For Christmas

Merry Christmas everyone. You know I'm not an overly boisterous person so if I'm not the classical definition of  'merry' I would at least strive for some reasonable steadiness even?
As usual I've avoided as much gross commercialism for the holidays as I can, and have focused my attention on a few homemade crafts for gifts.  I made a beaded Christmas spider.  I made chocolate rabbit pins for my rabbit people, inspired by the Make Mine Chocolate campaign to raise awareness for live rabbits (and by extension all pets) being given as gifts and subsequently abandoned after the novelty's worn off.  Originally they were vague rabbit silhouettes made of brown ceramic tiles, mine are done larger with more definition made with oven-bake polymer clay.  I made a few and those left may be treasures to find in a geocache I hope to publish next spring.  Maybe.

Christmas I spent with my family at their house for a few days.  I got to decorate a pre-fab gingerbread house (while my nephew plucked the candies off the roof, there was little interest/patience in the activity itself).  I colored in his new coloring book with new crayons.  I'm not very familiar with Thomas the Tank Engine and surely got the colors wrong, but it seemed mildly entertaining for a time. I have an _adult_ coloring book at home but with small shapes defined by outlines it leaves little imagination for tonal shading of surfaces or suggested textures. So here is my offering anyway, enjoy. 
Now I'm back downtown with my adult coloring book, and will meditatively try not to overthink it, commit to the action of doing rather than the finished result.  Eventually I'll find a subject and ambition enough to use my new pad of watercolor paper, to make something both loose yet precise, with flowing pooling pigment but crisp edges, subtle and pale.
Honestly I'm not looking forward to the new year as it will hold several anniversaries of painful discouraging times.  Perhaps I can drown them out with distractions, like a crow with something shiny - curious and attractive yet most likely useless.  I know it's all tied to my attitude and perspective - and no one else can fix that for me - nevertheless some days are more difficult than others.  I still consider myself very privileged and lucky, even when it doesn't feel like it.  I guess the key is gratitude, and to be grateful for the blessings who still choose to be in my life. 

Hau wech die Scheiße

The end of October has been marked by my friends moving.  After years of steady tenancy their landlord upped the rent too much too quick, and it's better to move than stay.  I spent several days unearthing every plant - their plants - for relocation.  It felt like gathering and boarding Noah's Ark, as most likely the old house they took care to maintain and improve will be simply demolished without reservations for property development, but that's not our concern now.
November has seen us now unpacking everything that was packed in a hurry, and thus the subsequent reevaluation of our material things.  They've been storing much of my things too, in boxes in the crawlspace.  Things from another lifestyle of living on my own, all the simple things that one takes for granted a home should have; plastic dish drying rack, wastepaper basket, pasta strainer, etc. The things typically discarded and repurchased with every move.  I'm not sure why I keep those, perhaps just a convincing safety net if ever my life were to drastically change direction and circumstance again - at least I'd have a pot to piss in, so to speak.  Or else I'm noting that even the cheapy dollar store goods are seldom just a dollar anymore.  Or I habitually prefer to limit my waste production, if it's arguably not 'garbage', it should still be useful...?
More intriguing is the unearthed objects and scribblings on scraps of paper.  Like an archaeological dig I have to remember the period and context by where I find them.  Then returns the associations and memories.  Enough time has passed that all emotions have mellowed, for better or worse. Menus, business cards, receipts.  Envelopes to my old address, written in the penmanship of people no longer in communications.
When I was in Germany one of the local Hamburgers hosted me a week or two, and like anyone with a new pet he taught me a clever trick, or a snippet of his foreign language that I could carry with me onwards to make friends in Germany; "Hau wech die Scheiße".  He said that was a colloquial way to say "cheers", and translates to "Throw away the shit" (to be followed by downing a shot).  The intention/interpretation may get lost in translation, but seems like an appropriate mantra for now.  It's a spring cleaning but in near-winter; not only for possessions but for mindset too.  Too fresh wounds of this year still sting, but I can sort the wheat from the chaff easily from seven years ago.
Fall is a time of collecting, accounting, inventory and harvest, yet anything I had cultivated in spring/summer left me disappointed and empty.  I'm not looking forward to a cold and sparse winter.  Perhaps the best course of action is to plough it under and let it rest, like so many rotten vegetables.  Hau wech die Scheiße.  Let the earth regenerate as it stays dormant.  Maybe next year will be better.

