social commentary

Yesterday an old friend of mine died and I found out because it was his Facebook status. I struggle to comprehend that a trivial and meaningless thing as Facebook now involves life changing status updates. I wonder how I would have known otherwise if I didn't have the Internet but then I wouldn't have been back in touch with Chris at all if it wasn't for the great connector- Facebook. I knew Chris really, about 15 years ago. The years between then and now also mean that I'm no longer in contact with any friends we had in common. But.. the Internet-it connected us again, allowed me to send a message to him, put me in contact in other friends and put us back in contact.

And so.. Chris died, but not so unexpectedly. Before he passed away, he was infrequently updating his Facebook status on his deteriorating health from throat cancer. He had courageously posted pictures of the gaping hole in his neck from the throat tumors clawing their way to the surface. He shared the terrible details of surgery to save his carotid artery and he reminded people to have a wake. Incredibly, in it all he kept his sense of humor like this: update from Nov 19: "the fact that 3 people have died in this 4 bed room in the last 48 hrs and I'm still here".


As the weeks went on, the tributes and memories poured in from his friends. Many of them people I knew or "knew of". I read each one, little pictures colored in with words. Snapshots to scenes I wasn't in, parties I didn't go to, gig's I was too young to attend. Some posted photographs and I remembered how I used to know him.

I was in Toronto in July and happened to see him on the street as I drove by- amazing in a city the size of Toronto. I saw how badly he looked. He was in ill health then. He looked like death then. I got in contact and was able to see him and experience both the spirit of Chris as I remembered him and the sense he would be leaving. We walked down Bloor talking of the past, the mundane, the future.  I was grateful to see Chris again and in so many ways, he hadn't changed. He always had enthusiasm and excitement for things he thought were cool. He always seemed to walk quickly, slightly forward as thought he couldn't get to where he was going quick enough.

We walked past a church I had passed on the way to find his apartment. My senses alert and tingled the same way I have always been when aware of making memory yet I had ignored the church. Chris excitedly pointed out the beautiful stained glass windows of what was now an apartment building. "Isn't that cool?" he asked me. We walked near Dovercourt Ave where he was staying and he got excited about a book in a window and we went in an looked at it, he quickly engaged the shop keeper on the attributes of a certain cartoon style that segued into  something political- my mind was elsewhere.. but it was the spirit of Chris- intelligent, always engaging, insightful and talkative that I knew so many years ago.

He bummed some money off me for cigarettes, the irony, and scurried to the phine booth to make a call and probably buy drugs. He'd been an addict for as long as I've known him but I gave him the money. We stood on the corner of Bloor and Dufferin, in the sun as the people streamed past and I knew it was likely I would never see him again and I hugged his tall and always lanky but now bone thin frame for a long time and I started to cry. I told him all the things I thought he would want to hear and things I knew I would regret if I didn't say. "I think you're beautiful and I love you. Your life has already been perfect and thank you for being in mine so long ago." And I said, you're lucky. You're lucky if you get to go. Life is hard and brutal. I wanted him to know it was OK to put down all the pain and I hoped it would mean he could let his heart lift from the weight of his existence and heal.

 I updated my Facebook that it was great to see him sometime later that day. Social commentary. I saw you.. I took some photos..other people see this..you'll see this..Why does anybody put anything on Facebook? To share and connect and keep a tether thread to the lives of others no matter how tenuous. In the last weeks, the updates started to come from his sister and others who watched over him... in the hospital. And thanks to Facebook, old friend, past friends-  people made peace with Chris, expressed their gratitude, love and support and all these messages were read to him one by one as he lay in palliative care. That's a beautiful thing. 

Finally yesterday,  his status was updated by his sister:

Chris Bates Died today, Wednesday, December 1, 2010 - 44 years old

It was as my response said: worst.status.update.ever (and I'll fucking miss you.)

I feel bewildered that I watched his life wind down on Facebook. I saw weekly updates to the situation unfolding with each new refreshed day. We weren't close. I'm not an ex- girlfriend or a family friend. We went to the same gigs, hung around in the same bar and eneded up at the same parties. He wore a red beret and a quick wit, always on the go. He found out where I lived and came around or I invited him to dinner. We hung out a few times and I was about 22. Once, smoking hash and cigarettes, we burnt a hole in my favorite bedspread and messed around. He was probably a drug addict back then and I kind of pushed him away. He came to my door and announced he felt ostracized and I had to look up the word. Last time I saw Chris back then, was at a poetry reading; he spent a lot of time in the bathroom and looking sleepy. I didn't know what heroin was like back then and he left town. 

I never saw or talked to him again for probably 15 years but I watched and participated in the most personal and private event of his life because it was on the Internet, on Facebook. In some ways I'm grateful and in others- I feel the white bright numbness of the burst of hot firecracker fast and brilliant, stunning from a distance. Poetic. Like an over exposed photograph you hold at a distance. I still have that bedspread and that memory of that hot hash burn was as brief moment with someone who also burned hot and fast through his 44 years.  

RIP old friend. x 

storm clouds and easy streets

 I wrote this long winded piece about past boyfriends and what I'd like to affectionately call "the asshole" but really I was channelling my inner asshole and as I discovered recently, there's no point so I've reduced it like a fine balsamic vinegar reduction and summed it up a a few morals of the story..

