We Believe...in Mulch

We hadn't given any thought to where we'd watch THE hockey game, and so it was by chance we ended up in Shaktea, hamming it it up by re-enacting our own versions of "Olympic Moments." Let's face it, we wanted the boys to win, even though it's the girls who really kicked ass on the ice. (I love that the women's team took photos of each other with cigars after the winning game and when the IOC complained the team captain basically told them to chill out.)

The ladies let me peek at the internet when there was less than a minute left and of course, the US scored. I felt sick. I couldn't face the anxiety of the rest of the game. And then we started to hear it--people out of the street cheering--coming out of the stores onto the street to jump up and down with joy. I have never seen anything like it.

People started to get goofy. A man with a big flag cycled down Main Street on the wrong side of the road. I prayed for him. A woman on a scooter circled the block three times, honking, setting off car alarms. I was happy, but I also had this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that this is going to affect the political landscape of Canada in a bad way.

Will the lessons learned from Own the Podium program be applied to health care, homelessness, the arts? Money affects people's quality of life and their ability to succeed. It's a no brainer, but cut social programs and arts, education and we all suffer.

I celebrated by shopping for groceries. People were happy and it was contagious. Even those who weren't ringing cow bells and hollering had goofy grins on their faces.

Any excuse to drink beer in the street!

I walked by the mulch lady's house on my way home. She believes in mulch and her whole yard is stacked and mounded with it. There are no weeds. There are so many rounded mounds of mulch I imagine that there are dead men under there. Former husbands maybe. Spring, fall, winter, summer, I walk by the garden and speculate about the mulch lady. I stopped to talk to her and complement her on these flowers which had a very delicate fragrance. "They are scimia," she said with a Slavic accent. "Do you have a garden? Do you want some?" She has light blue eyes, ruddy cheeks and wears layers of worn clothes. Sometimes she wears pink curlers in her hair when she's gardening. I accepted the flower and put it in a plastic bag in my shopping cart.

We listened to the honking cars. "They're happy," I said. "
"Some people are happy," she shrugs.
"I'm relieved it's over."
She shrugs again.

I thanked her and headed to work in my own garden. It was warm enough to work without a coat. "When the forthsythia blooms, you must prune your roses." And so I did. People honked and cheered and set off fireworks. A neighbor bickered with her ex-husband about alimony payments and cut away the dry, thorny branches. I thought of the mulch lady and how she and I were celebrating together, linked by our bonds of proximity, the honeybees that drew nectar from her flowers, the spontaneity of a humble gift. Just another beautiful day.

Sore Throats and Buttery Oysters

So my son and I were home with colds today, snuggled up reading together and watching the movie of the Spiderwick Chronicles, which I give a five out of ten. I think Tony DiTerlizzi's illustrations are fabulous, but find the writing quite thin. The best parts of the movie are the little house elf Thimble Tack and the Hogsqueal the hobgoblin. I was very disappointed in the characterization of Mulgarath more as a destructive brute rather than a cunning shape-shifter.

I've been thinking a lot about oysters lately and craving the fabulous ones at Maenam. Take a look at the slide show on Bitten and look at how they poach oysters in muffin tins on the BBQ in New Orleans. It looks fantastic! Did ya notice I added a whole bunch more links to the right of the page? Bitten is one of them.

Here's an Olympic Event I'd like to attend, but it's in Edmonton--the Grilled Cheese Olympics!

So here's the address for my new blog, which I'll open softly today. Just to be confusing it's called Potlucky Canuck, to shift into something slightly different. If you don't want to listen to me blathering on about our domestic life, change your link to Potlucky Canuck where I'll do more blurbs on food, gardening and arts about town. I still don't profess to be a REAL food writer because I don't have the chops for it, but I will focus on the culture of food. I hope you enjoy it!

Rebranding

Hey folks,

I've been blogging here for nearly two years now, and I feel it's time for a bit of a shift, pair of new shoes, maybe a new dress. So I'm thinking of a bit of a rebrand, nothing to dramatic, just polish things up a bit, set the bar a little higher. I'll still keep this blog for more personal, casual, rough-hewn posts. For process-oriented stuff. For what I really think. It was one of my new year's resolutions to do some professional development and all signs are pointing me to do this, so watch this space for the new space. I'm not going to fuss about it too much. Just looking forward it.