A pinecone amongst roses

People value roses; the friendly yellow, the cheerful pink, the romantic red, the pure white.  Across cultures they are revered for their scent, color and shape.  Upheld as the ideal symbol of feminine beauty.  Also that our perceptions of beauty value the fresh and young, the budding bloom gradually unfolding to reveal its gifts to the world. 
Once a rose has fully emerged it has its season in the sun, then it loses its value.  Soon it is no longer fragrant, the brightness darkens and fades, and the lush petals fall away.  It matters not that the rose was selected to be cut and briefly enjoy fame in a vase or passed over to remain on the plant unselected, those blossoms will wither regardless.  When even the leaves are exhausted, you are left with only a stick of thorns.

I knew a young man who loved roses, and most of all was fascinated by the concept of a blue rose.  Blue roses do not exist in nature.  Breeders have produced mauve or burgundy roses and given them "Blue" in their name, but the bright blue roses are white roses that have been artificially dyed blue.  Like a simple elementary school science experiment, a white rose is cut and placed in water dyed with blue food coloring.  Once severed from the bush that bloom will expire, but not before it desperately drinks up the blue fluid that permeates the petals from tip to base, and stem and leaves along the vascular system.
I think sometimes on that the innocent white had to be manipulated with a chemical imposed upon it, just to be considered a unique and interesting aesthetic.  Was plain white too boring for you?
I wonder if that young man will be forever chasing the elusive... unattainable... novelty...

Behold the lowly pinecone.  Typically they're only noticed once the roses are done for the season, and only some fraction of the rose-lovers would see the beauty in a pinecone.  It has no vibrant hue, just brown.  The richness of wood brown, or maybe sunbleached-through-the-seasons grey.  It has no scent, at least nothing remarkable.  They're more common and simply grow uncultivated, and may even be an unsightly annoyance to be raked off the lawn and openly scorned as they fall with a thud onto the parked car.
But what about their gifts that they hold? Shouldn't that deserve celebration too?
They hold the potential of future forests, armouring the seeds within. Their thorns are but tiny prickles, slight yet unconcealed on scale tips, just for protection against those who would crush it in their hands.  Their shape has its own elegant symmetry and arrangement of scales the Fibonacci sequence, as roses do.  But unlike roses their shape has the strength of wood, and designed to not only withstand but respond to the elements.  They open when dry and close when wet, and will continue their function long after their seeds are dispersed, to diligently execute their duty and purpose.  They're resilient, still trying to open and close after being broken and disfigured by cars driving over them, they skitter off into the gutter.  They're tough, for as long as they can be.
They're beautiful in their own way.  Just different.

Farewell my friend.

September has been difficult for me.  I lost my friend.
I should clarify, he's not dead - which after a tumultuous and emotional spring/summer I am relieved and will gratefully cling to any scrap of good news about him.  He's simply moved on elsewhere.  His last email a "farewell" I took to mean 'I'm leaving town but we'll keep in touch as we have in the past'.  I was slow to realise it meant 'I'm severing all communications so I have closure for a fresh start'.  That was my August, and September has been... resignation.  I must surrender.
He's killed me off.  Whether I agree or protest, it was his choice I'm left to deal with now.  If one of us had to perish I'm glad it would be me, because I am strong enough to take it.  It hurts for now, but have faith it'll heal with time.  It's still lovely sunny in Vancouver now, but I carry in me the grey of winter.  Both grey and winter are beautiful in their own way.
I've been wringing and ironing out words; foolish words, maudlin words for the month.  These were those that made it to this blog post, once finally mustering the motivation to write.  How can one's head swarm yet remain so dull?
I know he had a miserable five months here, fraught with homelessness, frustration, disappointment and exhaustion despite my best efforts.  Perhaps it's simply my turn to be miserable in his absence.  I surely can grant him five months, wouldn't that be fair? I always strive to be fair in my interactions, as imbalance leads to resentment.  Perhaps it is a language he can understand better than my demonstration of best intentions: is that of sacrifice.  One he won't even be present to witness.
I've heard that he has moved on, both in settlement and mindset, and is not only surviving but thriving well in his new environment.  They say he is happy now, which is what I would've wanted for him.