• You can't stand on the shoulders of other to feel tall
• Know when you're being treated badly and when you're doing the treating badly- stop both.
• If you recognize someone is in pain, don't add to it.
• You'll recognize the friends at the end by the one's that helped you along, not the ones that tried to pull you down as they climbed up.
• Love between 2 people is like a river- you're both the water making the effort to get around each rough spot- it's gonna be fun when you get going. If one of you is in a puddle splashing alone- it's just a mess and you'll go home wet and alone.
• Stop trying to swim upstream- that's just for dead salmon.

"Life is short and we have never too much time for gladdening the hearts of those who are travelling the journey with us. Oh be swift to love, make haste to be kind." ~ Henri Frederic Amiel

urban wasp, New Orleans

I snapped this on some street in New Orleans. I was intrigued by the locals- people who call that strange city home. Did they come there before or after Katrina. Did they loose everything. Was she a local, a vistitor, or a passing through on my way to the fair kind of girl. I never asked. I just watched her for a few minutes from across the street. I liked her look.


In case you're wondering, it's a bag of HK Anderson braided twists in Honey Wheat flavor sticking out of her bag. Interestingly, a search for where you can buy them in New Orleans brought up only 3 Walmarts. For shame on cute girl shopping in Walmart!

next up.. sweaters

I learned to knit again after a 30 year hiatus. I have knit 2 hats and a scarf so far.

I figured if I can master knit and purl, I can master this..wish me luck.

twhoot twhoo

tea & comfort

Grabbed from here full on..it looked WAY too yummy to not repost. Copy, paste and serve with tea.

Cranberry Citrus Walnut Bread
(adapted from Amy Palanjian's family recipe at ReadyMade)

2 limes, zested & juiced
1/2 grapefruit, juiced
Boiling water
2 tablespoons melted butter
1/2 cup sugar
1 egg, beaten
1 cup all purpose flour
1 cup whole wheat flour
1 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup chopped fresh cranberries
1/2 cup chopped walnuts

Preheat oven to 325 F.

Add the lime zest, lime juice, grapefruit juice and enough boiling water to make enough for 3/4 cupful (for me this was just shy of 1/2 cup of fruit juice + the boiling water). Pour into a large bowl. Stir in the sugar and whisk until cool. Add in the egg and give everything a good stir.

Dump in the flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt and lightly mix until just incorporated. Stir in the chopped cranberries and walnuts and stir until evenly combined.

Oil up a loaf tin and spoon in the batter. Bake for 55-60 minutes or until a cake tester comes out clean. Remove from oven and let sit for 15 minutes. Remove the loaf from the pan and let cool on a wire rack.

it's not cold, that's my attitude

Ohh.. its' so cold.. 

Burrrr..I can't believe how cold it is..

It snowed?.. in Vancouver? OMG 

Ok.. yes it snowed. Yes, there is ice on my scooter. Yes, it won't start. Yes, the temperature dropped to -5 but honestly.. I have to bite my tongue when people in Vancouver complain about the cold. The grass is green under that snow and the roses are blooming up the road. People still sit on heated patios.

I remember when I was growing up in Alberta..losing my house key and being some unfortunate teenager who dressed inappropriately because it was nerdy to have a parka and mitts and snow boots. So, I suffered in Converse Sneakers and no gloves in the garage praying to God to let me live another day so I could learn my science lesson about wind chill without loosing my toes.

I remember snowstorms that shut down the city. Snow drifts so high that my apartment door had to be pushed on before it would open. You didn't dream leave the house without some serious skin coverage, even if I was going to walk the 5 blocks to the local whatever to relieve the boredom. The nose piercing I had back then would freeze in 20 seconds. The tip of my nose a few seconds after that.

I've waited fruitlessly for buses in blizzards, walked in -30 with a windchill of -400, endured having clothing seasons of special protective clothing and huddled in corners smoking with my fingers going numb. (I don't smoke anymore and one of those pitiful scenes of Edmontonians huddled around a ashtray in the arctic winds was a motivating factor of why to quit).

Thus, when you live in Vancouver and it snows for all of 3 weeks and a cold snap hovers around -5.. I have 4 words to complaints about the cold..

We've got it good. (..well my first 4 words were a little bit more colorful than that).

PS. Alberta was the 2nd coldest place on the planet last Tuesday. Stay warm family.
 

"It's like a witch in a white kitten suit."

We're thinking of changing it's name from Plum to Pesto.

new kitten..Plum

siblings

I've always found multiple cats endearing. Silently envied the 'crazy cat lady' who lives with 9 cats. Been enamored by the bundles of kittens curled up together. Have always wanted to have more than 1 cat. So, on a chance stop by the SPCA, deja vu was in the air when a 5month old kitten was available for adoption and looks suspiciously like the cat I already have.

Yes, she's all white, has pink ears, never makes a sound and has big yellow eyes. Yes she's now mine and no, they're not quite friends.. yet.

baby your things

I stumbled upon a pretty Etsy site- someone recycling vintage tribal fabric like Hmong Baby Carriers and reworking them into the loveliest of bags..aren't they amazing?

Oh yeah.. the 1st one? It's mine..!

past posts

I wrote this on 26 April 2007..

The muffled sound of music can be heard. Just audible, drum beats and bass clap their hands in the invisible air. The tiny white ear buds are instantly recognized. A member of the Ipod army. She sits down next to me on the bus. Grey pant suit noticed as I glanced quickly at the filled space next to me. The bus is sweaty with condensation from the breath of so many riders and the rain falling outside. Umbrellas dripping moisture onto paper shopping bags. Manicured nails clutch the tan leather handbag that almost passed as quality, but there's something secretly cheap about mass manufactured goods to appeal to the gleam of high fashion magazine ad admirers. She wears a fitted grey wool coat, blond hair hitting it softly at the shoulders. I glance at her face. Her make up is neither subtle or heavy but almost seems like a toned down version of a garish night out. She looks like a legal assistant with a dark secret. The aroma of music wafts between us and I ponder if she listens to anything else other than heavy metal.

craft 2

Maybe 5 hrs of knit2, purl 2..x 10 then knit 2 purl 1 and repeat.