As for the Olympics--I'm relieved it is staying within the margins of its commercially designated areas, leaving the rest of us with a quiet and sunny city. The novelty has worn off for me and it seems normal to see families in identical leisure wear suits looking for a giant curling rink somewhere in our hood. Looking forward to seeing the end of it though and getting on with what we're going to do with the big dark deep deficit.

The Beets Go On

I've been experimenting more with veggie prints and now I have a series of nine flags sewn together with thick rickrack. The asparagus was very tricky to work with--difficult to cut in half so that it lay flat. I also had to add the "leaf" bits using a bit of foam to print with. I'll take better photos of them tomorrow. I was losing the light.

For my artist date today I headed to Gala Fabrics on South Granville and found they were having a sale. The men in the shop were very helpful and pleasant (unlike experiences I've had at Dressew). South Granville was very quiet. Businesses outside the Olympic zones are experiencing at least a 30 per cent drop off in sales.

I should have left a slightly larger frame of backing fabric around the edges and more at the bottom. I like the look of the rickrack, but today I bought seam binding because I think it will be easier to use.

I'm excited about using up the bits and pieces of old fabrics I have been hoarding for years. It's very cathartic! I'm going to make a series of these flags to sell at the school flea market. They'll have to be quite steep though because of the amount of time they take to make. I enjoy it as a meditative exercise, but it's not a moneymaking enterprise! Anyway, I will be able to use my experience to help the students make their flags for our garden celebration at City Hall on May 2.

Now we have some good karma flags for our kitchen!

Sweet Cinnamon Love Hearts

Yesterday we celebrated Valentine's Day, the Chinese Lunar New Year, D's birthday, and the beginning of the beekeeper's year. No wonder I'm feeling a bit hung over and bleary-eyed today. Over the last two days we have feasted on seared tuna, oysters on the half shell, prosecco, chocolates from Wendy Boys, roast beef, asparagus, mashed squash, apple pie and ice cream. FIL poppped the cork from a couple of beautiful Merlot's--one from Burrowing Owl and the other from La Frenz (2002 IIRC).

Between meals we went outside and did a hive check. The bees are looking great. It was sunny, 15 degrees C, and the girls were bringing in the pollen like nobody's business--from the yolk-colored pollen of crocuses to the light yellow/white pollen of cherry trees. We put in a pollen patty and a jar of sugar water so they can build up the brood stocks.

I made P a handmade book and gave the Ulster this heart-shaped S'more from Butter.

Now it's time to wash the dishes and clean up the art supplies. The sun is struggling to break through the clouds, and I am trying lift the post-party blues. More chocolate? Hair of the dog, as they say? Maybe just one chocolate to kickstart the day.

Scanned to Death

It looks like out airports will soon have the technology to scan our bodies as we pass through security. We're used to having the contents of our suitcases revealed. I'm always craning my neck to see the x-ray of my own luggage. On the way to Edmonton recently I was busted because of my absentmindedness:

"Did you pack your own luggage?"
"Yep.
"Did you pack a big pair of scissors in you luggage?"
"Don't think so."
She pulls a big pair of gardening scissors out of my backpack.
Oops.

And then there was the time something in my pocket set the security wand beeping and I sheepishly pulled out a foil-wrapped condom.

I watched an episode of Oprah a few years back when the technology for a full body scan became accessible to those who could afford it. Basically, it showed the wear and tear on women's aging bodies (Oprah included) in their backs and knees, but for some people who were wealthy enough to have MRI's as a part of their regular check-up it had revealed nascent diseases which were caught and treated in the early stages. Will the security man behind the curtain at the airport be able to see cancer-riddled lungs or grapefruit-sized tumors? Will she see pins, pacemakers and unborn children?

I remember when I went to have the prenatal scan. You have to drink a ton of fluids before you go, so I was feeling terribly uncomfortable. The cab driver seemed jumpy and nervous. He kept slamming on the brakes. I looked down and saw Starbucks cups littering the floor. "Cool it!" I said. "You are going to have to drive carefully because I am pregnant and I have to pee very badly." The technician was brusque, bordering on rude. When I saw the image of my son, I wanted her to bare witness to my tears of joy. "Makes it seem more real, doesn't it?" she said in a bored tone, using the same words I'm sure she repeated on a daily basis. Twins, triplets, males, females, and the shadowy sexes in between. Commonplace miracles to her.

