The View from Here

Monday night marked the last night of my 3-month digital photography class I’ve been taking since January at the local college.  For those of you that noticed the date on the calendar, you’re right, the 3-month course is ending at the end of April – FOUR FULL MONTHS INTO THE YEAR!  You know why, don’t you?  Of course.  Our course went long because of the LONGEST WINTER IN HISTORY.  During the first 3 months of 2009 we suffered enough storm stays on Mondays to close down school, thus extending the time we’d be in the classroom learning all the tools and techniques of digital photography.  No one, not even the instructor, thought we’d still be in the classroom as late as April 27!

I’d like to say that I graduated with honours, suma cum laude as it were.  I’d like to say that my talent clearly indicated I was the only choice for Photo School Valedictorian.  That my use of subject matter, light, filter and composition garnered me a diploma suitable for framing.  Alas, I cannot make any of those claims.  I was clearly not the most talented photographer in the course.  That I think would go to Karen who always found unique and interesting subjects for her photo assignments, while mine were mostly Dwayne and/or Snickers & Gidget whom I would cajole, beg, plead and sometimes bribe into being my willing subjects (not that they aren’t unique or interesting – they most certainly ARE, but mostly to ME).  Or, perhaps to Bunty who had such an artistic flare that she would photograph the cut-off stem of a tulip and, through her exposure setting and editing skills make it look like a neon green light installation work of art, while the best I could do on that front was the photo of the crystal blue egg against the cerulean blue sky.  Or, perhaps to Cara who took such candid photos of her twin 3-year old daughters they simply took your breath away for their beauty, innocence and wonder, while I was busy photographing candid shots of knots in wooden beams.  Seriously. 

I did graduate the course, but not with honours; not because I didn’t earn that grade, but because they didn’t actually give out grades!  But I sure learned a lot.  I learned about depth of field and how to focus your camera lens so that everything else is blurred either in the foreground or background, except your main focus.  I learned about the composition rule that every photographer should know:  “the rule of thirds”.  I learned about aperture, lighting, where to place the sun to ensure best exposure or backlight exposure.  I learned how to photograph moving water, which was one of my MOST exciting lessons.  I learned that when you show up for in the field instruction at the beach at 7am on a Saturday morning you really should be dressed for full on winter, even though the calendar says it’s April 18.  I learned that no matter what you take a picture of or how good it is – you can ALWAYS improve it by editing it with a photo-editing application.  I learned that the work really begins after you’ve taken the picture, which can make photography a VERY long process.  I learned that producing good photography really is hard work and that those people that take this up professionally really deserve the $125 an hour they charge!

I also learned I have a good eye for composition.  I have unleashed my inner artist and can spend hours shooting and then even more hours editing and creating digital photo albums and on-line galleries.  I pushed the send button to order my very first black & white portfolio album and it should be here in 6 – 10 business days.  I can’t wait to see the results of my winter’s work, documented and bound in a professional portfolio. 

But mostly, I learned enough to whet my appetite to keep learning.  I learned that while the point & shoot camera I used during school is great for people that want to give all control over to the camera, that for those that want to control their aperture, lighting, exposure and filtration – well really, you need an SLR camera.  I learned I should start putting all my spare change in the piggy bank because those cameras do not come cheap!

What follows are samples of my weekly assignments at photo school.  I hope you enjoy viewing them as much as I did making them.

Annoying Habits of Roommates Who Don't Pay Rent

With what you’ve read here you’d think there was only one.  Only one four legged member of our family. But in reality, there are two such creatures that live with us rent-free here in the Oyster Bed Bridge.  While my beautiful beastly boy, Snickers, occupies the largest chamber of my heart, there is a small space (tiny, tiny, tiny space) reserved for the her-dog of the house…our very own she-devil…the one and ONLY…Gidget Cameron.  Truth be told, I’m sure she’d prefer Gidget Donnelly, but the women in this house have not yet given up their maiden names so Gidget Cameron she will remain until such time as I say so. 

Now making her Musings & Meandering debut, the one and only GIDGET CAMERON!  (insert musical fanfare flourish here):

I know, you’re looking at that picture and thinking to yourself  “She’s cute!  Look at those eyes!  That expression!  She’s so fashionable with her winter parka!  How can you not stand the very cuteness of such cute-a-tude?!?!!”  It’s easier than you’d think, believe you me.

