Thursday 18 November 2010

Cards and Crafts by Ten

Hold on, people: We're crossing a new frontier. I've just launched what amounts to my first online shop. Yes, it's on Facebook, but don't let that dissuade you.
 
'Cards and Crafts by Ten' harnesses my love of photographing the everyday and showing it in new light, and getting crafty with scissors and glue. I've just started selling these at Rarefunk in downtown Kitchener, and will also be selling the Christmas cards -- along with the bows-that-will-not-die -- at my friend's house in Guelph this weekend as part of her annual pre-Christmas art sale.
If you take a peek, please let me know what you think. It's not nearly as fruitful as having an actual job, but until I nab me one of those, it's an awfully lovely way to fill the time.
In the meantime, here's a sampler:
Cards for the holidays...

... or for any time.

You can frame 'em,

Or stick them to the fridge with a cheesy magnet

Hope you like 'em. :)

Thursday 11 November 2010

On the eleventh

The convergence of loss: A tale in three acts.

I.
Their faces shuffle across my computer screen: save to desktop, import to iPhoto, crop, insert, repeat. One hundred-and-fifty-four of them. These are the people who have died in Afghanistan under Canada's flag since the military mission began in 2002. As each of these soldiers posed before a flag, shoulders back, jaw strong, their brows tanned, acne-scarred or age-lined, the occasional smile pulling at the edge of lips, did they ever imagine their image would cycle through my computer so I could affix it to a map of Canada marking their hometowns? Did the journalist and diplomat imagine that their bio-shots would be all that the world would see of them? So many names and faces, familiar from news stories and repatriations. So many home towns. So much life, relegated to a file on my computer that I cannot bring myself to delete.

II.
The crowd drifted apart, slowly at first, then with intent, until we were divided - a Red Sea of small crimson poppies. At the source, the Canadian flag waved over a cenotaph and a group of men and women stood in tall, clear-eyed lines. At their helm was a young man, the only one in camouflages, a web of scarring from left eye to chin marking him as the latest incarnation of a tradition as old as humanity. Behind him, silvered, weathered, marched his predecessors. Such is the final bitter blow of war, I suppose: Those that know its horrors must then stand back and let their children into the fold.
As the veterans marched under a sapphire sky, we the onlookers clapped. It was all we could do, to bear witness in thanks for all they bore witness to. I thought of my grandfather being handed a gun and learning how to fire it. I thought of my uncle, barrel-chested and proud in his uniform, heading to a war no-one remembers. I thought of those young faces, plotted on a map, some so remarkably resembling my friends that it pains me to look at them.
As the marchers turned down King Street and I stood watching their reflections pass under bare-limbed trees, the marching band launched into Waltzing Matilda. That is when I cried.

III.
We await news today. A body has been found in the woods near Seaforth, 80 kilometres west of Kitchener-Waterloo. There is a strong likelihood it is a good friend of A.'s, missing since he walked away from a family dinner in August. His disappearance first caused anger -- it's not the first time the kid had just slipped off the radar, and as his absence dragged on his friends were understandably annoyed. But then it continued, and continued, turning into months of speculation that he ran away, or was hurt, or in hiding, or just gone.
Now one of two realities is bearing down on these 17-year-olds: Either their friend died alone in the woods many months ago; or it isn't their friend at all, and they're no closer to finding out what happened to him. It's hard to decide which is worse.

Everyone says Lest We Forget, but it isn't war we must strive to remember. It is life, every fragile, magic, aching shard of it.

---
Addendum, Nov. 12:
It was A.'s friend out there in the woods. No signs of foul play, as the police so delicately put it. The boys worked through so much grief in the abstract. I guess we're about to find out how it translates in reality.

Monday 8 November 2010

Lessons for life

As the step-mum of two teenaged boys (an hilarious concept, still), it often transpires that some gem of wisdom pops into an everyday moment to create a wonderful learning opportunity. This isn't boring End-Of-The-Episode-Everybody-Say-'Awww' advice, but actually useful stuff, like: "If you're only going to dry a few things on the dish rack, do the cutlery because it's most likely to show water marks".
It's best, I find, to insert these sparkling moments of sage learnedness on the fly, with a hearty whiff of jocularity lest it come off as preaching and/or harping (both of which certainly have their place in family life but must be used judiciously, rather like the ultra-hot Paprika I accidentally purchased when intending to buy mild).

This weekend's advice for life? "Always make sure to regularly invite friends to your home, for it forces you to clean." 
Plus, those invitations mean you get to host wonderful dinner parties with great friends, involving much laughter, good wine, and the beautiful proof that leaving a city does not mean leaving a world.

And these things are what make life wonderful, no matter where you're living it. Lesson for life.

Tuesday 2 November 2010

Wilkommen!

Why, hello there! Welcome to Waterloo, likely the only place in regional Canada where a smattering of high school German is more handy than the standard rusty French. If you're lucky, you'll know just enough to eavesdrop on the best Mennonite gossip at the farmer's market, while also looking knowledgeable enough to score free beer at Oktoberfest. Wunderbah!
Why don't I show you around a little? You've likely noticed the place is called Kitchener-Waterloo, but don't take that for a sign that it's all same-same-but-different. While Kitchener is the indefatigable older sibling who toils at the factory to bring in extra cash for the family, Waterloo is the upstart younger sibling who got a fancy degree, made a heap of cash and is now putting an addition on the house for an indoor pool and/or full sized ice rink. (Cambridge, the third and unmentioned part of the tri-city region, is kind of like a weird cousin who lives in the shed -- no-one's quite sure what Cambridge is doing, but it seems content enough to be pottering around on its own.)
You'll likely first notice that the two main cities in the tri-city region share a main street. Don't let that confuse you. King Street, Waterloo, is all fancy shops, resto-lounges and the occasional remnant puke of university students unleashed from parents for the first time. King Street, Kitchener, is funky art/craft stores (is that too obvious a plug for Rarefunk, where I sell some of my craftier wares?), gritty bars that look like they've ingested a great many hours of humanity's smaller woes, and artfully tattooed folk. 
Times are a'changing, though, and fast. What used to be Kitchener's staple factories and warehouses are being transformed into lofts and exposed-brick urban office space. The locally-vaunted Communitech Hub has opened for business, with aims to become a tech-salon of sorts. There's a Balzacs Coffee Shop. 'Nuff said.
Needless to say, we've arrived at a most interesting time, and all the more so because while the 500,000-strong region offers everything one would need in life, the area is still small enough to become involved in stuff. To wit: In the month since we arrived, I've been accepted as an artist contributor to a charity auction later this month, have made it into the 'post-workout-bagel' club with my fellow Rec Centre WaterFit class members (I'll explain that one later), and have infiltrated the University of Waterloo's international spouse gatherings as a sort of special-guest-member. 
Having an accent helps, but really, it just seems like being friendly, open and welcoming is  how KW-ites roll. 
So welcome to town! Grab a Brick brew, pick out a pretzel, and make yourself at home. Something tells me we'll be here for a while.