Tall ships, and Cape Breton.

I was in Nova Scotia for half of August.  The weather was clear and sunny, mostly (except when it wasn't), and I wasn't as adamant about eating seafood every meal as I had been on my first trip there.  The more I discover in Nova Scotia (especially food) the more it is to cram into a two week visit.  I missed my Halifax-style donair, and McDonald's wasn't serving their McLobsters anymore - blame demand from foreign markets to drive up the cost of lobsters here.  Unless meals were planned and often coordinated to involve more than four people, meals (or snacks) were really a matter of time convenience and available options.  Despite being cheap and consistent, I think I've had my fill of Timmy Ho's for the foreseeable future.

Post for July!

Post for July!

Galiano again, and Saturna

A week on the tail end of spring, to return to the islands.  I pick Saturna! I realise that getting two buses from downtown that connect to Tsawwassen ferries that go directly to Saturna just don't want to match up, even if I were willing to be up at 4am.  I'm eager to get this show on the road, so I'll pick Galiano as the gateway to the southern Gulf islands and get a transferring ferry from there.

Back to the Caribou

May long weekend found me back to the Caribou Chilcotin, visiting the same family I had seen a few years ago here.  Their licky puppy is still licky despite being older and more sensible, and is now joined by a large chocolate lab who enthusiastically (and loudly) bounces off floors, walls, and people.  I saw no caribou.  Either I went to where the sun was or the sun finally caught up with the season, but I welcomed the reprieve from rain and could finally ride in a convertible with the top down without bundling my head in a scarf like a Russian babushka!

Gone to Galiano

I had a week to not be accountable to anyone for my whereabouts and activities.  I'm blessed with friends that invite me out with them and are a pleasure to do something - or nothing - with, but could do with a little alone-time.  And itching to be camping in the woods since January, but this has been a dreary wet spring slow to start.  Apparently I'm still pushing the 'camping season' as I was about to be rained on plenty...
Anyway Vancouver is next to one of the most beautiful archipelagos in the world, many islands easily accessible by ferry, so eeny-meany-miney-mo I choose Galiano! Not sure what I expected to find aside from the ferry terminal, marina, and a pub.  Let's explore shall we?

Day 1 - I caught the ferry from Tsawwassen around 6-ish after an early dinner.  Excitement started to kick in after I purchased my $20 foot passenger ticket - money spent means it's more concrete action than a dreamy plan - and I shot through the maze of corridors to the waiting room, which had a nice view of the west where I'd be heading.  Sunset this day would be no colors at all, just shades of deepening grey and an elusive sun that refracted off layers of cloud deceptively till its final bow.  The clouds were not foreboding or worrisome, just muted and serene.  I was awake and gladly undisturbed for the duration of the crossing.
The ferry docked at Sturdies Bay around 8-ish, and I had some daylight left to hunt for a few geocaches.  A friendly guy on motorized scooter greeted me on the road from the ferry and asked if I had any questions or needed a map, and I didn't think to inquire about bears on the island.
When I lost the light I still had my wee flashlight, that I was skulking around Bellhouse Park with. The ferries were a wall of not-to-distant lights against dark sky, water, and trees, rumbled through the pass with a droning horn I suppose the locals would be used to, like living next to a train or airport. The frogs started seemingly precisely at 10pm, and I headed north, my plan to get north quickly and take my time wandering back south for the ferry back.
I walked till I was tired and felt like stopping, and found a patch of moss in the forest close to the trail along the road but still discrete.  Still concerned about bears I tied my food in a bag up a tree, admittedly nowhere near high or far enough away from my tent but better than nothing.  A crash descending a tree watched me with two yellow eyes.  I talked to it, not yelling as to not disturb the residents, but apparently I'm not menacing enough.  "Shoo! You should be scared of me!".  The faceless yellow eyes just bobbed, unsure whether this was an invitation or a genuine concern.  It decided to move away slowly down the trail, looking back as if to say I know where you live...
The moss was cushioning but the concealed many lumps of logs or stumps that I contorted my body around to sleep.  I didn't sleep so much as just rest, lying down with my pack off my back and a roof over my head, sometimes that's enough.  No animal disturbed my hanging food, but thinking that they might kept me awake anyway, listening.  Sometime in the night it started to rain, and my breath made condensation inside so I further contorted myself around puddles.
I moved when it was light enough, around 6am.