Gidget came to our family on a bit of a whim.  Note to self, one should never give in to those whims, because one moment of weakness could easily garner you 4 (or more) years saying “I’m sorry, she’s just a little cranky, it’s not you, really, it’s her, it’s just the way she is.”

April 4^th, 2005 was a bad day for me.  I’m not kidding.  I was having a very low tide kind of day.  The kind when you think to yourself, I really need to do something DIFFERENT with my life.  Lots of people would think about taking up a new hobby or perhaps exploring a different career or even going on vacation somewhere new and exotic.  Not me.  I took a walk and sauntered right past the pet store on 4^th in Kitsilano.  Thinking Snickers could use a treat I wandered in and there she was.  A 6-month old Gidget, all black and tan and cute as a bug, with a sweet disposition who just wanted to be cuddled and held and carried around like a baby.

I was done-in for.  She had me at the first wag of her little tiny (tiny, tiny) tail.  A small fortune later (I know the MADNESS!  I actually PAID for this creature who would come to rule my household like a queen with an iron fist) and she was mine. 

I do believe the name the pet store had given her was Wanda or Wendy or something like that.  Who the hell gives real people names to dogs?  And why Wanda or Wendy?  Why not Tanya (you know at least a small reference to her colour)?  I just don’t get it.  Anyway, before I even got her home (on the 4^th Street bus no less) she was christened Gidget.  Because, simply put, she’s a midget and it just seemed to fit her personality.  Gidget, the Midget.  Apologies to any little people that may read this website - no disrespect was intended.

She was too young to leave at home all day long, so four days a week she’d jump into her duffle bag (not a real duffle bag – a dog carrier duffle bag) and join me on the number 6 bus to go to work.  I’m sure during those 10 hours we were out each day were pure, unadulterated bliss for Snickers who, I think still to this day, resents the intrusion on his life that this little dog has wrought.  She quickly became the office mascot who would hang out in my office all day, unless of course there was a piece of linoleum she could pee on or a treat to be given over in Andrea’s office.

Our early days were easy days.  These were the days when she was all sweetness and sugar-toffee loving.  These were the days before the  disease would take hold of her and swing her around like a cat by the tail.  These were the days before she met my future husband, but the love of HER life, Dwayne Donnelly.

We moved to Jasper and became acquainted with the one whose affections we compete for, the man of our dreams, he who lights up our lives.  She would (and still does) sit for HOURS on his lap, allowing him to stroke her under the chin.  Very soon after we started dating, I figured he was a keeper because not only had Snickers not shied away from him as he had done with every OTHER man I had ever introduced him to, but The Gidge (as Dwayne calls her), quickly decided that he was the man for her.  How could I not keep him around?

Even in those days, Gidget was still a sweet little nuthin’ of a puppy.  I was worried that Rocky Mountain winters might be too cold for one who only stands 4-inches off the ground, but Gidget proved to be an intrepid cold-weather canine.  She’d walk for hours and hours and hours through snow and ice, stopping only to have the snowballs removed from her armpits.  She dug the mountains, almost as much as she dug her Dwayne-man.

Her diagnosis didn’t come until last year, when she turned 4.  We were at the Veterinary Hospital at the University of PEI where both dogs were getting the most thorough physical they (or I) have ever had.  As part of the examination I asked the resident to check Gidget’s eyes.  I thought she might have cataracts or something starting as she’d recently started barking uncontrollably at unfamiliar objects.   The residents at the Vet Hospital did a complete work-up, checking every nook & cranny on the dogs and taking a comprehensive view through the eye-checker at Miss Gidget’s corneas.  They found nothing. 

Being thoroughly keen and oh-so-into-the-cuteness-that-is-Gidget, the residents thought to write up Gidge’s symptoms under the guise that there wasn’t anything physically causing the barking…her eyesight was perfectly fine.  They were concerned that perhaps there was either an environmental or behavioral issue causing this oh-so-annoying hobby.  They submitted their report to the Veterinarian Doctors that oversee their residency program.  A few emails and a couple of phone calls to clarify details later and we had the diagnosis.  I was very excited to learn what was causing The Gidge such distress as to cause her to bark uncontrollably for hours on end.  I called the hospital back and got our resident on the phone.

