Month: April 2011

Adventures in BC: Salt Spring 2

/ Lauren / Leave a comment

Ruckle Park, Salt Spring IslandThis year, I was able to stretch the Easter holiday into a five-day weekend. Naturally, my travel companion (TC) and I headed back to Salt Spring Island the Thursday before Easter to enjoy some BC nature and awesomeness.

Good Friday was a beautiful sunny day so after a pleasant lunch at the Rock Salt Restaurant & Cafe with my TC and his sweet relations, we took a little trip to Ruckle Provincial Park, at the southeast corner of Salt Spring. My burgoyne burrito at the Rock Salt was everything I expected it to be though I think I prefer the Mexicana grilled naan I had on my last visit. Once again, the Caesar salad was beyond reproach. One note about the Rock Salt for my readers who have a powerful aversion to cilantro: many of the items on the lunch menu include cilantro aioli so read the ingredients on the menu, or ask your server, before ordering.

Ruckle Park, Salt Spring IslandRuckle Provincial Park is a lovely place for a little afternoon jaunt and I think it definitely deserves further investigation in the future. My TC’s little cousins and I spent most of our time clambering on the rocks on the seashore, looking at sea stars, barnacles, and welks (I called them snails but was corrected by my TC’s little cousin).

Love knows no colour, Sea stars, Ruckle Park, Salt Spring Island

Love knows no colour

In addition to exposure to seaside life and beautiful views, Ruckle Park provides camping year round (even in the off-season for adventurous campers who don’t mind that several of the park’s amenities would be unavailable). Unfortunately, it is not possible to reserve individual campsites at Ruckle Park so if you’re planning a weekend camping trip on Salt Spring be prepared to duke it out for the first-come, first-served sites.

I was not obligated to duke it out for off-season camping because once again I had the hippest, happenest hosts in the whole world who housed and fed us for four nights. On the evening of good Friday they took us to the village of Ganges for dinner at the Oystercatcher Seafood Bar & Grill. I remembered that my TC had amazing fish and chips the last time we were there so this time I got a plate of my very own. Hooray! Amazing! The raspberry mojitos were amazing too. A downside of the Oystercatcher that I have not only heard about but read online as well is that the service there is quite slow. Which is fine if you want to spend a long evening with good friends and good food and good drinks looking over the water. Less fine if you’re out with hungry kids who don’t find adult conversation stimulating. I enjoyed myself all the same. I even coloured a picture!

Saturday dawned warm and sunny. A perfect day to check out Salt Spring’s Saturday Market, held in Ganges every Saturday from April to October. With such great weather the place was buzzing. Kids with painted faces and balloon animals were everywhere. I spent a goodly amount of time sitting in the sun on a grassy knoll thinking warm sunny thoughts and eating a real blackberry popsicle. Afterwords I did some browsing in the market and was impressed by the sheer amount of goods for sale: jewellery, crockery, textiles, soaps, food…. I wanted to buy about a hundred things but I remembered just in time that I don’t actually need anything new and my wallet stayed put in my purse. Financial crises averted. I enjoyed the atmosphere, and the sun, and looking at neat things, and a blackberry popsicle. I’ll buy myself some crockery some other time. Like when I have a fancy cheese that would necessitate the fancy cheese dish I wanted.

I slept in on Easter Sunday and so I missed watching my TC’s little cousins have their egg hunt. It was a good thing for me that the Easter Bunny left me chocolate right there on the bureau that I didn’t even have to hunt for. It was unfortunately grey and rainy most of the day, but these were perfect conditions for staying inside to rehearse and perform a play written by my TC’s 8-year-old cousin. This particular piece of theatre was about four siblings who rise above their poverty by forming a hit rock band. I got to “play” the drums for our musical finale: an airband to “Judy is a Punk” by the Ramones. Our performance was a resounding success and I was able to keep a copy of the script, signed by the precocious playwright.

On Monday we made one more stop at the Rock Salt for coffee and desserts before boarding our ferry home. It was a delicious send-off (lime cheesecake!) but I was not looking forward to real life (and going back to work) in the city.

I sleep so well and feel so relaxed when I’m in the Gulf Islands that I never want to leave. It makes me think I should just quit my 9 to 5 job, pack my things, catch the next boat to Salt Spring, pitch a tent and make my living by…………um………..

Crap.

I guess I’ll keep my 9 to 5-er in the big city for now, and really get serious about my plans to win the lottery. In the meantime, I will try to be comforted by the fact that Salt Spring Island really isn’t that far away. Ho hum.