 Malabrigo worsted pure merino wool in kettle dyed Frank Ochre.

Here's the pattern I'm following..

Easy Hand Knit Scarf

a kind tale..

Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs.

His bed was next to the room's only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation.

Every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.

The man in the other bed began to live for those one-hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside.

The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.

As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.

One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man couldn't hear the band - he could see it. In his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words.

Days and weeks passed. One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep.  She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away. 

As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window.  The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.

Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the real world outside. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed.

It faced a blank wall.

The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window. 

The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall.  She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you." 

Epilogue: There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite our own situations. Shared grief is half the sorrow, but happiness when shared, is doubled.

 If you want to feel rich, just count all the things you have that money can't buy. 

"Today is a gift, that's why it is called the present."

The origin of this letter is unknown.   

craft

Back when life was simple, I used to spend school breaks on my grandparent's farm. My grandmother would keep me and my sister busy by enrolling us in knitting projects. She worked in the local college and I have memories of sitting in the lobby knitting and purling my way to a pair of slippers. Evenings would be spent under Scottish wool blankets watching TV with my grandmother's clickity clacket knitting ticking off the stitches hummed in the background.

I don't know why I dropped it all these years later. I wish I hadn't though. I could have used something to do with my "devil makes work for idle" hands. I think it was a lack of really cool yarn shops and the non development of bamboo needles. But knitting and crafting has had a resurgence. Knit groups are popping up. Shops with great names like

Purl- NYC
The Knit Cafe- Toronto
Three Bags Full- Vancouver
Lettuce Knit- Toronto

Ewe get the picture... Knitting is cool again and Alpaca is the new wool. What's behind it? I don't know. I desire to get a few steps back from the complexities of 21st century life? I think so maybe. Most of life is quite immediate. Cell phone, emails, texts, the Internet- it all keeps us plugged in to info and ideas in an immediate time frame. Knitting is like meditation with motion and in the end you get a pair of mittens.

And so, I signed up for a class and the next ting I know- 3 weeks later, I've mastered the cast on, cast off, knit, purl, stocking stitch, seed stick, ribbed stitch, basket weave and now circular knitting. I have 3 new pairs of knitting needles and $100 in yarn and now all I want for Christmas is socks.. lessons that is. It was the best thing I've done and I'm enjoying it and every now and then I can transport myself to the living room on the farm and that special air and quiet except for my grandmother's clickity clackets.

congregation

congregation, originally uploaded by jilly71.

I'm very excited to be planning my next photo show at the neighborhood hang out..  Pane Vero Cafe on Commercial Drive. The plan is January. All my lovely prairie photos and maybe an art installation.

just hit the puck in the net

 I'd busted my ass over something. I think I remember it vaguely.. I was about 10. We'd been instructed in school to decorate a shoebox for a picnic. The idea was to pack a lunch in your decorated shoe box and some lucky fella would pick your shoe box and the sun would shine through the clouds on a biblical day while you ate your lunch on the grass while blue birds chirped in your ears.

My grandiose plans didn't come to fruition and I was let down and disappointed. I think it set an early tone for the concept of goals. What was the point of setting them if for all your hopes and dreams and skills they didn't come true? An early experience coupled with the instinctive reaction of "what's the point" set deep into a brain chasm.. "well.. that was pointless". 

Sounds dreadful and dire doesn't it. I suppose I was a rather dreadful and dour child as well. But it set a tone for the concept of goals.. "Don't you have goals Jill?". I'm not kidding- I would feel perplexed by the MEANING of the word 'goal'. Like it was a touchdown. A goal? A score? 1 point for me, 0 for ....I remember being asked.. "where would you like to be in 5 years or 10 years" and I literally thought at a young age.. how can you even decide that.. what's the point when a car could speed around a corner and schmuck you.

I'm afraid since some pivotal moment of early failure.. I've put off the concept of "goals". I have to restructure it in my head as a "I'll try this out for a while" concept. As thought, if I put a period to the sentence, I'll erase the paragraph.

Nonetheless- I understand the concept of working towards something, albeit vaguely and I give it a go now and then.

Today is Nov 1. I'm trying out a few things. I'll tell you about them later. For now.. Idea #1- is to participate in National Blog Posting Month.

time capsule

It was 1940 and the German's were marching toward Paris and the war was coming. She was the granddaughter of a courted actress and apparently kept herself by a wealthy older suitor.

She lived in her grandmother's, Marthe de Florian, apartment and kept it in the same style as her grandmother had lived in it in 1890. She locked the door to the apartment, located near Pigale and fled to the south of France where she remained, and never having returned to Paris. Why did she never go back? Who paid the bills? Who were her neighbours, never wondering what lay beyond the door that was never opened.

The woman died recently, at the age of 91. Her apartment details found amongst her estate. When the door was finally opened, for the first time 71 years later, they remarked it was like stumbling into Sleeping Beauty's home.

70 years of dust covered the exquisite furniture and belongings, all now antiques. Found amongst the belongings, was a painting of her grandmother, which happened to be by 19th century Italian artist Giovanni Boldini- which happened to fetch €2.1 million at auction.