Day 2 - Proceeding north along the main road with a jumbo chocolate cookie for breakfast.  I saw some deer, little traffic and no people.  Splitting from the main road I followed the finger side roads over the central ridge and back past small houses buried in the woods, for no other reason than the see the land in detail and there were geocaches at the ends of beach trails.  Note there is no connected stretch of shoreline walk, it's all fragmented and blocked by private property.  One of the locals picked me up hitching but didn't take me far as our directions diverged; a construction guy with a side business of selling firewood.  Big truck with makeshift pop bottle ashtray.
As the afternoon progressed it rained again, having never really stopped from the night.  The quest of another cache found me off the trail "it's only 100ft that way..." in what seemed like an hour of bushwhacking wet foliage, muddy embankments and logs to scramble over with a full backpack, picking my way through 5ft at a time. Then came the usual mental fight of Why-do-I-do-this-to-myself?? (which rears its ugly head at least once per trip), which is easier to reflect on in hindsight once dry and comfortable than in the thick of it.  I would rather the challenge that I choose than the challenge thrust upon me.  Physical adversity is just another obstacle to mentally rise above.  I could just walk away from it if I wanted to, but my focus is stubborn till I decide otherwise.
Then I found the geocache, maybe 10 ft from the dirt road I'd been on.  The road had curved back away from where I'd seen it heading when I left it, and I would've walked easily to it had I only stayed on the path.  I think there's some philosophy in there somewhere.
At this point I'm thoroughly soaked and tired but I keep walking, because I still have daylight and what else would I do? Along a street with no cars I found a single feather, huge, clean and straight like a blade.  Seemed deliberately placed in front of me, so I took it as a gift from whomever bird and it brightened my mood.  Some spirit noticed I am here, and is watching over me.  I decided it would be a gift for someone else I know later.
Back on the main road up the spine of the island I caught a lift with a woman in a cluttered car.  Strange I hadn't seen too many locals, as if they leave on the morning ferry or stay shut up in their homes, but the ones I found were friendly and eager to help.  This one refilled my water bottles and whisked me up the length of the island speedily, insisting it was not far out of the way, to as far as she could drive before encountering a gate and less-used road - the land route for the Dionisio Point Provincial Park, typically only accessed by water.
The walk along this road was a quiet one, I felt like being quiet as if I was trespassing or sneaking in.  Having not fully researched the park I wasn't even sure if the park was open for season yet or if staff would turn me away, or what I would find when I got there (aside from two geocaches).  I am a very conscientious hobo and leave little footprint that I was there at all.
The park was vacant even of camp hosts, I was the only one there.  That was great in a way I had my solitude in nature that I always sought as a kid and I miss by living in the city.   Less great in that if I run into any trouble (ie. bears) there'd be no one to call for help, even my phone didn't work here.  I never had such concerns when I was a kid.  Why must worry dampen all the "freedom" of being an adult, now that I'm free to go explore far away?! My brain grows weary of constantly calculating the what ifs and formulating a backup plan, but it keeps me alive and alert to options.  Such practice can be beneficial to a team, if anyone listens to such considerations, though I admit it makes me a party-pooper.  If I decide to do nothing at all it's because I've decided it's just not worth the mental exhaustion of weighing all options, indeed they can feel quite weighty at times.
Maybe I'm just tired.  Tired of rain and of thinking.
It wasn't raining when I arrived at the campsites late afternoon, just grey with a peek of sun.  I had my full choice of campsites and set up my still-damp tent to dry out, the door to catch the narrow sliver of sunshine between trees.  I went to explore what looked like an island on my map but was easily accessed by a sandy spit.  A geocache accompanied by at least four types of spider, and then a sense of relief and accomplishment.  I made it here!
Evening into night, and no fire pit for a warming/cooking fire.  I made a mediocre meal of pasta in beef broth, and made chamomile tea which was far more satisfying.  A general tonic and relaxant, personally quite and effective sleep aid.  I could do with some sleep.  I'd found a rain-soaked tealight in a geocache earlier and lit that in my empty pot which both amplified the light and reduced the risk of accidentally knocking it over and catching my tent on fire.
And I was grateful for that little flame.  Thank you for being with me, tiny flame.

