an old record."

By then we've left the groomers and in fact I'm in West Edmonton Mall (Ruby and He Who is Now Landed waiting in the car in the parking lot) picking up the large, large purchase of clothing I'd made at Harry Rosen a couple weeks previous and had left behind for alterations; those now completed.

So, Ruby doesn't get groomed. I take her for a walk this morning and then, at friends', as they're on holiday, pick three quarts of raspberries along the fence line. There Ruby adds some sort of tiny burs in great number to her entire snout and much of one ear, for good measure.

Could this story be any longer?

I shampooed Ruby at the raspberry picking house (they have a hose and a lawn and everything!) and then came home and groomed Ruby's face myself!

Looks grand and I saved myself $100 or so. I decided that when it comes time to groom her generally I'm going to do that myself too -- 'cause if I can get her to sit relatively still while I use scissors and combs/brushes around her mouth and eyes, the rest will be easy with electric clippers. He Who is Now Landed might not be too happy that it'll be the clippers he shaves his head with.

If I do say so myself Ruby looks fab even if her muzzle does look a wee bit asymmetrical. This shot really shows her red highlights, as well (there are red Porties out there). A shame the benefits of the shampooing will last only as long as her evening romp in the river.

Still Unpacking

The weather here has been just great -- a note I leave here simply as a means to rub it in the noses of Torontonians.

We're still unpacking, but getting there. Most of the paintings are up, so the rest of decorating has followed. A bit of an engineering challenge with the bookshelves and baseboard radiators, but that will be overcome even if it means hiring someone else to do it :)

Ruby is completely settled in -- especially since we've discovered a HUGE off leash dog park with river access and Doggie Beach.

The pic with me in it was taken along the river valley just west of the bottom of our street. Below from the vantage point is a major, major fucking waste of public green space, also known as a golf course.

He Who Is Now Landed took the pics.

Arrival

He Who is Now Landed and Ruby the Portuguese Annoyance Dog arrived at Edmonton International airport on Saturday. Here (the photo, taken with my CrackBerry) Ruby relaxes wtih an imported beer (none of that crap she got at my brother's place). HWiNL and Ruby were welcomed to Edmonton by a wind storm that blew the town apart -- apparently, according to the weather office, it was simply luck that the storm did not become tornadoes. It WAS wild. Ruby could have cared less, HWiNL had a shower during the powerful electrical storm and I was chased inside by the fear of a tree falling on me when trying to take Ruby for her night walk. I didn't walk on one street on Sunday or this morning that didn't have a tree down or major tree limbs torn from trees and littering the streets. I never think about how much I love trees until I see them blown down in storms.

Ruby and I are living the life of outlaws, playing fetch the ball in an on leash area. At 6 a.m. you can get away with anything, really :)

HWiNL loves our new rental condo, and our new neighbourhood, so I guess I did good in the selection. Only four paintings have been hung, so far.

The job? I am meaningfully busy already and thus far most nearly strategically versus tactically and it's great.

Much more soon. We just got internet yesterday, so give me a break.

One observation -- people here USE public parks. Every park I pass, regarless of size, has exercise classes going on, or people throwing a frisbee or having picnics, or being active in other ways. I figure it's because summer is precious here. I did enjoy people picnicing on the public golf course this evening, as well!

Oh, and the river and river valley are just gorgeous.

Truly Canadian Portuguese

He Who Is Now Landed and Ruby the Portuguese Annoyance Dog fly to Edmonton next Saturday -- yes, yes, I know, that DOES mean I've been left to set up the apartment after the move...

I've been fretting about Ruby flying and fretting about Ruby being without me (and me without her) for so long, but as these photos shows she has slid nicely into the family routine of my brother Ray and his wife Donna.

From Here I Can See There, Or is it From There I Can See Here

I saw Lloyd Robertson and Craig Oliver on the news last night. Those guys have been doing what they do, forever. Even Lloyd's "big change," when he moved from CBC to CTV, was decades ago, now.

Reminds me a bit of my last place of employment where among the cadre of senior executives there was a pride that most had done nothing else career wise, known no other employer in their work lives. Indeed, several of the employment spans measured easily into multiple decades, with no change in sight.