 Isn't that incredible?

I guess the mystery will unfold..


Here's the story..

Raise your arms for victory.. drink to love, drink to me.

The Black Harbor present: DM Stith "Thanksgiving Moon" from ISHOTHIM on Vimeo.

So, quite lovely. Don't you agree?

still a favorite photo

Dirt River, originally uploaded by jilly71.

apronstrings

Zom G. has left a new comment on your post "the convenience of adult life has spoiled me":

"This is such a lovely blog and I am excited to see where your new direction takes you. I was looking for hints and tips to drafting a floor-length apron pattern, but am quite happy to have found the story of your mythical dress instead. Will google-wonders never cease?"

Thanks for the lovely comment. Come back often.. The magic of the mythical apron dress continues.. 
Jillx

thinking ahead for spring

Mourning the loss of the mythical apron dress..I've been looking at linen dresses on Etsy. I don't usually go in for muying clothes off the internet because you can't really tell if they'll suit you or fit you but I'm chancing my luck on 2 relatively inexpensive and gorgeous linen pieces to mend my apron dress broken heart.

Dress 1 is called Cheste Pleated and has 2 side pockets and a funky hemline. 1 size fits all- sounds good. It's clever and pretty and color choices of apricot, purple, silver or grass (pictured). I opted for silver because grey is my favorite color. I figure it'll be good if I go back to Cuba.

Dress #2 is a long shirt dress with shoulder pleats. I'm not crazy about the pale blue color so I figure it's light enough to dye a darker shade if I want to.

Both are organic linen, handmade, from this seller..NewExtrave. The total for the 2 + shipping was less than $150. I figure I'd get as much use as the long lost apron dress.. at least. I'm sure they'll fit.

that's a lotta tea

I like something that I would vaguely described as Canadiana. Some sort of farm kitchz vibe that I surround my self with. Now don't get me wrong, I don't like to surround my self with everything I see.. I'm pretty choosy. Has to kind of be the thing I might never see again and somehow reminds me of Rural Canada. In the last few years, chickadees and tiny birds are a fondness

Not so long ago, I took a trip with my mom to one of my favorite small towns- Nanton, Alberta- south of Calgary by an hour or so and full of antique shops. I can scour them for hours. Just as we were leaving we saw one last one.. Lope. I spotted this one little porcelain bird figurine. It tuned out the women had a ice cream bucket of them.

Like Tetley Tea figurines, the little birds came from a tea box- Tender Leaf Teas from the 1960's. Buy a box of tea and get a free tea bird. Fantastic idea. There were 30 of them in total. But this women at Lope stood them all up and I pondered my choices.. at $8 each, I had to be choosy. I picked my favorite 7 and bartered her down to $35.

Well, I couldn't get the little birds out of my head.. so I called the store, and a few emails later..  now I have 26 little bird figurines..

did you shave your beard?

You seem different somehow.. or is it just me? Do you like the changes?

I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel..

I found this tonight while going through old folders.. It was the best $639.66 US I ever spent.

Granville Island buskers

in a pickle, originally uploaded by jilly71.

the convenience of adult life has spoiled me

A long time ago.. I could do a bunch of things I don't really know how to do now.. I could knit a pair of slippers (with the watchful eye of the best grandmother anyone could ever have). I had successful runs at cinnamon buns and fresh brown baked bread but had the assistance of said grandmother. (But she had a  magical kitchen with prairie sun and farm washed tea towels that did something special to yeast, sugar, milk eggs and flour.)

I could follow a sewing pattern thanks to the best mom one could ever have who taught me how to thread a sewing machine and I remember distinctly her patience with a apron pattern cut from brown paper brought home from Girl Guides. Learning to crotchet, darn, and embroider comes naturally when you come from a family with nimble fingers. Having constant access to knitting needles, yarn, sewing machines, needles, pots and pans and support was idyllic when you think of teenagers today.What happened to my skills?

Somewhere along the lines.. I realized I couldn't knit a pair of mittens if I wanted to. I tried to crotchet socks.. they lay unfinished in the back of a craft cupboard with way too many balls of yarn (I decided once I would make an afghan.) I could also buy 4 yards of fabric and a pattern but would then loose patience with the confusion of what exactly a salvage is. If I had to make bread from scratch on a dare it would end up like paper mache and if someone asked me to make jam, I'd probably freeze and stare wide eyed into the horizon and pretend I didn't hear you.

So, I've decided to take matters into my own hands, so to speak.

This weekend, I'll be taking a one day course in sewing. The project is a pair of drawstring pajama bottoms. I bought a perfect green, red, blue, and yellow striped cotton (no- it'll look festive on dark rainy mornings) and enrolled myself at Vancouver's latest "sewing lab"- Spool of Thread.I figured 2 legs, a crotch seam and some hems and I'd be back in action.

Later, every Thursday night for 4 weeks, I'll be at Three Bags Full every Thursday learning how to cast on, knit, purl and will walk away with a hat or a scarf. I choose red yarn and wooden knitting needled. It will go well with the jaunty striped pajama pants.

Beyond that, I'll go back to the one other thing I learned on the farm..I'll learn how to drive, just not a car. But someone stop me if I go riding in my new "outfit".

The story of the Linen Apron Dress

Once a long while ago before I had a savings account that had more than 1 month's rent, I still used to be able to tie two pennies together and spin myself a nifty living. I worked in a laundry factory as a mender sewing holes and patches and buttons all day long. I clocked in at 7:29 and clocked out at 3:31. I had a neat apartment with a fireplace, hardwood floors, a cat, a bike and bus pass. I was marginally happy, I suppose, being a factory girl when other people my age were going to university and thinking about "the future".

