Late spring. The lilacs are fading, turning brown and losing their lovely scent. Time for fluff to take over. At first glance, the cottonwood fluff looks like snow. It is so light that each tiny breeze provides a distraction for the winged seeds to follow. Unimpressed by gravity, they seem to fall sideways rather than down.
Driving along the beach yesterday, I opened the windows wide to catch the wonderful scents of the season. Fluff drifted in and out of the moving car. The road left the beach and passed a pond where a heron waited knee deep in patient stillness, undistracted by fluff flying slowly past his head to land and float on the pond around him.
Back at home, I looked at the deck where we've put the patio furniture, ready for outdoor sitting. Fluff drifted lazily across the pebbled glass table top, adorned cobwebs in the corner of the porch.
Soon the fluff will be everywhere. On the porches and lawns, it will drift along and pile up in small clumps where it hits obstacles. It will accumulate between the doors and windows and their screens, and sneak inside when one or the other is opened. Each time we look through a window, it will be drifting lazily by.
In our area, the arrival of fluff season is a sure sign that spring is already waning. Fluff is a harbinger of lazy summer heat.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Going against the flow
After I long day, I climbed aboard and rode, reading and dozing by turns. At the end of the line, like a sleepwalker, I followed the crowd off the train.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed a young man disembark beside me, separating himself from the river of people that flowed as one toward the wide cement stairs and began to descend.
He was tanned, his head was completely shaven, and he wore work clothes and boots, all marked with a patina of white that looked like concrete dust or paint.
The other thing that made him different was a frenetic energy that seemed to vibrate off him in the midst of the somnolent crowd of homing commuters.
Quickly, decisively, he moved to the top of the up escalator and looked down. It was completely clear of people, and so was the platform below.
He backed up, bounded forward and suddenly he was airborne. I watched his head bob and heard seven rhythmic bounces as he leapt down against the current, barely touching the ascending risers. Then he was gone.
Witnessing this dramatic descent of an up escalator answered a question that I have wondered about off and on since I first rode the escalator in Woodward's in Edmonton at the age of five.
Is it possible go down the up escalator? Now I know it is.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed a young man disembark beside me, separating himself from the river of people that flowed as one toward the wide cement stairs and began to descend.
He was tanned, his head was completely shaven, and he wore work clothes and boots, all marked with a patina of white that looked like concrete dust or paint.
The other thing that made him different was a frenetic energy that seemed to vibrate off him in the midst of the somnolent crowd of homing commuters.
Quickly, decisively, he moved to the top of the up escalator and looked down. It was completely clear of people, and so was the platform below.
He backed up, bounded forward and suddenly he was airborne. I watched his head bob and heard seven rhythmic bounces as he leapt down against the current, barely touching the ascending risers. Then he was gone.
Witnessing this dramatic descent of an up escalator answered a question that I have wondered about off and on since I first rode the escalator in Woodward's in Edmonton at the age of five.
Is it possible go down the up escalator? Now I know it is.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Careless in Red, by Elizabeth George
I've just finished reading Careless in Red (HarperLuxe, 2008). Elizabeth George is a brilliant writer at the top of her game.
Having begun by watching the Inspector Lynley BBC Mystery series, and then gone on to read many of George's novels featuring Tommy Lynley and Barbara Havers, the same inimitable pair of mismatched sleuths, I am eager to get my hands on the next book.
George's chosen genre of fiction is often considered to be "mere" escape literature, but her work is much more than that. The characters and conflicts are deeply developed, and the themes are easily accessible to any reader: family secrets, reluctance to forgive, regret for past errors.
Remarkably, Elizabeth George is an American, writing in a time-honoured British genre which she has further refined. Her works are painstakingly researched, and, to my Canadian ear at least, completely authentic in every detail.
Indeed, George says that she never sets a scene in a location that she has not personally walked over. I would add that she has an excellent ear for the local speech of favoured settings like East London.
This novel is set in Cornwall and dedicated to the memory of a murder victim whose killers are known but have "gone unpunished." Though fortunately this situation is not part of most people's everyday lives, the characters are all-too-evocative of real people and certain memorable lines have wider application.
Some of these are philosophical: "She considered the ways in which 'getting even' was merely a questionable euphemism for 'learning nothing' (755)." And the question, "If one person's truth is an unbearable blow to another person and simultaneously unnecessary for him to know, need one speak it? (849)."