P.S. Check out the view of the Gulf Islands from my hosts’ backyard:

Gulf Islands, Salt Spring IslandSweet.

YA or the Highway: A tribute to Young Adult Fiction

/ Lauren / 1 Comment

Anyone perusing my bookshelf may wonder for a moment if perhaps I am twelve years old, instead of twice that. I couldn’t blame them. Excluding the Maraget Atwoods and Barbara Gowdys I’ve tucked into the corners, my bookcase is a proudly displayed and well-loved collection of young adult fiction (YA).

I used to try to justify my reluctance to move on to more adult fare to my parents. Now I don’t bother. Though I receive one or two great Canadian works of literature a year (my latest, Cool Water by Dianne Warren, was excellent) I think by now my mom and dad understand that my literary growth pretty much stopped in adolescence (by choice and not by intellect).

I do not shy away from the real world or from being informed about adult issues (I read my Macleans cover to cover every week!). But the reading I undertake in my leisure time should be just that: leisure. I don’t want to be depressed or feel guilty about something horrible happening somewhere. I’d rather read about people with magical powers.

I think my feelings regarding “adult” literature (by “adult” I mean adults read it, I don’t mean erotica) were shaped early on by the books my mother would order from the Northwest Regional Library in Saskatchewan. They were all very good books. By good I mean they were thematically interesting and deftly crafted works of literature. However, I began to notice a pattern in the books I was reading. Eventually, whenever my mom recommended a book to me I would start by asking my now-standard question:

“Are there any suicides or pedophiles in this one?”

And my mom would say, “Well….sort of.” This led me to believe that literature written for adults is a never ending parade of misery and misplaced sexual feeling. This is a broad generalization, sure, but if you take a look at most lauded Canadian literature you’ll see I’m not too far off the mark.

Back to YA: not only does it provide me with a more pleasurable reading experience, it is often plain old better than many adult books I’ve read. Why? Because issues surrounding sexuality and violence, that are sometimes carelessly and artlessly written into adult fiction, require a more delicate hand in fiction for younger readers. This subtle allusion to the darkness that lurks beneath those last years of innocence is more profound to me than in-your-face sex and violence (the adult fiction I prefer is also of the more subtle variety).

And then, of course, there’s the magic. In my regular life, I have had to accept that no amount of feathers attached to my clothing will make me fly, and that the ghost I thought I saw in grade 3 was likely the product of spooky stories, darkness, and the company of my hyperactive friends (the mob mentality strikes again). I’ve lost all my baby teeth and the Easter Bunny stopped visiting. I accept the laws of physics and the legal and societal rules we all live by. I have a content and productive life.

Would I rather be a wizard? YES.

Good YA fantasy writers are my heroes. In order to create the worlds that make their books so enjoyable, they must understand them intimately. This involves a commitment to being an adult mentally living in a fantasy land. How awesome is that? Very. Any adult who can keep the spark of childlike wonder and imagination not only alive but robust is my kind of adult. Their books feed my need for a little bit of whimsy while I wait for my letter from Hogwarts to arrive.

So what ARE these YA books I love so much? I’ve compiled a list of my favourites from my collection:

  • The Abhorsen Trilogy (Sabriel, Lirael, and Abhorsen) by Garth Nix         [Necromancers, the stages of death, Charter Magic, a talking cat]
  • The His Dark Materials Trilogy (The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife, and The Amber Spyglass) by Phillip Pullman         [Science, religion, parallel worlds, daemons, loss of innocence–Don’t see the film]
  • The Wind On Fire Trilogy (The Windsinger, Slaves of the Mastery, and Firesong) by William Nicholson         [Politics, i.e. how different political systems attempt to ensure fairness and happiness, magic, family, sacrifice]
  • The Emily Books (Emily of New Moon, Emily Climbs, and Emily’s Quest) by L.M. Montgomery         [Must-reads for any little girls who want to write, way less saccharine do-gooding than Anne of Green Gables]
  • The Blue Castle by L. M. Montgomery        [An ignored and repressed underdog gets hers against her stupid family. Woot!]
  • Painted Devil by Michael Bedard         [Scariest book I read in childhood. Puppets, spine-tingling descriptions of everything from a doll’s tea party to wallpaper, a neat history of the Punch & Judy tradition]

If anyone has read any of the above books, or has any tips for other great YA you think I’d enjoy, I’d love to hear from you in the comments section. In the meantime, I’ve got a brand-new hardcover copy of The Selected Works of T. S. Spivet by Reif Larsen waiting for me. Oh. My. Stars. This is going to be epic.