Me and my 2 pennies kept each other company and every now and then we'd have a little fun. One day I saw this dress. This amazing dress. It was about $100 which was alot of pennies to me at the time. But it was so special. It was blue linen and floor length, but it wrapped around at the waist with a bib apron and a bare back, with cross the back straps and a long wrap tie. I was rib cage thin back then. I loved that dress. I tried it on and I couldn't bear the thought of leaving the store without it. My 2 pennies and that dress had a chat in the change room and we all decided we were going to be friends.

I wore that dress with a secret glamor, like I had Cinderella's ID in my pocket. I put that dress on with a white tshirt and sneakers and a rainbow was my sidewalk- you get the point. That dress was powerful. Years later I carefully rolled it and packed it in my 3rd hand backpack to Europe when I thought I should only take things I wouldn't mind loosing because they would get stolen in the sketchy hostels I was headed to.  I took a chance with that dress, I'll tell you. I guarded my back pack with my life and that dress doubled as a pillow on many occasions.

I remember one day in Paris after many days of a scruffy wayward traveller look, I wore it and went exploring. I'd tied the waist straps criss-cross up my waist like a corset and put on a beret. I was walking up some steps at the Louvre and feeling like a fashion model that hadn't been discovered when the wind caught the wrap around panel and I walked long giraffe strides across the plaza. Further enhancing the spectacle, there were 2 guys walking directly behind me and and I was so aware of how fabulous I must have looked! While I never turned to look at them- I could overhear them speaking delicious warm croissant French words. I've always lingered on that memory believing they were talking about my fabulous dress. They were you know. Anybody who saw that dress would have talked about it in whispers woven with gold.

One day, after enjoying the dress for many years, I decided I was clever enough to have 2. In a disastrous turn of events, the awesomeness of those stitches evaporated. Before I could stop myself,  I snipped the seams until each panel and piece was separate from the other. The crime scene on my bedroom floor, you can sense I'm sure. Like an explosion in slow motion. The bib of the dress decapitated from the apron, the hems spilt open and frayed. It was a fool thing to do  and I new I would never make a copy of the original.

I was dismayed, devastated and discouraged. I carefully folded up the parts and wrapped them up. I promised myself I would put the arms and legs back on the doll one day and she would come back to life. In grief- I kept myself busy doing other things, never fully admitting I had not the skills to accomplish the task. One day I came upon those pieces of navy blue linen with frayed ends and mismatched pieces that I couldn't quite figure out what I had done or how to fix it and figured.. you know "It's time to move on." and "You can't keep hanging onto these scraps." It was a bad time of purge and I threw them away.

That was 13 years ago and I still lament the loss of dress. I frequently search- often late at night- through Google- for  some variation of "linen apron dress" in hopes of finding it again. I should maybe add the word "mythical". Not one picture of me exists in the dress and I've never seen it again. I still mourn for the $100 Linen Apron Dress to where I'm thinking me and a few of my penny friends might visit a professional dress maker/ crime scene sketch artist and send out a search party for my long lost comrade.

Here's a picture that looks not really like the the dress but a clue to it's one day recovery. (Or the day I dress up like a wash maiden from the 20's- which I suppose it what I looked like that day in Paris..)

new things to look at

I've updated my sidebar links.. look left.. to have a lot of the websites that I linger around trying to stir up the inspirtation ot open the craft cupboard. I hope you like them.

feeling a bit neglected

I'm sorry about that. It's shameful how time has passed while I mulled over an update and then said.. oh tomorrow. Suddenly tomorrow was a long time ago. Which is kind of been my feeling lately. I'm plagued by thoughts that I'm not having as much fun.. I'm not enjoying myself as much as I should be.

Just the other day I was testing gravity and my clumsy factor by jumping between garages behind my parent's house. Talking about the Cult and having water fights with friends.

Friends- I was throwing parties in my parent's basement and hiding the booze and waving the pot smoke away. I was throwing parties. I think the last time I did that was in junior high or early high school.

I think about my childhood alot lately and how far away it was and how I used to think.. one day I'll be all grown up and I don't know.. something *magical* would have happened. Something would have fallen into place and the phase I was "going through" would be over. You know and life would look like it did on TV. I'd be an adult and it would all make sense.That doesn't really happen. I think we just forget what we thought was so confusing.

So.. yeah time is slipping away every day. I'll try and start documenting it again.

I've missed you too.








 

Dorothy, Alberta

prairie landscape, originally uploaded by jilly71.

She said.."he whispers to you in your dreams." I suspect that's why I like to go to sleep.

July 8 1965, originally uploaded by jilly71.

i took this photo from a parachute.. wha? TOTALLY AMAZING

DSC00400, originally uploaded by jilly71.

bird's view

I jumped tandem out of a plane today. We went through a cloud and then I saw the ground 10000 feet away. It was incredible. Then I got to take a photo of my feet. That circle.. that's where we landed. Totally amazing.. totally exhausting.

Tweets

Tweets, originally uploaded by jilly71.

Location of the best Eggs Benny I have ever had.

Lovely little coffee shop/ cafe/ art gallery in Edison.

Edison Washington was found by accident when driving back from the Skagit Tulip Festival with my sister 2 years ago. I've been back 6 times since. Highly recommended.

