365 RED: Things you know will happen but refuse to believe

I did know my kids would grow up and have lives of their own. I knew it, but I didn't realize it would happen so bloody fast, nor did I comprehend how fast 30 years flies by, or 26, in the case of the owner of these kitties.

Six years ago, my youngest, then 21, met a fellow at a wedding in Texas. Given the distance, I figured not much would come of it. However, despite distances and deployments - he's a USAF captain - they married, twice, in fact (one totally-not-a-secret elopement to get the immigration stuff underway and the second a proper wedding).

Last December, she moved to Florida, otherwise known as at least seven hours, two airports and a 40 minute drive away from home. Shortly thereafter, she and her spouse got themselves some "kids" of their own, Logan and Wade, who, at the moment this image was made, had, for the first time, met a dog... yeah. I know. Terrifying. 

They were tiny then, and they're not much bigger now, but they have a big job; to keep my daughter company during yet another deployment; the first one when she's no longer home with her family but being a wife 5000 miles away.

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: Watercolour Roses

Our nearby, 160 acre dog park is a place of wonderful finds. With its many trees, some planted, some random, there are often bits and bobs left as honorariums or decorations.

These roses, dried out and frozen were left tied to the trunk of a denuded tree last winter - an actual winter with snow.

Recently, via a friend's post on Facebook, I discovered a photo editing program called SuperPhoto by which I altered this image. The roses look more bereft and lonely with this treatment. Maybe sad holding vigil for the last proper winter we'll see?

365 Red; Doesn't matter how sick you are, the slots await.

I am fascinated by the people who come to Vegas. For someone who, like me, is nosy and curious, and usually armed with some sort of camera, the place is a cornucopia of opportunity. So weird.

On this particular trip, I booked in to a hotel south of the strip. It's a big place but it's away from the chaos that is the tourist-laden centre-strip streets.

It has its own loyal, committed following though. These are not tourists. These are locals, who don't necessarily want to mix with the weekend warriors who frequent the strip hotels.

And these are the dedicated slot-players. In this woman's case, no matter she was feeling crap, was probably infectious, and really ought to have been in bed, she bundled up, fashion be damned, armed herself with tissues and voila; no problem, multi-tasking. I hope she won something for her trouble. I hope the cleaning staff disinfected that machine.

365 Red; Bridle racks and injuries. Graphic image...

Sometimes people ask that question, "If you knew then what you know now...". My answer is, "Something in medicine; probably emergency medicine." Wounds don't bug me - at least none I've encountered so far.

Generally, I'm not bothered by blood and cuts and stuff. I was the go-to mom on the beach when kids hurt themselves. My claim to medical fame was the time one of the boys slipped off a metal bridge and cut his leg quite badly. I cleaned the wound, bandaged him up, and sent him off to the local hospital, where the staff asked him why he was back... they thought he'd already been treated.

Recently I was visiting my sister in Vegas. She's a trainer there. We had coffee plans, which she had to cancel due to one of her horses having caught its nose on a hook - the kind one usually hangs bridles on. The horse pulled away, rather than lifting its head, resulting in a wicked but super cool laceration to its nostril.

The horse's owner - and my sis - were pretty grossed out, but the vet and I  had a great chat about the wound and how he was going to fix it right up. Proper old-time vet; very James Herriot.

WARNING: GRAPHIC IMAGE

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; Would you like bread with that?

People just walk around Paris with bread in their backpacks. The first time I saw this, I thought the guy was a tourist. But no, it's really common to see a loaf of French bread sticking out of a purse or a backpack, or out of the carry-all on a motorcycle or bike.

We did capitulate finally. The bread is delicious and cheap. And delicious. And French. When in Paris....

365: Red; Food, glorious food...

For the fourth year of my gallery show with my colleague, Chris Tait, we travelled to Paris. We were going to Tokyo, but our respective schedules generally, and Chris's teaching schedule, delayed our booking to the point Paris, weirdly, became the affordable alternative. Happy accident!

Not knowing the city, and having made the decision late in the year, I booked what I thought to be a great choice of hotel/flights package.

Our hotel was located north of the river, and literally underneath the junction of two converging roads of the peripherique, which is the ring-road circling Paris.

From the nearby metro, we had to walk through a narrow, garbage-strewn roadway bordered on the south by garages and dilapidated car wash bays, and on the north by a garbage dump cum shanty town, where several families lived surrounded by the trash of the local community.

Behind our hotel on the other side of the fence bordering the hotel's patio and exterior gardens, were condemned buildings which were caving in due to fires and destruction by resident bad boys.

Inside the hotel? Total oasis. Weird. Lovely room, great buffet breakfast, nice staff... Step outside the door? Armageddon.

Generally, the area we stayed in was run down and probably not the safest for a couple of white kids from Canada, being a fairly middle-eastern-population community. That said, I didn't feel unsafe so much as feeling like a curiosity; it was obvious people were super confused by us: we stuck out for sure.

Regardless of the generally un-nice reality of the area, no matter what place we went into for food in our neighbourhood or anywhere else in Paris, it was always gorgeous. The street out front of a shop could be a disaster of crap laying about, but inside, there was peace and structure. Paris is nothing if not precise where it comes to presentation of food.

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.