Happy reading!

Simple and Effective: “Jake’s Gift” at Pacific Theatre

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I must confess I haven’t though much about Canada’s World War II veterans lately. When I do, I usually envision navy blazers, berets, senior citizens, and excruciatingly rhythmic elementary school recitations (“In FLANders FIELDS the POPpies BLOW…”). These thoughts aren’t really in my consciousness until November each year.

I don’t usually imagine a ten-year-old girl in Normandy, striking up a friendship with a curmudgeonly Canadian veteran who has travelled to France for the 60th anniversary of D-Day.

This is the premise of “Jake’s Gift”, a one-woman show created and performed by Julia Mackey. “Jake’s Gift” is playing at Pacific Theatre Wednesday to Saturday evenings (with a matinee Saturday) until April 16.

From an “acting technique” standpoint, Mackey is a delight to watch. What is interesting to me is that the character of Jake was originally discovered and developed by Mackey during an intensive Mask Characterization workshop offered by Pacific Theatre in 2002. Having experienced some mask training in my own BFA, it was exciting to see the possibilities for character and narration that can be found and shaped through this kind of work.

I have watched many one-person shows where much of the narrative is delivered through monologues, with the actor playing one or more characters. Mackey chose to manifest most of the story through dialogue, sometimes with up to three characters, switching from one character to another instantaneously. With such fast transformations, many actors would be tempted to rely on a prop or costume piece (i.e. hat vs. no hat, etc.) to indicate to the audience which character is speaking. Mackey did not need to do this. Posture, voice, inner rhythm, even the lines of Mackey’s face seemed to change depending on who was speaking. It was as if her body and face were a hand upon which Mackey could place any puppet. I did not need a costume change to tell me who was who. I saw each character (ten-year-old Isabel, her grandmother, the old veteran Jake): familiar, recognizable, and clear as day.

The exchange between Isabel and Jake is so good-hearted and amusing, and Isabel’s high spirits are so infectious, you are caught off guard by the expression of the loss that lives in the hearts of those affected by war. I, like many others born in Canada, am familiar with the story of the Second World War and our veterans’ contribution to the Allies’ victory. I am fortunately not familiar with the loss of a loved one, nor with the idea of deliberately putting my own life in danger.

Many performances involving the stories of Canada’s veterans (especially those performed in schools, as “Jake’s Gift” has been many times), stray into the dangerous area of sentimentality; superficially tugging at our heart strings but keeping us ultimately and comfortably disconnected from the subject matter. The story of Jake and Isabel is told so frankly, and so matter-of-factly, that I could not avoid being affected by it.

The long and the short of it is that whether they enlisted for king and country, or for “hot meals, a trip to Europe and a shiny pair of boots” as Jake did, many young people placed themselves in harm’s way, and many did not return. Families in Canada were left without a sibling, a parent, or a child. This part of our history as Canadians and it hasn’t felt so true or close to me in a long time.

Another loss addressed in “Jake’s Gift” is the loss of the WWII veterans themselves. As they grow older (and sadly begin to pass away), we lose the living connection to an important part of our history. In a memorable and lonely moment on the stage, Jake dons his navy blazer and Legion beret with trembling fingers, straightening up for a moment to salute like the hearty young soldier he once was. When watching, I did not see Mackey onstage, or even the character Jake. I saw my grandfather. I saw the men and women of the Legion in my home town in Saskatchewan, a generation of Canadians whose pride and strength and incredible sacrifice has been forced to yield to age and the passage of time.

The story Julia Mackey has created with “Jake’s Gift” is simple and accessible, short and sweet. It is neither for nor against war. The story just is, and its lack of complication did not diminish the experience for me. Mackey’s investment in the piece as a creator, an actor, and a person, is evident. To me, “Jake’s Gift” has a bittersweet spirit that serves as a gentle reminder that November is not the only time of year to remember the sacrifices of others, and to, as always, respect our elders, who have experienced moments in their lives we will hopefully never have to know.

“Jake’s Gift” runs until April 16 at Pacific Theatre. Tickets can be obtained at the Pacific Theatre Box Office through visiting their website or calling 604-731-5518. For more information about the play itself, “Jake’s Gift” has its own website, www.jakesgift.com.

Once again, I was able to attend “Jake’s Gift” through the generosity of the lovely Lois Dawson, author of the excellent Vancouver theatre blog, Lois Backstage. Thanks Lois!