The diagnosis:  “Adult On-set Crankiness”.  Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the genesis of her disease – she’s a bitch.  In. Every. Sense. Of.  The.  Word.  Seems it’s one of the less than endearing traits of Australian Silky Terriers.  The older they get, the less tolerant they become.  The less tolerant, the more vocal. 

Lately her laments have included such things as “THERE’S A FRIGGIN’ COYOTE SOMEWHERE WITHIN A 20-KM RADIUS OF OUR HOUSE – DON’T YOU HEAR HIM???”  and  “GIMME THAT BONIE, DAMN YOU!!”  and of course there’s the daily “STAY AWAY FROM MY DISH OR I’LL SINK MY DAGGERS INTO YOUR ANKLES YOU BIG BROWN DOG!”

But perhaps the thing she’s complained about the MOST lately is “WHY DO I NOT GET MY OWN SPOT ON THE BLOG?  I WANT MY MOMENT IN THE SUN!  I DEMAND THAT MY STORY BE TOLD!  WHY DO YOU PLAY FAVOURITES?  WHY IS THE BROWN DOG THE STAR OF THE SHOW?  WHY?  WHY?  WHY?”

Well, now my little Gidge – you can SHUT-UP.  Please……….

Hinterland Who's Who

They came swooping down out of the sky, performing a ballet so in sync with each other's moves, it seemed to be professionally choreographed.  Saturday marked the return of the Osprey and what must be the beginning of their mating season.  Two beautiful birds chased each other up and down, side to side, swooping and swishing, gliding, diving and soaring over our heads.  It was an amazing sight to behold - their dance, simply magical.  That is, until a third Osprey came racing from its nest behind our neighbour's house to chase the two dancing birds away from what can only be perceived as his neck of the woods.

No sooner had this lone bird chased the intruders away, then he swooped low over the southern side of our yard, past the apple orchard and landed directly behind the Virgin Mary tree stump.  He did two quick fly-bys and then WOOSH, he came in for a landing.  Except that he didn't land at all.  He merely swooped down and gathered something up in his talons and took flight again, returning to his nest for lunch.  We think he might have enjoyed partridge for lunch.  We hope not, but our flock of partridges have lately taken up residence in evergreen corner, right by the Virgin Mary.  We had a family of 8...I fear it may only be a family of 7 now.

Three Ospreys and two hawks circled between our yard, the back field and our neighbour's yard that day.  The sun caught the silver underside of the hawk as it hovered above our yard looking for prey.  The osprey found nourishment with the partridge family.  Lucky for us that the Gidget was inside for most of this show - otherwise she could have ended up as someone's mid-day meal.  And as cranky as she is, and as often as I think of divesting myself of this little she-devil, I think it would be an awful way for her to go - as someone's fly-through snack.

On Sunday we were here:

When we saw this:

One Week

It started as a love letter to Canada and for me, it ended with a teary-eyed mess in the car on the ride home.  Last night we went to see the movie "One Week" a movie that has been advertised here as a "love letter to Canada."  It's a story about a young man, 3-months away from his wedding, having been diagnosed with stage-4 cancer, who packs up his saddle bag, straddles his newly purchased vintage Norton motorcycle and begins a cross-country road trip from Toronto to Tofino, transversing 2/3s of the vastness that is Canada.  I'm a sucker for a road trip - whether taking to the road myself, or enjoying it vicariously on the big screen so there was no way I was going to miss seeing this movie!

As promised, the scenery was spectacular.  The main character, a fine and healthy looking young man is literally a ticking clock who snaps pictures along the way at every oversized monument between the Muskokas and the surf-shacks on BC's western most coast.   The Big Nickle in Sudbury, the Giant Goose in Wawa, and the World's Largest TeePee in Alberta are as much a part of our national landscape as the great Canadian Shield and the boreal forest, and through his photos they become secondary characters in this movie. 