After I gave birth I ended up having to have another scan to see why I was experiencing sharp pains days later. The technician barely acknowledged me. When I asked what he saw he said in a condescending Francophone tone, "Well, it is more a question of what we don't see--a process of elimination." And then, "You'd better discuss that with your doctor." Well, that never happened. I got better painkillers though, which was an ordeal in itself involving screaming at the student doctor on call. (I find that with the medical system a bit of screaming goes a long way, although you have to be careful not to end up in the psych ward, especially if you are a woman.)

Yesterday I was given an MRI to see if the image of my brain can explain why I continue to see zigzags and flashes of lights. I arrived at the hospital in the dark, literally stumbling around outside trying to find the entrance to the Purdy Pavillion. It was so early in the morning I felt like I was in a science fiction movie, following directions from signs on the walls to fill out the forms and change into the yellow pajamas. Finally a human arrived, a woman in a lab coat who was efficient and neutral. She reminded me to remove my bra because of the metal clasps. I read the FAQ sheet on MRI's which warned me that the process would be very noisy, "like the inside of a washing machine." Who knew? I could choose music to listen to to help me relax: country, jazz, classical, Celtic, and of course Enya. Oh joy. I chose CBC radio 2.

I was early and I got served early--this is one thing I really like about getting a morning appointment. The labbie explained that my head would be midway in the tube. I took a deep breath and crawled onto the table. Then she strapped my head into what seemed like a football helmet so it could not move. That takes getting used to. Then the head phones go over the helmet,and you are giving an emergency rubber bulb call to put in your hand if you need to tell the technician to pull you out fast. I felt like a calf in an abattoir. This is the fear they must feel, I thought, only they don't have a rubber emergency bell to call for help.

The sounds are more electronic than a washing machine and the music is a waste of time because you can't hear it anyway. The 20 minutes of photo sessions are broken down into increments--30 seconds, two minutes, 3 minutes and so on. The technician talks to you in between sessions. I calmed myself by counting, which is what I do in sticky situations. My mouth went dry. I had trouble breathing. My body became restless. My neck went into spasms. Three minutes seems like a very long time. Tears started to run down my cheeks and I felt embarrassed. Does she know I'm crying? I wondered. Finally, it was down to the last two minutes. I knew I had to buck up my courage and get on with my day. She unstrapped the helmet and I wiped my eyes. "You can go now." She patted my leg. And that was all. When I left the building dawn had broken. I headed around the corner to a coffee shop and devoured protein in the form of a a delicious breakfast sandwich grilled in their panini press.

So now my brain has had its fifteen minutes of medical fame. I doubt if this scan will tell us anything, but it will be a historical record of its uncanny landscape. It will be like a photo of the moon taken before lunar travel was a reality. We still don't know much about birth, death, the mystery of the brain, or what intents lie deep in the hearts of the people waiting in airport security in front of us, so no matter what our expectation are, the images, scans and x-rays are still subject to speculation and wonder.

Instinct

So the Olympics are almost here and I have to say I heart the Olympic lanes!!!! Bus travel has never been so speedy. As long as you're there to catch the bus it's great, and off you go to your destination in record time. I like it. Let's keep them and add bike privileges to them. I am a bit nervous about tomorrow though because I have to go to UBC for an MRI on my brain and the buses have been rerouted. I'll just have to wing it.

So in preparation for the MRI they asked me if I'm claustrophobic. I said no immediately. But now, I wish I had said "Not unless I'm shoved in a metal tube with my nose touching the top." Deep breath. Memories of sleeping in the hot, stuffy top bunk of the camper van. Snuggling into the seat tucked under the table on the sailboat. Stuffed into the London Underground at rush hour. Bodies pressed up against me at a Talking Heads concert. I lived. As long as it's not a cave, I'll be okay. A spelunker I am not.

I do feel a bit claustrophobic about all these tourists about to descend on our city. My natural instinct is to hide inside my home and make art, not sport. I've been asked to participate in a polite protest parade on Sunday. Parades are not my favorite things at the best of times, but the thought of getting anywhere near skittish riot police from Quebec makes me very very nervous. I guess you could accuse me of sticking my head in the sand, but I'm not. I'm sticking my head in a long metal tube. As long as the lab techs don't shine flashing lights in my eyes I'll be okay. Now that would really freak me out.