Day 3 - Being damp and stiffly cold is good motivation to get moving again.  This is a nice park, clean and quiet.  I suppose I could've lingered longer here another day, but this isn't childhood camping where parents trucked in inflatable dinghies and a cooler of real food that isn't granola bars - I suppose it would be easier and convenient, but is it rewarding or stimulating? Where's the challenge? I may as well stay home.  Maybe that's why people pay for all-inclusive resorts, which I'm not against but think it might be a bit dull.  Doing nothing until something prompts you to leave paradise.   This is a natural paradise, and feels neither welcoming nor spurning, just ancient energy from the native ruins and damp forest of big beautiful trees.  They don't care whether I'm here or not.
Refill water bottles and head out on the road I came in, soon to split off west along a dubiously 'private'-but-not-really dirt road, past marshy land with frogs and plentiful stinging nettles.  Galiano has plenty of nettles and appreciates them enough to have a Nettlefest in the spring.  I am adept at plucking leaves from stalks without being stung, and was glad for finally some vegetable nutrition! The road lead to a trailhead for hikers, and from there an easy link to the main road spine of the island.  Someone stopped to give me a lift to the north end - could've been a doppleganger of the other fellow, same haircut, large truck and makeshift ashtray - and from there I head south, geocaching along the way.  My mind seemed more at ease, and I ruminated on why; that it was daylight, and not raining, or that I'm heading to a place I've been to before with a pub or cafe to sit and dry out? Do I want/need having people around, or is it a fear of risk and a precarious lifestyle without them? I've never really fit categorically into the introvert/extrovert labels.  Perhaps as there is a disconnect between being literally alone, and feeling alone.
The afternoon progressed steadily with nice places along the way; Lover's Leap, Retreat Cove (though some moored boater played his rap music loud enough to bounce off the natural acoustics - eww no thanks!), and my favourite was Pebble Beach.  I'm a sucker for pretty rocks, my shelves holding glasses or loose clusters from places I recall years later.  I can easily spend a day creeping barely any distance, stooped like a heron to find a pretty rock as my pockets get increasingly heavier.  So many pretty rocks here!
I walked to Montague Harbour; there's campsite facilities and nice white sands so I've heard, but by the time I arrived it was too dark to cache anymore and I wan't inclined to camp if I had another option.  Despite having a marina there was no pub nearby *gasp!*, but a shuttle would take one to the Hummingbird Pub.  I think I missed the bus but cheerful people in a crowded jeep gave me a lift on their way back to their friends' house.

Post for April!

Post for April!

Blessings for my loved ones.

All of you.  You know who you are.
March is typically a time of springtime celebration, and now we are officially in spring.  Vancouver has a Celticfest roughly around St.Patrick's Day so I get my dose of lively jigs and reels (which I missed this year).  The yacht club will have its first cruise of the year to the same tried-and-true cabin in Snug Cove,  And my birthday is coming up which finds both myself and others at least feigning to dedicate some time to meeee! I need no gifts, I just like the self-indulgent pampering.
Yet it seems to be on the back burner as I've made poor or at least loose plans for such occasion.  I have friends with health problems both physical and mental that I wish I could resolve or assist, which has just left me with my wheels spinning.
So my birthday wish is for you, for you to know you are loved and that I hope you heal.  This post is for you.

The words don't fit the picture

An art installation outside the central public library reads "The words don't fit the picture". This post has nothing to do with that.

In essence February has been rather disappointing for me. Thankfully it's nothing catastrophic and clearly there are many worse off than I, so I don't plan on devoting webspace complaining at length. As far as reporting on overall monthly activities, I've just had several consecutive instances of plans I was looking forward to falling through, thus leaving me feeling resentful that it wasted my time dedicated to attending these events.  That's all.  Simply cancelled due to snow making transportation difficult - remember the snow I featured here? It seems this isn't as fleeting as I'd thought it would be, and as it drags on is becoming less cute and more of a nuisance.  It retards my garden for both work and pleasure.