I was prepared for this story.  I had seen enough trailers to know what to expect.   I was prepared for the plot line of him questioning the validity of everything in his life while he struggled to live fully before he started treatment...before he became a patient.   I was prepared for the take-your-breath-away scenery...of the prairies at dawn, of the lakes of northern Ontario at sunset.  I waited with anticipation for shots of the Rockies and of my favourite city in the whole world, Vancouver.  I was richly rewarded.  The movie is Canadian eye-candy at its best.

We both really enjoyed the movie - the perfect way to cap off a perfect Spring Saturday.  As we began driving home I asked Dwayne the question that is posed at the end of the movie:  "If you only had one day, one week, one month to live - what would you do?  What life hold would you grab on to?  What wish would you fulfill?  What's the minimum in life?"

I hate to say that I wasn't entirely actively listening to Dwayne's response (he said something about a trip to Ontario & Kelowna), because I was busy thinking about how I would answer that question myself.  That's when the tears began.  It is an overwhelming question that could not be easily answered.  It's not as simple as I'd pack up and go to Italy and eat fresh pasta everyday (although that would be fun and certainly very, very high on my list).  It's not as simple as you would think.  And for someone like me who is SELDOM at a loss for words, not being able to articulate an answer was rather surprising to my husband and me! 

Which brings me to the interactive portion of this blog, dear internet.  Yes, this is where you get to weigh in.   Click on comments to answer the question I pose to you - "If you only had one day, one week, one month to live - what would you do?  What life-hold would you grab on to?  What wish would you fulfill?  What's the minimum in life?"

If you've never driven across Canada (or even if you have), this is a must see movie.  If you love road trips, this is a must see movie.  If you love Canada, this is a must see movie.  

Windows on the World

In return for soldiering on through the LONGEST WINTER IN HISTORY, today Karma has smiled down upon us and rewarded us with the promise of Spring.  Warm, gentle breezes, BIG blue sky, 20-degrees and blooms, blossoms, buds and did I mention BLOOMS are popping up all over our property!

 After hibernating all winter, this morning I could not get my cleaning bucket out fast enough  to wash down all my windows.  I unleashed my inner domestic goddess and scrubbed and polished every window within an inch of its life, erasing 6 months of wind, rain, snow and dirt and in some cases, dog snout snot.  It's nice to be able to see out of them again, because once I could actually see out the windows, I noticed that OH MY GOD - not only are my crocuses up, but tulips and daffodils are on their way too.

My heart did a little jump for joy when, upon closer inspection of my flower beds, I discovered that not only did I survive THE LONGEST WINTER EVER, but so did my clematis and lilacs.  The tender shoots of my hydrangea are just starting to poke up and dare I say it, but so did the pretty yellow shrub that I can't remember the name of - it's doing okay too and is just covered with tiny little buds.  And so are my peonies.  My second most favourite flower ever, I planted two bushes last spring and patiently waited for their big, showy flowers to appear in July.  Um, ya, not so much.  Evidently peonies don't flower the first year they're planted, but guess what?  That's right, this is YEAR NO. 2 so I fully expect to see big, braggadocious, bold and showy pink flowers this year.  

We spent our morning cleaning up the detritus that landed in our yard over the winter - fallen, dead branches, entire boughs of evergreen trees, a dead mouse or two and even an empty Guinness bottle we think was left-over from our wedding last August.  We pulled deadfall out of the ground and cut back some of our perennials.  We raked and we swept and we congratulated ourselves for delivering a nicely green lawn so early in the year (as if we had anything to do with it).   We are HOME-OWNERS.  We are LANDSCAPERS.  We will soon be VEGETABLE farmers.  But mostly what we are now is EXHAUSTED.

  

Bunny Food it Ain't

It’s been very hairy around our house the last week or so.  I don’t mean “hairy” as in wild or scary or shocking.  Or, perhaps, maybe I do!?! 

Last week after almost 5 months my husband (FINALLY) went for a haircut.  I know what you’re thinking – most civilized human beings get their hair cut every 5 – 6 weeks.  I know, I know, you’re right!  My husband, however, likes to get a big bang for his buck, so he likes to see how long he can go without a haircut and without the HR Director writing him up for failing the hotel’s grooming policy.  When the "Dippity Do" doesn't,  when it could no longer hold a perfect “gelmet” he decided it was time for a trim.