Galloping Gertie

We went on a little trip (I'll tell you a little more about it later). We were driving along and I had that inexplicable sense of "wait a minute. this isn't right". This was supposed to be a weekend adventure. Traveling down the highway, one can come to the conclusion it's one of those places that you're bound to see exactly what is right in front of you- the ass of another car and not too much else. You can pretty much guarantee you're going to get to where you are going in an allotted amount of time and you'll get there without too much going on. You can also pretty much bank your bets that you'll be bored out of yer mind doing it.

My suggestion, especially if you have the time (and maybe a GPS or a laptop that will pick up random wireless connections in Casino parking lots) is to take that random exit off the highway. Make an attempt to find the side highways that pass through the bizarre little towns and stop for coffee if you see something random and possible interesting. You know.. support the local economy and take a photo.

And that's what we did. "Hey take that next exit. I have a feeling."

It was a good moment and it turned into an adventure. (I'll tell you more about it later.)

All of a sudden we were going across a GIANT BRIDGE. Not just any bridge though. As we start to traverse the span..he says.. "did you ever see the footage of that suspension bridge that twisted" and he moves his hand in a motion similar to a pageant queen waving on a parade float.

"Ya, what about it?"

"This is that bridge."

It was a bridge with history. Behold the Tacoma Narrows bridge disaster of 1940.

scooterific update

Its been a week since my random and spontaneous purchase of fuelled transportation. I've travelled over 200 km around the city of Vancouver. That seems like a lot, but it's 10k to work 1 way.. so before I know it.. boom- I've traveled to Seattle on side streets.

So I burned through a tank of gas. What did 200km cost? $5.00. That's less like $0.025 a km or $0.45 a commute to work and $3.60/day in insurance. So ya, it's cheaper than the bus by $0.75. Good lord. I'm surprised there's not a zillion scooters on the road.

I went grocery shopping and pack 2 bags into my little top case. I brought home a big bag of cat food. I went through Stanley Park and stopped to watch a cricket game. I've zipped out to the beaches and ran off to meet a friend for dinner.

I need to get back on my bike though so one more day and then I'm parking it for a few days.

scootedly

Here...

and then gone...

Thanks to the lovely Sonia Sangha for the photos (and for dinner)!

scoot

I had an offer for a car allowance at work. It set me off on visits to car dealerships and test drives and alot of stress. Do I buy a car? Do I lease a car? Do I finance a car? Why do I want a car? What do I need a car for?

Maintenance..Insurance..Gas..stress..stress..stress..

No. I don't want a car. I don't want to own a car and get parking permits and insurance and gas and pay for all kinds of things just so I can have the luxury of *maybe* driving somewhere like Seattle. Otherwise, you drive around with alot of space around you.I have the Vancouver Car Co-Op for my car needs.

But.. I did want some more freedom than my bike. I wanted to be able to go places and take photos. I wanted to be able to pick up some groceries. I wanted to be able to zip around the city a bit easier than transit and my bike..

I remembered when I was 13 and the neighbour had a silver one and I thought it looked so cool. Then the Mods in high school had old Lambretta's and they were the cat's meow..I think I've always kind of wanted one, and I figured I could afford one..so I decided to buy a Vespa. Tomorrow, I pick it up. It's black. I got a deal on it. Yes, Catherine- I will add a reflective vest to my accessories for night time rain riding. Don't worry.. I'll be safe. I'm excited.

a typical shotgun

IMGP0060-1, originally uploaded by jilly71.

I would so live in one of these..

"Shotgun houses consist of three to five rooms in a row with no hallways. The term "shotgun house", which was in use by 1903 but became more common after about 1940, is often said to come from the saying that one could fire a shotgun through the front door and the pellets would fly cleanly through the house and out the back door (since all the doors are on the same side of the house)."
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shotgun_house

transportation

IMGP0046-2, originally uploaded by jilly71.

I'll be home in a few hours. It was a fabulous trip. I wouldn't do anything different. Thanks New Orleans.

corner of St. Peter & Royal, New Orleans

IMGP0054, originally uploaded by jilly71.

I hired a poet on Frenchman St last night.

New Orleans- Stormy Weather

New Orleans sleeps under the river,
And the lake that hug her shoulders,
In a no- time, clothed in clapboards,
Strewn with colored beads of many years.
Promising to drown one day,
Already inhabiting our memory.

I remember our first rendezvous
With this dreaming candy- woman.
The night in the pink parking lot,
Gravel gleaming on the pavement.
Moisture gleaming on my forearms.

A part of me was struck by storm,
Checked and reeled and thirsted,
Grew mold, decayed, and marched
Its family to the afterworld,
And came back after the storm.


We both grew in these 5 years.
I brought my boots to wade through
More flooding. But the sky was washed.
The moon chiseled the outlines
Of epic, monstrous clouds.

A storm is brewing now to see me off.
There's talk of oil rain,
There is colling in the air
Unseasonal and sweet, while swirling.
Hysterical winds slash their way

Towards this nodding shore
When they get here
I won't be here anymore.