That being said, I still had a nice time mid-month for the Variety Telethon, wine festival and Valentine's Day, which all fell during the same week.  My month improved with the better weather and good company, which made me ruminate more on my social life and how tied I am/should be to others.  My social calendar is scant compared other party people but significantly more than I had as a child or teenager.  I was quite content being a self-contained creative source focused on schoolwork or hobbies, because my world was small then, I had no opportunity to go or do much else.  Perhaps I should resume that lifestyle again and just relinquish any faith in future plans, especially those that rely on the attendance/participation of others.  I'm tired of being disappointed, and now it doesn't even faze me and I'm grateful anything actually comes to fruition.  I can only count on myself.  I'll be a hermitess.
And yet a fortune cookie I received at the Chinese New Year Parade commands me to "Do more, learn more",  Curiosity and restlessness I always feel in the spring.  I feel like I want to make plans and have something exciting to look forward to, but it's easier if I simply don't care about the results that unfold.
So since these words are a bit of a bummer, I will present the first flowers of spring, a gift to my readers! Much better!

Lettuce Lions and Bagged Dragons!

Yesterday was the Chinese New Year (or Lunar New Year, observed by many cultures), and I spent most of the day in Chinatown.  I awoke early enough, given that it was a weekend, and was sure to dress with a red shirt and my jade earrings and had a mandarin orange and green tea before heading out the door.  I wanted to beat the crowds to get a nice hot bao for breakfast before the parade.

I heard the drone of bagpipes as I approached the Millenium Gate.  Of course there's bagpipes, as there is in every parade in Vancouver, likely fitted in between a troupe of lion dancers and and some charity group.  Many diverse groups participate in this parade, with such a huge attendance it's great exposure for a company or cause.  I figured I'd better get a photo before the _professional_ photographers block my view during the parade, which they did.  From somewhere else yet unseen a large deep drum was pounding for the lion dancers,  The skies were grey, and surely it would rain on my parade.
It did.

I saw a dragon-on-a-stick being led wrong way down the street to the parade lineup; its ornate, detailed and possibly expensive head likely papier mache and thus covered in a plastic bag, along with the bright fabric body.  Somehow the thought of this mighty magical beast stuck under wraps seemed sadly funny.   Poor dragon in a baggie! I've seen lion dancers with their lion helmets bagged too, and the large eyes and fluffy eyelashes peering out through plastic look less like a fierce carnivore and more like a cute critter that was curiously nosing some garbage and got its head stuck.  Like silly cat videos online.
The parade started with a truck dangling a length of firecrackers, followed by the 'Emperor' to kick off the parade and wave a blessing at everyone. Then the Vancouver Police Pipe Band.  Then was our Prime Minister, flanked by security and a ton of photographers, wishing us a happy new year and happily waving to everyone.  Then a whole entourage of MPs handing out Lucky Red Packets (hongbao/lai see), usually with chocolate coins or candy and perhaps some promotional note - I'm sure they don't know me from dirt come election time, but sure I'll take their candy and well-wishes.
                         
After that was a parade of, well, parade groups.  A Sikh motorcycle club, police and ambulance, and pretty much any group that can march or otherwise move as a unit was represented, even the youngest scout troops bundled up warmly but not really thrilled to be there.  Young dancers in costumes rather than coats kept moving enough to hopefully not mind the cold and wet.  Throughout these were the lions and dragons.

Dragon #1 spared no expense with glowing red eyes.

Dragon #2, and someone oblivious to the gaping mouth behind them.

Dragon #3

Dragon #4 munching on the leader's head!

Dragon #5 is made of balloons.

Dragon #6

Dragon #7 in its baggie!

I found a lion battling a tyrannosaurus rex.  I have no idea why a tyrannosaurus rex was here, what group it's representing or why it felt compelled to battle a lion, yet somehow it's not surprising in this seemingly anything-goes parade.  The crowd loved it, the dinosaur pitifully smacking with his tiny arms and the lion biting with its flappy mouth and trying to kick a bit with sneakers on its 'paws'.  And both were absolutely silent.  This made it even funnier.

An inquisitive lion investigates a hanging baggie...