Lloyd and Craig are not required to run their organization, so such continuity as theirs does not run smack dab into the face of what every organization has faced since the culture of the '50s faded in the '70s, which is the pressure to change, driven by whatever it is that does the driving -- the requirement of constant fiscal growth or perhaps the usual suspect, technology.

The first speeches I ever wrote for the FP 100 crowd were about change and the refrain, growing cliché even then, was that the only constant was change itself. Imagine then organizations run by individuals who are themselves so utterly resistant to change that there is a train wreck of a collision when that hesitancy and the now almost universally accepted reality (meaning it's pretty invisible and just is) that things aren't going to be the same from one day to the next in the "business (for profit or not) world." What makes it pathetic (and frankly from the outside looking in, entertaining) is that the status-quo-from-a-few-status-quos-ago" crowd are informed enough that they know they need to change but are so incapable of doing so or even trying they construct change paradigms designed precisely to keep change on the other side of the moat. Train wreck doesn't begin to get at it, especially for those who are employed by those in denial and have to experience a work day filled with the contradictions of an approach that takes the language and behaviour of change we must by changing by not changing so that it looks like we're changing because if the organization doesn't change we'll fail....

But that's Corporate or organizational or marketplace change, which is a great source of course of upheaval to those people (just about all of us) who work, who are those organizations that are changing as standard course. But that's a requirement of work these days; to change. What makes organizational change an issue at all is, I figure, the fact that at an organic and individual level, we as people don't want change. I don't think we're hard wired to choose change (although we've got all sorts of innate psychological and physiological mechanisms to deal with it when it occurs on occasion versus as a constant) with its stresses and uncertainties over the sense that what worked to feed and shelter me and my cro magnon buddies one day shouldn't be toyed with lest it lead to being hungry while sitting out in the open rain and cold the next.

Which brings me to Edmonton. Not the cold and rain, but the change in that here I am. I'm here and no longer there -- there has been change. The answer to the question "how am I doing with the move?" comes down then to how I'm dealing with change. As a young man I made significant moves (geographic, career, psychological) often and with ease. This change not so easy.

I just read this morning a reference in a book, which cited profoundly obvious research findings that as we age, especially, we reject novelty. Hilariously, one study found specific ages after which it is unlikely one is likely to get a body piercing, change our taste in music, or move across the country, I'd add. I like the language of novelty, it's, ah, new. I have been using the term, comfort as this move has proceeded, but pretty much as the opposite of novelty.

I am excited about being in Edmonton, both in terms of being back in Western Canada, and for what it represents on the career front -- it's a good job! But there is, at 50 years of age, a very strong desire for things this Friday morning to be the same they were on any given Friday morning of say six months ago. Why? Well, it was comfortable. There was no novelty, beyond perhaps of learning what stupidity might have erupted overnight in the minds of my supervisor at the time and the change that would erupt paradoxically in the name of protecting the status quo at all costs.

But just thinking that, of writing it, that the default seems to be comfort, resistance to novel experience, just makes me drive in the opposite direction. It doesn't erase the desire of keeping with the familiar, but it angers me with myself enough that pining for the now in response to the tomorrow (and its change) makes change the more welcome outcome. Not any easier to leave people and things and places so distant physically, but we've just moved, we haven't died and darnit the good of the before does not poison the good to be had in the new now.

It is also the fact that the current status of here being the away, was 20 years ago both the here I was leaving AND years earlier the there I was moving to. So, when I retire in this job in 10 or 15 years where we've left this month will be the new there, difficult to move toward from the comfort of here, which at the moment is the there :)

Home is of course defined by people and relationships. This province was once home and there is a strong positive sense of a homecoming for me. But change has a before and after which is its very definition and my home of the past 20 years is now behind me and the difficulty of this change in homes is of course the people who are there when we are here. To that I say, I miss you, already.

Happy Pride

I have been consumed by the move. That, along with my having packed, and thus becoming too lazy to retrieve for use, my camera, means I didn't take any photos of Pride, this year. He Who Has Landed got a couple of good shots of us posing with marketing hotties, but his USB cable is packed.