And more poignantly, for one tragic character, "[life's]...demands were for compromise and change...which required the ability to switch courses when necessary, to modify behaviours, and to alter dreams so that they could meet the realities that they came up against. But he'd never been able to do any of that, so he'd been crushed, and life had rolled over his shattered body (577)."
Other lines are wryly funny -- "the sort of woman who did not believe a man's ego had to be preserved by allowing him moments of specious supremacy over her (360)", and "...enough brands of junk food to keep morbid obesity going on for several generations (562)."
With the realism of George's writing, and a plot that revolves around the murder of an eighteen-year-old, the story is not easy. Yet George manages to keep faith with the reader of fiction by holding to her part of the writer-reader bargain: her story does deliver moral solace in the end, though not in the expected way. That is its genius.
Hats off to you, Elizabeth George! Agatha Christie, Dorothy Sayers and other intellectual ancestors in who wrote in the British mystery genre would be proud.
Finally, Dear Reader, do not be alarmed by the page numbers. They refer to the large print edition.
Having begun by watching the Inspector Lynley BBC Mystery series, and then gone on to read many of George's novels featuring Tommy Lynley and Barbara Havers, the same inimitable pair of mismatched sleuths, I am eager to get my hands on the next book.
George's chosen genre of fiction is often considered to be "mere" escape literature, but her work is much more than that. The characters and conflicts are deeply developed, and the themes are easily accessible to any reader: family secrets, reluctance to forgive, regret for past errors.
Remarkably, Elizabeth George is an American, writing in a time-honoured British genre which she has further refined. Her works are painstakingly researched, and, to my Canadian ear at least, completely authentic in every detail.
Indeed, George says that she never sets a scene in a location that she has not personally walked over. I would add that she has an excellent ear for the local speech of favoured settings like East London.
This novel is set in Cornwall and dedicated to the memory of a murder victim whose killers are known but have "gone unpunished." Though fortunately this situation is not part of most people's everyday lives, the characters are all-too-evocative of real people and certain memorable lines have wider application.
Some of these are philosophical: "She considered the ways in which 'getting even' was merely a questionable euphemism for 'learning nothing' (755)." And the question, "If one person's truth is an unbearable blow to another person and simultaneously unnecessary for him to know, need one speak it? (849)."
And more poignantly, for one tragic character, "[life's]...demands were for compromise and change...which required the ability to switch courses when necessary, to modify behaviours, and to alter dreams so that they could meet the realities that they came up against. But he'd never been able to do any of that, so he'd been crushed, and life had rolled over his shattered body (577)."
Other lines are wryly funny -- "the sort of woman who did not believe a man's ego had to be preserved by allowing him moments of specious supremacy over her (360)", and "...enough brands of junk food to keep morbid obesity going on for several generations (562)."
With the realism of George's writing, and a plot that revolves around the murder of an eighteen-year-old, the story is not easy. Yet George manages to keep faith with the reader of fiction by holding to her part of the writer-reader bargain: her story does deliver moral solace in the end, though not in the expected way. That is its genius.
Hats off to you, Elizabeth George! Agatha Christie, Dorothy Sayers and other intellectual ancestors in who wrote in the British mystery genre would be proud.
Finally, Dear Reader, do not be alarmed by the page numbers. They refer to the large print edition.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Sustained Silent Writing
It happens every four months. The class is over. A group of people who sat together four days a week for nearly four months has scattered. Some will return next term, and some will not.
For the entire term, we had a morning ritual: sustained, silent writing. I felt a little hesitant about starting it, as a previous class had a lukewarm reaction, and we ended up quitting halfway through the term.
I needn't have worried. This class loved it.
The rules for SSW are simple:
That in itself was impressive. Some people who started out under a hundred words could consistently generate three hundred by term end.
Even more interesting, several students told me that SSW had helped their grammar and expression. It also built their confidence, making them play and have fun with writing while they built skills.
For the entire term, we had a morning ritual: sustained, silent writing. I felt a little hesitant about starting it, as a previous class had a lukewarm reaction, and we ended up quitting halfway through the term.
I needn't have worried. This class loved it.
The rules for SSW are simple:
- Write about whatever you want.
- Keep writing until the ten minutes is over.
- Do not go back to reread or correct spelling or grammar.
- Don't show anyone else what you've written unless you want to.
That in itself was impressive. Some people who started out under a hundred words could consistently generate three hundred by term end.
Even more interesting, several students told me that SSW had helped their grammar and expression. It also built their confidence, making them play and have fun with writing while they built skills.