Then I followed a red and silver lion around for a bit.  I was told that all these different colored lions belong to different competing martial arts groups, and visit the local shops and businesses to dance and offer the lion's blessing for a prosperous new year, in exchange the businesses give the lions leafy lettuce (the green looks like paper money), and a Lucky Red Packet with a donation to the group, which is a primary source of fundraising for tours and tournaments.
So the lions, sometimes in pairs, are accompanied by several interchangeable pairs of legs to swap out on a moment's notice, and with a cart for a large drum and gong clanging a simple, loud, repetative CLANG CLANG CLANG!!! I recall one year I followed several lions all around Chinatown and even into the mall and squeezed into the tiny mall elevator with them, all part of the joyous ruckus.  Nowadays, frankly I don't *need* that much clanging.

 

A lion will approach a storefront with what can only be described as a swaggering butt wiggle in time to the clanging beat.  It then stands directly in front of the door wriggling that cute fluffy body. It looks left, right, down, and finally up (it does the same at every door, you'd think they'd learn after the umpteenth time to look up first) to find with great expressive delight a head of lettuce and Lucky Red Packet suspended from the doorway like mistletoe.  Occasionally someone from a balcony will lower it down on a long line, like they're fishing for lions.  Shown here is a lion being hand-fed.  Having spied the tempting lure the lion will leap quickly or sometimes carefully tower up on its hind legs to reach it gingerly with its soft mouth - sometimes you can see the hand reach out and grab it.  It stands feet firmly planted and head lowered while the lion 'chews' the lettuce, then with a drum roll it triumphantly flings the shreds over the crowd.  Lettuce-eating lions are very messy eaters.  Then with great front-leg strides and a long neck it will bow deeply to the store, and some quick little steps back draws itself up to repeat twice more.  Then the happy lion heads off to the next shop to do this all again.  A highly aerobic workout for the fluffy-legged humans inside.

 

Enough of firecrackers, drums and gongs - I retreated to the Sun Yat-Sen Gardens along with everyone else it seemed; the narrow walkways funneled many visitors into a somewhat orderly flow two persons wide with strategically designed areas to congregate, an imposed chaos-into-order that forces one to slow down.  Much like the di shui tiles that adorn the roof, no matter how light or hard it rains the water falls a single drop at a time, like a beaded curtain.  I thought of the beauty in the singleness among the masses, and the small drops contributing to the greater overall effect.  Designed with attention to detail and calculated to enhance flow and tranquility, around every corner an artful vision obscured or revealed.  This is one of my highlights for the New Year's festival, as today the garden's admission is by donation.  Also offered was a Chinese tea ceremony/demonstration that would serve tea in tiny cups for as long as I cared to enjoy them, he'd keep pouring.  Excellent way to finish the afternoon.

Snow in the Lower Mainland

Ice along the shallow coast of Mud Bay.

Powdered fields of South Surrey.

The spots and shine on Pitt River.

The snow around Christmas time stuck around till the first week of January, occasionally refreshing itself in brief bouts here and there.  Though the region unused to such a meteorological phenomenon might curse the snow as a nuisance (especially on roadways), I took this rare opportunity to go up in a small plane and get some photos.  Who knows when we might get snow like this again?

Sharp light on measured grey tiles.

Two trips within the first week; the first on a loop south from Delta to White Rock, Langley, Pitt Meadows, Indian Arm, skirting the mountains and over Vancouver.  The second trip again from Delta to Langley, and stayed east onto Chilliwack where we stopped for pie at the Airport Coffee Shop that is famous for its pies.

The only bright color now.

As usual I prefer the natural landscapes, but even urban areas seemed calmed by the dusting of white.  The frozen colors were an interesting change in the palette of our usual blue, brown and green.  The diffused light of the gentle blue sky shot along the winding Serpentine and Nicomekl Rivers like a platinum snake, a slowly undulating highlight on the ice following alongside us as the plane moved.  The ice in the sea and large rivers looked like mottled marble stone.  Ponds were a milky green,  Marshy and solid parts of the same field were more distinct, whether the snow melted or 'stuck'.  The blueberry fields were a soft rosy pink from the once deep red of autumn.  Deciduous forests looks like black bristles on a boar's back.  Even the industrial land looked prettier when the mud brown was a clean white.