I gotta say professional packers (not what you think, ahem, instead they are the guys who come from the moving company and box everything) move through one's space as if locusts across a wheat field during a dry prairie smmer. They pack EVERYTHING. I left a subway token on top of a credenza and it was packed. The dog's food dish, in the sink being cleaned. Packed.

A separate crew arrives in about an hour to pack the big art (18 paintings!) into custom made wooden crates.

I did run in the Pride and Remembrance Run (have run it since its beginning) -- 26:42, which ain't bad given I run exactly once a year now. Movement involving my legs is,ah, restricted today. Cardiovascularly, there wasn't a single issue, so all the dog walking has helped a little. And not surprisingly, really, since my just-sub 27 minute 5k run is really not much better than I could do if I'd chosen to walk it fast....

In any event, Happy Pride. More about everything when we get settled in Edmonton.

Good bye Toronto.

On Iran

The thing is, that whatever is going on in Iran at the moment, politically, socially, is not a revolution, of course. It is most certainly protest, which may or may not lead to revolution. The chances of it leading to revolution (read, affecting profound change away from the political status quo) are slim, anorexic really, given the "moderate" who "lost" the "election" is moderate only in a very relative sense. For example, compared to the current (contested ?) President of Iran, Dick Cheney is a moderate.

What we need not forget, and few are talking about this (thanks be to The Big Bang for The New York Times and some European papers, among other not widely read or watched news media, but even there the discussion is lost), is that the self proclaimed "martyr" in this is NOT against the power holding religious whackjobs who actually run Iran. Well, I don't know his mind, but he certainly didn't run for President to overthrow the mullas.

What is exciting in a Solidarity, or the wall is coming down sort of way on the political change continuum is that there is bold protest in Iran, that people are standing up for what they believe in and are willing to have their heads bloodied (or removed as the case may be) in support of that belief. The realist in me, however, continues to drag my mind to a historical spring in Prague -- not because in anyway the two situations are the same, but because of what power can do when it is threatened and holds the ultimate recourse of power -- military might (violence).

Unfortunately for lovers of Western styled democracy and the right to drill for oil wherever you want, or to manufacture big energy inefficient cars that people don't want until the people fork over lots of dough to give the manufacturer enough life to continue to make those cars the people don't want, is that the ayatollah structure ain't going nowhere in Iran. WHOEVER is named president will not change (revolutionize) a thing. Granted, that is so very true in a Western democracy, as well, so granted the level of debate and tone of rhetoric could change (which is all we really get on election day in the West) and things could appear or even become more civil if Admadinejad's mouth were smacked by his having to give up the corner office. But, and its a biggie, Iran would remain at its political heart a political and philosophical enemy of the West.

Yes, there are reports that Iran's religious leaders are considering a wee makeover of the religious based power structure, which is news comedy at its grandest. So to be clear, the mullas are plotting to strip themselves of power? Oh dear.

But back to the protests. The projection onto those dying and bleeding in the streets of Iran the hopes and dreams of democrats everywhere is of course, simply, hope. Misguided, as it may be. That others might know our freedom which, political cynicism and bitterness aside, we have in spades in the West, prompts us to effectively lose our minds and cheer on the dying and bloodied from the comfort of our armchairs, or The Big Bang forbid, by "tweeting."

Which brings me to what prompted this blog. I heard a debate on the CBC last week as to whether the "Iranian Revolution", by which was meant the current clash between one ruling elite and another, would have been possible without Twitter. Not even Dr. Laura has energized such a need to reach into my radio and throttle as did that discussion. I do belive that social media are proving effective at allowing protestors in Iran to communicate and coordinate their efforts for maximum result. And if so, that would be a tool not before available.

But to suggest as I'm now hearing ad nauseum that because the West (read, news media in the West) are getting reports out of Iran via Twitter and its brethren with more characters than 140, the holders of power in Iran, those bloodying heads, are less likely to succeed is ludicrous. If Twitter helps "get the news out to a waiting world" the world still has to do something if there's to be any true consequence of breaking silence. Iran's leadership ultimately doesn't give a damn about what the rest of the world thinks, in any event, so to suggest that when it is fighting for its very specific hold on power that if ABC and the New York Times can generate support outside of Iran...

