seen while walking home on Wellington Street

I actually had a New Year’s Resolution for 2011, just one: to go on a date. My first thought was that I blew it, I don’t remember any dates, but after some thought I would say it was open to interpretation. My second thought is that if *I* am not aware that it’s a date, then it’s not a date…

Moving right along…

On my way to Montreal for New Year’s, I started digitally jotting down a bunch of notes for a Year in Review for 2011, which got me to thinking about things I’ve been doing in 2011 that I want to continue into 2012… which I promptly forgot about until the other day when I read the same over at Chookooloonks, and there Karen links to Erin doing the same. I’m sure there are others.

There are goals and then there are things you want to maintain, the non-goals, but still rather important — after all, they were once goals, and if you drop them, then they end up in the goals list again. We’ve all said it before, with a pang: “I used to do such-and-such…”

Anyway. I resolve to continue in 2012:

1. Walking home at least four days per week. I adhered to that average from June 29 until mid-November when I went to England and it became inconsistent due to travel and then a compromised immune system in mid-December and then more travel. Since last week, I’m back to my walking routine. My newest route is 7kms.
2. Reserving the word ‘awesome’ for when it truly is, which is not every other sentence.
3. Not owning a TV, microwave, coffee pot, or dishwasher. Why not? Because it means I cook instead of nuke, drink less coffee, take a time-out to hand-wash dishes and listen to the news instead of reading it, and if I owned a TV I would watch it mindlessly. It’s also the same reason my futon couch is never in a couch position. My apartment only has beds. I’m much more productive this way.
4. Keeping up the trip average. (At least one overnight stay is the criteria of a trip.) Until last year I maintained an annual trip average of 12-14, and in 2011 I dipped slightly below with 11 trips. (I just counted 15 trips in 2010, so maybe I should adjust that average.) The hardest part was working every single day from September 6 to November 15 without a break and feeling like I was losing my mind, reaching nearly the end of the year with only seven trips, but then I caught up by going on four in six weeks. I know some people think this trip average is crazy, but it was never a conscious goal. These numbers became the average over the course of years and knowing what keeps me happy and motivated and inspired. Travel (the process, not just the destination) plays a huge role in my worldview and perspective on life. I would never give that up completely, not even for a photography business. There are currently 79 photo albums in my travel collection on Flickr.
5. Meeting new folk in new places. Travelling solo means I make conversation with the ordinary citizen on the street, on the bus, waiting in line somewhere, and it’s no big deal. It opens up a cultural exchange, without an agenda.
6. Meeting new folk in my own city. I’ve done pretty well last year to maintain a social life, considering I have two jobs. Still, I meet new people all the time at weddings, events, through volunteering, circles of friends, shooting assistants, other photographers, scouting locations, with clients, patients, musicians, you name it. Sometimes it all becomes a blur, so I review my Toronto collection in Flickr (currently 101 photo sets), to remind myself that yes, I didn’t just work!
7. Keeping my cat healthy and happy. I’m down to one pet now, after a horrible 2011 of losing Beano and having both cats go through the discomfort of veterinary treatments. We were at the clinic far too much last year. Don’t ask me how much I spent. Now that Xena’s on daily heart meds and only has five teeth left, hopefully she (we) will sail through 2012 without seeing the vet.
8. Driving cancer patients for the Canadian Cancer Society. Even though I don’t like waking up early, I’ll do it for patients. They are always very grateful.
9. Keeping up my four websites. Most people don’t have a website, but I have four under my name (actually, there’s a fifth but it’s kind of a portal to the others and I don’t count the Tumblr), and even with major time constraints I have somehow managed to keep them all updated, although one is rather static and informational (ImageLegacy.com), and two are photoblogs (gailatlarge.net and ImageNation). But gailatlarge.com will be 10 years old this year, of which I am most proud because I never thought I would be able to maintain it this long!
   I’m also webmaster for another two websites, one for income and the other for charity. The capitalism and socialism balance each other out nicely, ha. I would link to the former but I have to revamp the site (I just found out today there’s new management). Believe me, even *I* don’t know how I manage to maintain SIX WEBSITES.
10. Maintaining my sanity. It was a bit touch-and-go at times but I managed not to lose it in 2011, let’s keep it that way for 2012.

Possibly related posts:

1. Boxing Day In New York City One of my goals for 2012 is to sleep more...
2. Random Thoughts For Wednesday The last three weekday walking days were on east-west routes...
3. 10 Weeks And Counting I’ve been walking home for almost 11 weeks now, and...

On the eve of my fifth anniversary in Toronto I took my camera out to Nathan Phillips Square after work to photograph City Hall and think about where five years has taken me.

It’s no secret that I landed in Toronto because of circumstances out of my control, but as for the reasons why I’ve stayed here — those I’ve kept mostly to myself.