Sorry Artsies: I am a closet sports fan

/ Lauren / 1 Comment

Here’s the thing: I don’t watch televised sports. Ever. Well, maybe if the people I’m with are watching and we’re at a pub or in someone else’s living room, but even then I’m usually thinking about unicorns or what I read in Maclean’s that day or quietly getting drunk/trying not to fall asleep. When I’m at home alone, I do not turn on the TV to watch “the game”. Not for the CFL (go Riders!), not for the NHL (go Canucks!). Never. I don’t know any stats. I don’t know anyone’s number. I don’t even know the rules.

If this is true (which it is), how the hell can I claim to be a sports fan? Simple: I want the teams I am a fan of to win. When they do, I feel good. When the buses flash “GO CANUCKS GO” I get a warm fuzzy feeling inside. A feeling that tells me that despite all the things that make the citizens of Vancouver different and diverse, we can all rally around our team(s).

Unless of course, you are a Saskatchewan Rough Riders fan (which I am) and the BC Lions are winning. Boo.

Green is the colour!

In 2009 I had the opportunity to attend my first CFL game with some friends. The Riders were playing the Lions and I was feeling a little conspicuous in my bright green sweatshirt. The closer we got to the stadium, however, the better I felt. There were green-clad Rider fans everywhere! Many were Saskatchewan ex-pats like me, but some actually drive/fly all the way from Saskatchewan to support the Riders wherever they play. Though we ultimately lost that game, we pulled off some kind of thrilling maneuver in the second half to tie it up and I recall being high-fived by a fellow Rider fan that I didn’t know very well and feeling really great about it. And then we lost. But still. That high five is what counts.

When I was stuck in a long line at London Gatwick last May, waiting to fly back to Vancouver, the conversation moving up and down the line among Vancouverites was not about Iceland or the ash cloud (we were only delayed a few hours fortunately) or the lovely things we had seen in Europe. We were all asking each other if anyone knew how the Canucks were doing. It was a feather in my cap to be able to tell someone that we had just lost to Chicago and needed to win the next game to remain in the playoffs. As it turns out, we did not remain in the playoffs. But being able to bond with perfect strangers over something other than hating the airport is what counts.

I think what really appeals to me about sports fandom is that it seems to be one of the last bastions of community, ritual, and tradition in an increasingly individual-centric kind of society. Gone are the days when the snowshoe dance/ husking bee/ box social was the event of the season for an entire neighbourhood. Gone are the days when everyone in a community belonged to the same clubs and wore their pins, ribbons, or uniforms with a sense of collective pride.

In many ways, the loss of this kind of “group think” is very positive, especially for people or groups who had been traditionally marginalized or ostracized. Now the idea is that we should all be free to be who we want to be, and pursue our individual goals and dreams. This is all very well and good, but it can get a little lonely. I think we all crave something that unites us, something we can cheer for and be excited about and support, something that exists outside politics or religion or anything else that currently divides us. I think sports fandom has filled this hole.

Think about it: the Stanley Cup playoffs are coming. At what other time of year do romantic partners and employers all over Canada endure the hideous/glorious ritual that is known as the “Playoff Beard”, clearly visible on the faces of hockey fans? In what other situation would the statement, “I can’t shave my hideous beard or my team will LOSE” not be considered totally ridiculous?

While some believe sports fandom encourages drunken hooliganism (which I’m sure it does), it is also one of the last socially acceptable ways in which an increasingly “cool” society can publicly display their excitement and enthusiasm for something. Do you want to dress all in one or two colours? Wear a cape? Paint your face, or (gasp!) get a logo tattooed on your body? High five (or occasionally hug) similarly dressed strangers on the Sky Train? Is it for the team you love? Because if it is, it’s okay, and it’s awesome.

Look Ma! I support an NHL hockey team!

This is why, despite not having watched a single Canucks game this year, I recently purchased a Canucks t-shirt on a lovely spring day. This is why I donned the shirt on the next game day, even though I wasn’t going anywhere. I’m a lazy fan, sure, but at least I’m stylish.

It’s not about hockey or football for me, or about the individual players or how well they play. It’s about an entire city getting behind something. It’s about communally cheering (or swearing), and being proud (or disappointed) together. And yes, it’s cliche, but it’s about heart. The collective heart of a group of people who all want the same thing is quite rare nowadays, and it moves me.

To my artsy friends, I’m sorry. I know for all intents and purposes I act like I don’t give a crap about sports…but damn, do I ever want Vancouver to win the Stanley Cup this year. And you’re just going to have to be okay with that. After years of denial, I finally am.

P.S. Go Whitecaps FC!