365 RED: Abandoned London

Our city is a very changing place. As fortunes ebb and wane with the tide of the international oil markets, things are either excellent and vibrant, or struggling or abandoned.

Downtown, in what was the old bus barns, is a shopping centre cum social space. When it was imagined back in the late 80s, the developers envisioned a version of Vancouver's Granville Market. For whatever reason, those smart people didn't factor in the fact nobody lived downtown, or immense lack of downtown parking or the fact parking in this city is more expensive than nearly anywhere else in the world, including New York City.

So there was established a grand and gorgeous market in the centre of downtown, where, at the time, there were almost residents - save those in the VERY posh high-rise adjacent - populated by people who were wealthy enough to have a cook, or who ate  in high-end restaurants, rather than purchasing fresh produce and meat whilst within shoulder-rubbing distance of the proletariat....

Later, this ever-shifting building housed the  IMAX theatre, and a quite-excellent art gallery, and then a group of businesses and a cinema - but again, not enough people to keep those things running, given the vast majority of people who worked downtown couldn't wait to get out of there at the end of the day.

The place is currently on the demolition list. The few remaining businesses limp along, surviving only thanks to quite low rents for the area, as the landlord would rather have some income than empty spaces.

The poster there hangs outside a British shop - closed, of course - as a sad reminder of an idea that has entirely lost its way.

365 Red; Gold Coast

The Paris Metro is a fascinating microcosm of everyone from everywhere. People who wouldn't necessarily mix socially all meet on the metro, for however brief a moment: business people rub shoulders, literally, with the homeless, who they will later ignore; travellers, immigrants, kings and queens; everyone rides le metro.

This lovely woman was head-to-toe in gorgeous traditional clothing. I don't know from where but probably Cameroon. She was entirely fabulous, regal, wonderful. And that ring. 24 carat gold. It was spectacular.

We were off at the next stop or I would have sat down and had one heck of a conversion with her, because she's someone with a damn fine story, I'm sure.

365: Red; Please use the other one

Some stuff just doesn't translate. The connective tissues of the English language don't always work, or even exist in other languages, particularly oriental languages, so stuff gets interesting in translation.

I love this stuff.

More at www.engrish.com

365: Red; It's made of what, exactly?

Right before she left on a jet plane and married some guy.... 

My girls are endlessly fun, hilarious, wonderful. They are able to make the most mundane event or thing unique and funny by virtue of their intelligent and quirky world views. We can - and we have - watch them as if we're party to our own private comedy hour.

This image is from the night before my youngest moved to Florida, where she now lives - permanently - with her spouse, a captain in the US air force. I love the guy. Good thing, because us being separated, me from her, and she from her two sisters, is, quite frankly, just a millimetre shy of unbearable.

They were making light of it all, the packing up of her bedroom, the chucking of cherished childhood things, the consumption of weird-tasting beers, the every fewer hours before the future became the now, and our loved one would disappear through the doors of US customs.

I will never understand parents who have stale-dated their kids, as in, "They're moving out the second they're 18." Being separated from my kids is, by far, the most painful thing. They're competent, intelligent, motivated, educated, wonderful people, and they're fine doing what they're doing, but being this far away from her is as painful as a burn that never heals.

365: Red; Duh de da da dah, Duh de da da dah, duh duh duh dah dah dada!

Is there anything more Canadian than hockey? In October 2015, I travelled with my youngest daughter to Montreal, where she would attend her immigration interview in preparation for her move south to join her American husband.

I moved to Montreal when I was 17, and lived there three years. Those years are, to this day, the highlight of my life, with the extended and profound exeption of being mamma to my girls. Montreal was then and is now a fantastic, wonderful place to live. As a 17 year-old from what was then a pretty conservative city, Montreal was a world apart. I loved it and I still love it and going back there is like going home.

The whole time I lived there, hockey games too place in the Forum, which was at Atwater. I worked across the street about a block away from the Forum but never went into the building.

My daughter and I decided a night out at a comedy club was a great idea, and we were both pretty happy to find out the club was located in what is now called the old Forum. The renovation has made love to the zeitgeist of the building by maintaining the colours and structure and with the main floor painted to look like an ice surface. Oh. and yeah, Les Habitants? Best team ever. Yeah, I said it.

365: Red; Abandoned Again

Nope. Not a hockey rink. Its what devastation looks like - devastation when a mucky-muck US retailer, which hasn't bothered to know the market it presumes to move in to, doesn't even bother trying, and basically recreates the crappy big-box that was previously there, has all that totally backfire in about two years.

Was Zellers, was Target, is now a big, sucking hole in the portfolios of so many malls across Canada. But at least this company paid their CEO a huge bonus for totally, utterly, catastrophically screwing up, before they paid the minimum-wage employees across the country, who depended on the pittance they were making here...

365: Red; It's That Time of the Decade Again

Once every decade or so, our city's hockey team gets itself into the playoffs (this is Canada; we say it's not themselves - because a team is one thing... but I digress)

Last time was 2013 and it was all sorts of debauchery, public drunkenness, lots and lots of naked boobs - because beer plus normally self-respecting females apparently makes for "Sure you can post my naked breasts to Twitter/Instagram/Facebook, and I won't even regret it until I remember the Internet never forgets...