Erin Lierl
Poet for hire
New Orleans
June 28, 2010

painted pony

IMGP0059, originally uploaded by jilly71.

a walk through St. Louis Cemetery #2

Red Beans and Rice Postcard recipe

1 pound dried red beans
1/4 cup green onion tops
1/4 cup chopped green pepper
Onion
1 tbsp minced garlic
1 tsp allspice
1/4 tsp pepper
1 tsp salt
2 bay leaves
1/8 tsp red pepper flakes
1/4 tsp dried thyme
1/8 tsp dried basil
1/2 pound smoked sausage (Andouille or Chorizo)
Boiled rice

Soak beans in cold water overnight. Drain and add enough water to cover beans in a large soup pot.. Add all ingredients except the sausage and rice. Bring to a boil, lower heat and simmer for 3-5 hrs. Add more water if it gets too dry. Stir occasionally. Cut and brown 1/2 inch slices of sausage in a hot skillet. Add 1/2hr before serving.. Serve over cooked rice with French Bread. Serves 4-6.

Jambalaya post card recipe

1/2 pound smoked sausage, sliced
1/2 pound of ham, cubed
1 cup onions
1 cup bell pepper chopped
1 cup celery chopped
1 cup green onions chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 16ounce can tomatoes, drained, reserving liquid
1 tsp thyme
1 tsp black pepper
1/4 tsp cayenne pepper
1/8 tsp salt
1 cup converted rice
1 1/2 cups stock or water
1 1/2 tbsp Worcestershire sauce
1 pound peeled shrimp (optional)

Saute sausage and ham in heavy Dutch oven until slightly browned. Remove from pot. Saute onions, bell peppers, celery, green onions and garlic in meat drippings until tender. Add tomatoes, thyme, pepper and salt. Cook for 5 minutes. Stir in rice. Mix together liquid from tomatoes, stock and Worcestershire Sauce to equal 2 1/2 cups. Bring to a boil, reduce to simmer and add raw shrimp, ham, sausage and cook uncovered, stirring occasionally for about 30 minutes or until rice and shrimp are done. Serves 12.

Do Not Demolish

IMGP0023-1, originally uploaded by jilly71.

I woke up early this morning; my bike rental was going to end at noon. My destination was the 9th ward. The 9th ward was the area most destroyed by Katrina. I wasn't too sure what I was going to find. You have to ride over a bridge to cross a canal that dumps into the Mississippi River. Once across the bridge, the 1st house I saw was pockmarked with gunshots. It was not going to be pretty, I thought.

It wasn't as bad as I imagined. There were definitely some pretty bad looking houses. I'll admit, this was an area that I had no interest in checking out the insides of these houses. I haven't gone into any abandoned houses in New Orleans. You still see alot of Katrina markings.

Houses would be checked and an X was spray painted on the front of the house. The north quadrant would have the date the house was checked, east would identify who was there, west would identify if there were animals, and south would identify entry or no entry (or some version of this). In some neighbouhoods, they just knocked on the door.

I rode around and I saw people mowing lawns, sitting on porches, walking around, ,fixing cars. I said hello to anyone I passed and kept on riding. I rode past a dead dog, which was pretty grim. I don't think it had been there long. When I noticed the car with the blacked out windows more than once, I figured my holiday in the 9th ward was over.

It's a poor neighborhood, but I saw a transit bus. No businesses seem to be open, but people were there and living and trying to rebuild. I hope New Orleans makes it.

IMGP0017-1, originally uploaded by jilly71.

on desire street

IMGP0058-1, originally uploaded by jilly71.

dueling trumpets

Last night I headed to Frenchman Street, which is less tourist- more local and closer to my Guest House than the quarter. OMG. There was this group of horn players on the street playing for money. Good thing I brought my little video maker...



The truly amazing thing that I couldn't capture on video was that there was a competing group of horn players on the opposite corner. It was insane! There were people everywhere. The music was all that you could ever expect from New Orleans. Ellis Marsalis was playing, and I hoped to hear it from outside because I didn't want to pay the $30. I popped into the Spotted Cat and listened to a set of The Cottonmouth Kings who were also tres amazing. This video looks like it was shot right where I stood last night and I heard almost the same thing. (not my video)

Gas off

Gas off, originally uploaded by jilly71.

new orelans- day 3

I got up this morning and went for a 3 hr bike tour. I would have preferred less talking and more biking. I can't recall most of what was said to me today. Which is kind of sad for $45. I did see some neat things and learned about the post Katrina marking on the houses and what they symbolize.

Then I came home and napped for 5 hrs. This heat...I went for a walk in the "suburbs" of Baywater and Marigny. I don't know what people are on about New Orleans being dangerous. If it is.. I haven't seen or felt a shred of it yet and I was walking where it was getting sketchy.

I had a great light diner at a place called Satsuma. Had a lovely young spinach salad with bacon, egg, onions and tomatoes. Mint ice tea and a side of crispy toast.

I'm off in hunt of some good music ala New Orleans. Ellis Marsalis is playing a few blocks away...

new orelans- day 2

Today I set out to do nothing but see where I went. I had one minor objective simply because it was close to my B&B.. was to find a Banksy graffiti job. I did find it, but it's been mostly covered up.

I wandered through the French Quarter in the muggy morning, staying on the shady side of the street. I know Louis Armstrong says 'life can be so sweet on the sunny side of the street' but it's also scorching hot. I took a lot of photos. You can see what I've been up to here..


side note: I bought a pair of Toms shoes in Toronto. They were incredibly comfortable and kept my feet cool.

Some things I did/ saw today..