Backup a second. Any ban of foreign media in Iran during the conflict has nothing to do with what in the end is PR, or building support outside of the country for the protestors. No, the ban is to ensure that there is no coverage that the INTERNAL audience can see which is critical of leadership, and thus motivating for the protestors. The real usefulness of twitter et al must surely exist if they allow those actually protesting to remain in touch and to know they are not alone! But, again, unless the West is going to invade Iran (or turn to some other at the moment unknown leveraging device) in support of the protestors as a result of the information we're able to access (because, say of the ruling elite's inability to block Twitter), well then that WE know about things via Twitter is useless; as contextual-less as most news in our lives.

To suggest that it is somehow instrumental to a (misnamed) fight for "justice" that Sally and Bob in Ohio or New Brunswick can follow the action in Iran is just stupid.

Glass Features

A porcelain face from PJ's cabinet of fine curios.

Worn clay bricks on a rusted iron stake leaning toward Lake Ontario at the end of the Leslie Street Spit

As I owe at least three people photos I've taken I thought I'd prove to myself (e.g. appease my guilt for my sloth in the digital dark room) that I could actually post a photograph.

WW

I've got so much to blog about, what with no longer being at the Y, and getting a new job and thus needing to move to Edmonton in a couple of weeks.  And blog about all that I will but that takes some mental work and it's easier to drift through youtube or offing the enemy Helgast on PS3.

Or to watch the entire six seasons of The Sopranos in less than three weeks -- beautifully I made it, despite ALL the media hype surrounding the last episode, made it without knowing until the final moments whether Tony got whacked or not.

Speaking of tv, of all the excellent tv shows I've watched on DVD, The West Wing remains untouchable.  There are better scenes than the one I'm about to link to (I think of the one in which POTUS damns god and his punishments in the Cathederal), but few are as satisfying moments as this one in which the writers (and a damn fine actor) show the promise of what could be accomplished if power were to be balanced (in the same head) with will, intellect and a true sense of morality. Sure, it's fiction, but one can dream :)

President Bartlet kicks some ass

I am petrie dish, hear me cough...

I've been to Alberta twice in the past month; Edmonton and Calgary both.  Edmonton for job interviews and to visit friends there, Calgary visiting friends.

One of my dearest friends lives in Calgary, where I met her years ago, with her hubby and their two kids. The kids are 5ish and sub three.  It has become cliche for me to ALWAYS leave their home with whatever childcare or kindergarten snot carried virus I can manage to acquire during the fun -- I was most often prey for two dinosaurs on these latest visits.  Remarkably I took home a dry cough cold the first time; that lasted two weeks, ending just about the time the second visit started.  The day home from visit two and I had a NEW cold with very different symptoms.

Hate to break the virus sharing track record Noah, Maya and I have :)

Kids, but older, in Edmonton too -- offspring of two folks who I consider family.  Less snot or wrestling with their kids though, given the ages -- sadly (happily? :) I missed much of the runny nose periods of Duncan and Evelyn.  

The photo?  Snapped by mother Kelly who was handling my D3.  The pose?  One I've struck for years, usually with the comment, "Gotta light?  Man, I gotta stop smokin'!  It's killing my nose."

Memorial (and) balloon

A red helium ballon caught on the WWI memorial in Calgary's memorial park on rainy (turning to snow later) day in April.

[The dearth of posts isn't entirely the fault of my inherent slothfulness, but also blogger that had refused for a couple of weeks to publish my ramblings...]

The Poet, Moira MacDougall

Moira MacDougall, pictured here (in a portrait I took -- I used to work with Moira and she delightfully asked if I might take the bio shot for use on her book), will have her first collection of poetry published on June 8th by Tightrope Books where you can find more about her book,Bone Dream.

Moira is also a poetry editor at The Literary Review of Canada.

I for one can't wait to read her verse.

Congrats Moira! 

   

Bunny and blue chalk

A sidewalk artist outside the Toronto Eaton Centre, his hands darkened by his dusty media.

"...nothing to do with Canadian Landscape Painting."

Here