Trying to build a future after considerable loss doesn’t happen overnight. I arrived on March 3, 2006 feeling very distressed, angry, and alone. It wasn’t a good start here. I was widowed, jobless, and homeless at 33. In my scouting trip to Toronto in February 2006, I took the first apartment I looked at because I needed an address to get repatriated, to receive OHIP (health care), a driver’s license, import my car, automobile insurance, put an address on my CV, and satisfy the agents at the U.S. border when I returned to Pennsylvania that I was actually moving to Toronto so they wouldn’t deport me before the 87 days had passed.

From the time that I arrived here, Toronto’s been testing my mettle. It’s been five tumultuous, rollercoaster years. I had to make decisions I didn’t want to make. I had to redefine my goals. I had to redefine myself. This took a lot of time, but moreover it has taken a great deal of effort, perseverance, and patience. I’m a lot greyer now. But I’m still here, despite many impulses to move back west (especially during the winter!).

Sometimes it’s easy to dwell on the hardships, but I’ve been celebrating the successes and learning from the failures, too. I maintain this website in part to record everything as a reminder of everything I’ve managed to accomplish by myself.

My areas of focus in the past five years have been: Work. Travel. Volunteer. Learn.

WORK

It was a miracle I made it through Year One, but I secured a good job four months later with the government that people thought I was crazy to leave in February 2008, the end of Year Two. I knew there were better things in store for me, work-wise, but it wasn’t until Year Four that I decided to take the plunge and do something completely different and rather scary: part-time employment and part-time freelance, in two completely different industries.

Year Five has been a whole new world of work, which introduced me to a whole new world of illness. (Hello pneumonia!) My immune system has taken a beating from the stress of a new part-time job on Bay Street and shooting 12 weddings, eight engagement and portrait shoots, plus other gigs over the past year. Not since a decade ago when I was a full-time employee taking university classes at night for 36 months in a row have I worked this much and been this sleep-deprived. This is the downside of starting over: the climb to altitude and cruising speed. Trying to reach a level where it’s manageable. I have no illusions about the amount of work it takes to build a reputation in a city where I’m a relative newcomer and don’t have the usual school, family, and work connections that other photographers do.

TRAVEL

In the past five years I’ve visited six new countries: Cuba, Iceland, Morocco, Norway, Slovakia, and Barbados. Which for me isn’t a lot, except see the previous section about Work.

Since 2006 I also visited eight countries I’d been to before: Germany, the Netherlands, Spain, France, England, Italy, Austria, and of course the USA. In 2007 I finally made it to Halifax, my furthest city east in Canada. I also flew west to Vancouver (quite a lot in 2008, 2+ months all in) and Chicago, and south to Atlanta, Orlando, San Francisco, and Oakland. (I also took a flight to Boston and one to New York, but I prefer to drive those distances versus the hassle of hub-and-spoke flying.)

In the past five years, I drove 68,000+ miles / 108,800+ kilometers. Most of that alone. That’s an average of 13.6 thousand miles or 21.76 thousand kilometers per year, and that’s all for recreation, not work. The road trips included Quebec City (x2), Montreal (x3), Ottawa (x4), Massachusetts (x2), Maine, Philadelphia (x5?), New York City (x??), all over upstate New York and Long Island, rural Pennsylvania, southwestern Ontario, and places off the beaten track. In five years the car’s broken down in upstate New York, west of Toronto twice, and I blew the tires in Pennsylvania, but KNOCK ON WOOD I’ve had no accidents and I’ve always been able to get help pretty quickly through my auto club membership roadside assistance.

In Year Five I flew less and road-tripped more: Quebec City (April), Vancouver and PA/NY (May), Barbados (June), cottage trip to the Muskokas (July), Boston and Ottawa (August), Portland (Maine) and Fire Island (NY) in September, Montreal and Ottawa (October), New York City (November), Pennsylvania and Vancouver and Syracuse (NY) in December, and Oakland at the end of January.

Sadly, the one major area that has been sacrificed by my current priorities has been aviation, which sat on the backburner in Year Five, not for lack of interest but lack of time. Again, see Work section.

VOLUNTEER

Since 2008, I’ve volunteered for The Brides’ Project, a local non-profit that supports cancer charities by selling donated wedding dresses to the public. I donated my own wedding dress on October 1, 2008, which would’ve been my third anniversary. Last month, my dress was sold to a lovely woman who, in a striking coincidence, will be getting married on my birthday this year.

In Year Five, I began volunteering directly for the Canadian Cancer Society by driving cancer patients to treatments and doctors appointments. Every year I’ve participated in and raised money for either the Terry Fox Foundation or the Canadian Cancer Society’s Relay For Life.

LEARN

Crikey, where do I start with this one… who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks? If the dog wants to learn, there will be new tricks! I’ve taught myself how to use software, various cameras, and new equipment. I’ve had to speak on camera, in groups, and sell myself to clients. I’ve had to negotiate, draft, and improvise. I’ve been to many nerve-wracking job interviews, dealt with difficult people, and work in environments with Type-A personalities. I calm people down on their wedding day. I’ve shot a wedding around TV crews, filming a reality show.