I like this sedate little display, even if it looks a bit like a wash line. I'm not at all sure about the blue and white stuffies...

365: Red; Hot Stuff

This is my basket of hot stuff; hot water bottle (filled, because I don't like to waste the water, so I just re-boil what's in there) and two hot-yoga towels.

The first time you go to hot yoga, you will feel like you're going to die, and you're pretty sure you're never going back. In my case, my daughter got me to agree to a 30-day hot yoga challenge. It's a commitment, let me tell you, to dive right in to 30 days in a row. In June. When it's already hot outside.

After the 30 days though, when you're all flexible and your skin is soft like a baby's - true story; all your dead skin cells slough off thanks to the salt in your sweat - and you're used to the heat, and you've had a couple of interesting experiences because you ate too close to class time, you actually do want to go back.

As for that hot water bottle, who doesn't love one of those!?

No, I don't have a good reason for storing this stuff in a raffia basket in my bathroom.

365: Red; Greenslades

I dunno. I just thought it was hilarious to have a red bin when your company name has "green" in it.

I've been staring at this thing and the graffiti on it, for weeks and weeks trying to figure out what "blocks" means and what the image is, or is meant to represent. It reminds me of Casper the Ghost for some reason.

The whole thing is a mass of contradictions.

365: Red; MechanoTree

More building and building and building... three little homes that were old, and dwarfed by the two huge condos next door, and the new-ish, huge grocery store across the street, were torn down over the winter, to be replaced by this huge metal growth.

365: Red; Leftovers

This is one of five or six crap apple trees growing "wild" in the big park by our house - 60 acres of park we're so fortunate to have nearby. The park is very well used by the area residents and their dogs, and has been forever. People bring all sorts of food in there and seeds are dropped everywhere. Some take root but whatever might try to grow is usually trampled by people or dog feet before they get a good hold. But these, because they're on the hillside, where people are less inclined to walk, did grow; three of them, side by side, with really nice crab apples for anyone who might want one.

Last year, my friend, Rory (Aurora, actually) and I went down there and stripped as many apples as we could reach from the ground and by climbing. This year, I think both of us still have loads of the jelly we made, so we didn't pick and neither did anyone else. Even the birds didn't partake this year.

365: Red; Territorialism

Like, how do they know??

How do they know whether the trash in there has been deposited by a paying transit customer, or by some random passer-by?

365: Red; Coffee, Coffee, everywhere

I don't remember when I shot this, but I remember where; outside a shop that sells all manner of electrical stuff, wire, wire cutters, light bulbs, stuff to fix stoves and ovens. It's a bits-and-bobs-lover's heaven. 

When we were kids, our step dad travelled around Alberta and BC a lot, fixing things - GPS landing systems, I think - at small airports and landing strips. He always had a case full of electrical stuff, solder, and soldering irons. I remember rifling through that kit as we drove along, unsecured in the back of some old station wagon, singing Take Me Back to Albuquerque, from the Partridge Family show, until we made ourselves cry. Those were such simple days.  

365: Red; March 26, Velvet and Ice

Last year's leaves, this day's snow. 

365: Red; March 25, Red, White and Blue: a metaphore

Some years ago, my youngest met a very nice young man at a wedding. In Texas. Not many months later, she saw this young man again, and then again at a second wedding a year later, and then again on a stopover in his city during one of his rare visits there. Said young man is a pilot in the US Air force and was, at the time, stationed at the base in Del Rio, which is five miles north of the Mexican border, in Texas.

I found out said young man not only existed but was starting to look like a permanent fixture by round about means: my daughter told me she'd got her first credit card. I gave her the "pay it off in full every month," speech, at which point she said yes, she had $600 on the card but would pay it off in full. Several questions followed: "HOW did you get $600 on there already? "I bought a flight and rented a car."
"What? A flight to where?"
"San Antonio, and then I'm driving to Del Rio."
"WHY are you going there?"
"To see my boyfriend."
"WHAT boyfriend??"
"David. He's a pilot in training. He's stationed in Del Rio."
....

Anyway. I've recovered. David is lovely. They're engaged and wedding is in planning for next year.

The thing above: David sent this from Afghanistan, where he has been for six months, doing his second tour as a reconnaissance pilot. At the top, an officially-folded US flag and at bottom, a certificate attesting to the flag having been on board and flown in my and my spouse's honour on February 10 2014, and signed by David and three others.

It's the most extraordinary gift I am sure I will ever receive.

I am bemused to note the red part of this flag is hidden inside a locked case. I know it is contrary to think this way but it represents the spilled American, Canadian, Afghan, and British blood and how much of that reality I think we are not really aware of. It's ironic the red isn't showing, as it is a significant part of the whole.

This thing was made in and travelled from Afghanistan to New York and then to my city. The glass did not survive and the surface of the matting is scarred, all of which contributes to the overall irony.