• Bought postcards and wrote them all. They'll be mailed in the morning
• Bought a cool can of coffee called Cafe Bustelo

• went into a out of the way shop: The Voodoo Spiritual Temple and bought a bar of African Black Soap. It's kind of strange. 
• road the Canal Streetcar from one end to the other and learned I can buy a $5 all day transit pass
• wandered into a Photography Gallery and learned that New Orleans has an annual celebration of photography called PhotoNola. I also saw original Bellocqs, Arbus, Weegee, Adams.. wow
• saw a man riding a bike, wearing what looked like a tight curl black wig.. made out of yarn.
• saw a lot of for sale signs in the quarter and wished i had a million dollas to make a perfect B&B dream come true.
• happened upon a group of men in shorts, tube socks, gold spray painted shoes dancing in the street
• met a woman who looked exactly like Janis Joplin but from the 80's. I should have taken her photo. 
• noticed the flood lines on some buildings
• ate at Mother's
• wore myself out and came back to my room at 7pm and didn't leave

Tomorrow at 9am I have a 3hr bike tour booked with Confederacy of Bike Tours.

New Orleans

IMGP0054, originally uploaded by jilly71.

...but it also looks like Paris, Havana, or Brussels..

a brief look at the B&B

starting..

I have to admit.. reports that a huge methane gas cavity in the Gulf of Mexico could rupture and take out the ocean floor causing multiple tsunami's.. I almost booked my way back to safety and holiday boredom. Then I thought, what if I do and then what if nothing happens and I forfeit my B&B and my flights? I'd regret it. Would I regret being swallowed in a giant methane bubble? Probably. But I wouldn't really know. This way I have adventures under foot.

My first thoughts were.. it's like Havana & Cuba. It's hot and muggy. The French Quarter is alot like Havana Veija but not as run down. The bougainvillea flowers are in bloom, like in Cuba.. and the smell of damp wood and musty spices fill the air.

I'm safely in my lovely B&B. It's cool and quiet. In fact, I have the whole joint to myself tonight. The fridge is stocked with English muffins, bagels, peanut butter and juice. There's cold cereal and milk and I can help myself all I want. The ceilings are high and everything is really comfortable. Nice big bathroom, nice big room, a TV, WIFI, books, a common area, tourist pamphlets..etc. Honestly, we does anyone EVER stay in a hotel?

I don't smell any gas, but apparently a hurricane is due on the weekend. So is the gay pride parade.. 2 blocks away. I don't know what's in store for me except I hope I never have to fly on United's tiny wobbly planes ever again.

the beginning

I stayed up WAY too late last night and drove at breakneck speeds to the Calgary Airport this morning. I'm now in Denver, CO enjoying free WIFI while I have 4 hrs to kill at the airport. Too much time to get bored and not enough time to leave..

 I've gotten an email that my B&B in New Orleans is equipt with WIFI and now.. lugging my lap top with me makes all the sense in the world..


I can daily blog my New Orleans adventures and I expect to see an email or 2!

backtracking part 2

After my brief sojourn in the Manitoba prairie, I landed myself in Toronto for a 2 week get together. Toronto is a sprawling metropolis that in sideways glances reminds me of Europe and specifically Prague with the street cars you run out into the street to jump on. It's a vibrant city, full of colorfully dressed couples. If it was foggy, you might mistake Toronto for the 1950's where men wore suits and hats and ladies matched their gloves to their handbag and shoes. It's noticeable. Especially, when where you normally live everyone looks like they shop at Mountain Equipment Co Op.

I was there for work and thus, stayed in an apartment right downtown. What that meant was I close to everything and that included the preparation for the G8/G20 Summit. It got pretty hairy the last week I was there. The fences were going up. The trees were coming down and I even saw them hauling away giant installed public art fixtures and gluing down the rocks.The cops were out in full force, but I figured it was for the free Iggy and the Stooges gig headlining the NXNE music festival (that I was going to miss). I did see some fine graffiti though...

During my stay on the 36th floor, my lovely sister came to stay. We wandered up and down Queen St where I battled her for going into button shops while she tolerated me going into cheese shops. She's much more tolerant of cheese than I am of buttons. We took photos and got caught in a torrential rain storm. We admired figurines and then found our own. We ate lunch and made our feet sore finding it and when we had just about had it, we were rewarded with noticing one of our few mutually favorite musical groups happened to be playing a gig.

It was a real treat to find the First Aid Kit- the beautiful harmonizing sisters from Sweden were playing. And opening for them was the startling beautiful Samantha Crain,  who made me a fan that night. We bought the CD, the T shirt and gave away the free poster. I think it was the 1st gig I have ever seen with my sister ever. It was a perfect accident to stumble upon in Toronto.

Other fantastic adventures..

Finding Ashley at the Distillery district for her Supersonic Gypsy Cookies and other vegan treats.

Looking up to see the sign that said Vince Gasparro's Meat Market.. only 1 letter off the name of a very dear friend of mine.. who incidentally has had photographs of this location sent to him over the years.. What's odd, is that I was wandering aimlessly from trying to locate a friend of mine and happened upon it by accident.

Finding and visiting with an old friend who I was reminded on how smart and clever he was. The years haven't been good to him and we shared a few minutes that meant so much to me.

I found other dear friends that I hadn't seen in a long while. Gosh it's good to see old friends.

Toronto was good to me. It was hot, it was cool. It rained. It was muggy. It made me laugh and it made me cry. It fed me well and kept me awake at night and kept me entertained. It also reminded me of the kindness of strangers where I was walking down the street and encountered a group of people who were trying to do right by a small falcon who for some reason didn't want to fly. It did fly when there was an attempt to get him to a box, but there was something not quite right for this bird. 4 strangers came together to make calls to animal rescue, keep the bird out of the street, care about the what would happen and take it into their hands to make sure this small life stayed alive.

Thanks friends. Thanks Toronto.

one day, I will drive down this country road

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