Rather than going to a barber for a shave & a haircut he goes to a national chain known as “First Choice”.  In our household though, this national chain of hairdressers is known as “Her Choice” because really, it doesn’t matter what you tell the hairdresser, you get whatever cut she feels like giving you that day.  In the past this has meant everything from a nice trim and thinning out to a full on brush cut just mere days before our wedding.  Imagine how happy I was on my wedding day, posing for pictures, standing beside GI Joe with his new buzz cut. 

So last week he goes for a long overdue trim and my final words as he’s heading off are “don’t let them use the #1 blade on you – no buzz cuts or I swear to God, it’s grounds for divorce.”  He really must want to stay married because, indeed, the stylist did not use a #1 blade…or even a #2 blade for that matter.  She just scissored his cut.  Which, when you have enough hair on your head to start your own International Hair Club for Men franchise, a little scissoring is not a real haircut.

So, $15 later he comes home sporting what can only be referred to as “Hockey Hair.”  You know what I’m talking about right…all business in the front, party in the back.  Yes, my dear internet, my husband is sporting a modified mullet.  I can hear the groaning from you as I type this…I know, I know!  I’ve got my very own Billie Ray Cyrus right here in my kitchen. 

His new haircut elicted the following conversation this morning:

“Um, you know if you had gone back the next day they would have corrected your cut at no cost – it’s the hairdresser’s credo, you know”.

“I didn’t have time!  Besides, I like my hockey hair.”

“It looks more like 70’s Porn Star Hair if you ask me”

“I didn’t ask you.  It’s hockey hair – you know, the kind that attracts all the Puck Bunnies.  I used to wear my hair this way when I played hockey.  All the Puck Bunnies loved it, I don’t know why you don’t.”

“Did you get a lot of action with those Puck Bunnies?”

“None.”

“My point exactly.”

I’m really hoping that when he reads this blog that his very next step will be to make an appointment for further lid alteration.  At least before our vacation.  We can’t risk showing up in Nashville with him looking like Billie Ray Cyrus.

 

Meandering

The exhaustion continues.  I was so tired yesterday I didn't have the energy to write about the pictures I posted.  Hence the invention of Wordless Wednesday, my "get out of writing" free card that I can invoke whenever the exhaustion becomes more than bone-crushing (like yesterday) or days when the words just won't come.  

For those of you wondering, the pictures I posted were taken in April 2007, during what we lovingly refer to as our "trip of a lifetime".  It really was with stops in such incredible places as Monte Carlo, Florence, Rome & Paris - the romance capitals of Europe!   

We took lots and lots of photos while overseas, as is evidenced in the 3 CDs, 4 flash drives and 1 hard drive that house all these photos.  Typical tourists, we snapped pictures of monuments, landmarks, landscapes and each other.  What we don't have in the 1,298 pictures of that trip are very many pictures of the two of us together.  Seems we're shy tourists and didn't want to ask anyone to touch our camera and take our pictures.  So, many of the shots we do have of us together are taken by one of us, arm outstretched, hoping like hell that the lens is actually focused on us and not at the top of our heads.

Looking back at these photos makes me realize just how much we love to travel together.  You know you've met the perfect mate if you can travel with him.  And if you can travel internationally together without killing each other or getting arrested and thrown into one of those scary "Midnight Express" jails, well - all the better.   It really was one of the litmus tests I used in evaluating my relationship with the man I would eventually marry.  Was he able to navigate foreign train timetables?  Could he find me a bathroom on a moment's notice when he doesn't speak the language?  Was he willing to immerse himself in the local culture?  You know, the ahem "when in Rome" clause (pun intended).    Thankfully, he passed with more than flying colours; he even managed to overlook my Parisian temper tantrum and I eventually got over whatever the big deal was that so chapped my fanny so we could continue our stay in the city of lights.

We've got itchy feet these days...it's what happens to us when we're ready to make a break for the border and explore some foreign soil.  Passports have been renewed.  Map books have been purchased.  GPS systems are being programmed.  Dog-sitters are being sought.    Soon we're leaving on vacation and it really can't come a moment too soon.  We haven't really had a true vacation since that trip of a lifetime 2 years ago.  Not even a honeymoon.  No, the 3-hour deep-sea fishing trip does not count as our honeymoon cruise!   

The countdown is on...T-minus 24 and counting!