Veggie Print Prayer Flags

This week I have really had the hankering to sew, so I pulled out the iron and the sewing machine. I started experimenting with prayer flag prototypes that we can make with students.

It was time for our second meeting of the creativity circle and C had suggested we go monoprints, so I wanted to test which fruits and vegetables will work. Apples and mushrooms were the easiest to work with because of their firm, spongy texture. Peppers were the trickiest to work with because I ended up painting the inside--only the very outside edge and the stem left their marks.

The calligraphy is from a stencil set and they say "peace", "happiness", and "love". I was happy with the transluscent quality of these flags.

The blue was an opaque fabric paint, but I added water to make the print light and transparent. I used acrylic paint for the other colors and thinned them out quite a bit, applying them with a cheap, small sponge roller.


I love this green lantern in C's studio.

Isn't it great to create things on a dining room table?

J gave us a eggs from her three hens and served a lovely plum clafouti she'd just baked. It was incredibly light and delicious. C had make a fantastic banana bread too.

C made a spiderman print for her grandson and J made this beautiful design etched in foam.


After our frenzied bout of creativity we wrote down things that we felt were not working in our lives on little pieces of paper we burnt in the back yard.

Back at home, Ules had been writing and drawing up a storm. This design shows a real shift for him--using the fine liner for the outside and filling it in with his thicker markers. I'm glad he's figured this out for himself.

He spends hours writing out ideas for video games complete with dialogue.

I've been wanting to use this ribbon for ages. I bought it at a thrift shop and it's from a fancy shop that used to be on South Granville. I cut the words out and rearranged them onto some quilting squares and made the flags below. They have little pockets in them for prayers.


These are thicker and heavier, and would be more suited to indoor use, like a kitchen. I need to find more alphabet ribbon so I can make more words, but I'm excited about making more of these indoor flags.

Embroidery Walking

Drooling, snuffling, and scratching, we headed to the Art Gallery of Greater Victoria to see art by contemporary Japanese artists and woodblock prints from the gallery's beautiful collection.

The kids, the dog, and our stomachs were getting restless and hungry, but we made the journey through the small gallery, absorbing as much as we could.

There was an event happening inside the mansion, so we couldn't check that out. The building houses the offices of the AGGV staff.


I love the cheerful colour scheme of the exterior of the house.
There is a shinto shrint here and I forgot to take a photo of the donkey made of styrofoam packing that one of the Japanese artists had made that stood on one side of the courtyard.

Of all the contemporary work, I best enjoyed the pieces by Sayaka Akiyama. She makes visual diaries using handmade paper, embroidery, beads and cloth. One of her pieces is a big tent you can hang out in, its transparent walls printed with maps. Her home spun work is a refreshing presence in a post modern art scene that often rewards slick and over-produced work. I was happy to see a good representation of the work of female artists in the show. The wood block prints in the other gallery were stunning. The colors are still fresh in their muted tones, and the amount of information they convey on a two-dimensional surface reaches across the centuries.

Frites Benny

I was able to have a little getaway weekend to Victoria where spring already has a firm hold on the city. Many of the cherry trees are already in bloom and the air feels gentle and balmy compared to Vancouver. My friend JB took us to his sister's restaurant where we had a tasty brunch in a very funky setting. His father has a beautiful gallery/antique store in a secret room in the back, and apparently the decor in the restaurant changes seasonally with work by featured artists. There are dress-up film noir nights, acoustic music and all sorts of fun events at The Superior. I wish we had a place like this in Vancouver.


JB's son knew he wanted fries and hot chocolate, which came with a small mountain of whipped cream. He entertained us with puppets from his own personal box of toys. My friend loved her scrambled eggs and I was very happy with my eggs benny. I did keep stealing fries from my little friend because the spicy mayo on the side was so delicious. The glass tables reveal objects beneath them such as feathers and crushed glass, but I think our moss table was my favorite.

In the courtyard, there is a temporary installation/fundraiser for Women in Need.


We need more restaurants with courtyards! If you are in Victoria, check out The Superior--they have a boef bourguignon on the dinner menu which sounds fantastic.