Plain Words Used to Obfuscate
Here's what the ad said, but what did it mean exactly?
"The original great taste. No added preservatives or artificial flavours, since 1886."
Come again? Oh, I get it. Preservatives are the main ingredient, right?
Since 1886. Now that's a poser. It seems to say that in 1886 they did add some artificial flavours and preservatives. Maybe those preservatives were so potent that no others were ever needed.
That's impressive, but it still leaves one little problem. This soft drink has never been a food, so why would it need preservatives anyway?
In advertising, the Big Lie Technique has become the Big Obfuscation Technique.
Propaganda has come a long way, baby.
"The original great taste. No added preservatives or artificial flavours, since 1886."
Come again? Oh, I get it. Preservatives are the main ingredient, right?
Since 1886. Now that's a poser. It seems to say that in 1886 they did add some artificial flavours and preservatives. Maybe those preservatives were so potent that no others were ever needed.
That's impressive, but it still leaves one little problem. This soft drink has never been a food, so why would it need preservatives anyway?
In advertising, the Big Lie Technique has become the Big Obfuscation Technique.
Propaganda has come a long way, baby.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Spring Skies, Sap Rising
Clouds do wonderful things in spring. Today the whole valley was ringed with evening clouds of white and dark blue. Against the indigo mountains, the cumulus puffs stood up thick and rich like clumps of clotted cream from a puddle of homemade blueberry jam.
Spring clouds are pure magic to the eye. But the sense of smell is even more magical. The quintessential harbinger of spring for me comes from sticky willow buds bursting into leaf.
This short-lived fragrance, apprehended always in brief and unexpected whiffs, takes me back through a long series of scenes from the many previous springs of my life.
Haunting with ghosts of springs past, this unique smell of sap rising never fails to evoke a potent brew of nostalgia, energy and hope.
Spring clouds are pure magic to the eye. But the sense of smell is even more magical. The quintessential harbinger of spring for me comes from sticky willow buds bursting into leaf.
This short-lived fragrance, apprehended always in brief and unexpected whiffs, takes me back through a long series of scenes from the many previous springs of my life.
Haunting with ghosts of springs past, this unique smell of sap rising never fails to evoke a potent brew of nostalgia, energy and hope.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Huge Hydroelectric Projects Slated for BC and Amazon Forests
This morning's paper reports that Brazil has finally given the green light for a massive dam on the Xingu River, a tributary of the Amazon. As many as 40,000 people are expected to be displaced with the flooding of 500 square kilometres of land.
The Vancouver Sun has reprinted Louise Gray's article from The Telegraph. She reports that after 35 years of struggle against environmental campaigns and indigenous rainforest peoples, the Belo Monte Dam has been given the go-ahead.
Norte Energia, a consortium of nine companies, has been awarded the project for what will be the third largest dam in the world, requiring about the same amount of concrete as the Panama Canal.
Brazil will host the World Cup in 2014 and the Olympics in 2016.
The same issue of The Sun reports that a huge power transmission line project planned for northern BC is currently being reviewed by the government. The proposed line is slated to travel through Memorial Lava Bed Park, land owned by the Nisga'a First Nation.
A few months ago, indigenous peoples' and environmentalists' opposition to planned development in the Sacred Headwaters of several major BC Rivers was a topic of one of the 2009 Massey Lectures given by Wade Davis on CBC radio.
In spite of all we know, and even while Iceland's volcano remains active, it seems that the lobbies for economic activity still trump those for environmental concerns.
The Vancouver Sun has reprinted Louise Gray's article from The Telegraph. She reports that after 35 years of struggle against environmental campaigns and indigenous rainforest peoples, the Belo Monte Dam has been given the go-ahead.
Norte Energia, a consortium of nine companies, has been awarded the project for what will be the third largest dam in the world, requiring about the same amount of concrete as the Panama Canal.
Brazil will host the World Cup in 2014 and the Olympics in 2016.
The same issue of The Sun reports that a huge power transmission line project planned for northern BC is currently being reviewed by the government. The proposed line is slated to travel through Memorial Lava Bed Park, land owned by the Nisga'a First Nation.
A few months ago, indigenous peoples' and environmentalists' opposition to planned development in the Sacred Headwaters of several major BC Rivers was a topic of one of the 2009 Massey Lectures given by Wade Davis on CBC radio.
In spite of all we know, and even while Iceland's volcano remains active, it seems that the lobbies for economic activity still trump those for environmental concerns.
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