With every new experience, I build up my skill set and confidence.

Since 2006 I’ve taken part in two cancer-related research studies, two grief research studies, and one study examining women and self-image. All were very interesting, but the self-image study has been a revelation. Between the interviews, focus group, and reading the transcripts and summary, I could see what a difference my interests made in my outlook on life and how the passion for these activities motivated me to better myself. It’s one thing to be aware of it in my head, but to see it in print really drove it home.

I was mulling over the past five years in Toronto as I took photos of people skating at Nathan Phillips Square. I watched skaters of all ages, skill levels, confidence levels, shapes and sizes go by. Some whizzed past. Some hung on to other people. Some went backwards, in circles, spins. Some inched across the ice. There was falling and getting back up again. It takes practice to stay on your feet. That’s the thing: it doesn’t matter how slow you go or if you lack finesse or rent your skates, you can still get across to the other side on your own power. Don’t give up!

Possibly related posts:

1. Two Years in Toronto Photo by Garry Choo Fisheye photos courtesy of Garry, taken...
2. Three Years In Toronto As of yesterday I’ve managed to survive three years in...
3. One Year in Toronto Yesterday marks one year since I squeezed all my belongings...

I arrived home today to find a wee present in the form of a dead mouse in the hallway, courtesy of the Caster cats… which one did the actual deed I will never know, though I suspect it was Xena, while Beano’s hanging close here for the assist. It may have been a tag team effort, but regardless, the mouse didn’t stand a chance with these two bored and housebound creatures ready for some sporting action.

One for the home team!

When I first moved here halfway through 2007, I heard mice during that first summer but never saw them or their leavings. For the nearly three years that I’ve had Xena and Beano, I never heard mice at all and I figured the mere presence of cats kept the mice at bay. This mouse was either very brave or very stupid to show its little face, because now he’s got a one-way ticket to the city compost in the morning. I let the Caster cats play around with it for a while first since rigor mortis hadn’t set in yet and Xena, especially, was ever so proud of her little trophy, batting it around like a hacky-sack. Beano, on the other hand, looked like he didn’t have a clue about what to do with it.

I imagine their conversation going something like this:

Xena: “Slacker. Why do I end up doing all the work?”
Beano: “Lay off, Slobbermouth, I’m old.”
Xena: “Apparently you’re not too old to hog the food bowl.”
Beano: “The Human keeps making me puke with those injections. I have to keep my weight up.”
Xena: “You know, if you weren’t so lazy you could catch a mouse and eat that instead.”
Beano: “You catch ONE MEASLY MOUSE and suddenly you’ve invented the litter box. What do I need to catch mice for if The Human puts food out for us twice a day? Do I LOOK like a moron?”
Xena: “Yes.”
Beano: “Uhhh, hell-OOOOO…”

Possibly related posts:

1. Beano’s On Facebook Months and months ago I was speaking to some people...
2. Sunday Cats I’m recovering from shooting last night’s wedding in an art...
3. But How Are The Cats, Gail? It’s been a whole week since a cat post! What...

When people talk to me about buying a digital camera, there’s one point I stress more than anything else:

Do not let the number of MPs (megapixels) convince you that the camera is better.

Sales people will try and impress you with numbers because most people don’t know what those numbers mean. I’m convinced that many sales people don’t know what those numbers mean, either, but since the MPs are stamped right there on the camera, they will try and tell you more is better in the hopes that you’ll believe them. Don’t believe them!

Here’s a pretty good article that showed up in my Twitter stream that explains why the megapixel count is more than a marketing ploy, it is a scam:

The Great Megapixel Swindle: An Example:
http://petavoxel.wordpress.com/2010/01/19/mp-swindle-example/

Let me give you my own example, comparing two cameras, one with a low megapixel count and one with a high megapixel count. (As you can see by the side-by-sides above, the cameras have slightly different aspect ratios, but it won’t affect the argument, which is megapixels overall.)

This was shot in Iceland with the Pentax K100D, my first DSLR, which I sold last spring (reluctantly, because I loved that camera — the straight-out-of-the-camera JPEGs were great). It is an entry-level 6.1MP DSLR, with a maximum resolution size of 3008×2000 pixels. It was a sunny day, the ISO was relatively low (200), and the focus was for the entire landscape (infinity) so everything should be in focus. Click on the picture to view it at full resolution in a new window.

Exposure: 0.001 sec (1/1000)
Aperture: f/5.6
Focal Length: 33 mm
ISO Speed: 200
Image Width: 3000
Image Height: 2000

Now, here’s a photo taken by my brother, Allan, in Vancouver with his Canon G10, which is a point-and-shoot with a whopping 14.7 MPs. It wasn’t shot at max resolution (4416×3312 pixels) — which is another beef about marketing, and I’ll get to that in a bit — but the important point is that it was shot at a resolution GREATER than the 1st photo, specifically 3753×2814, or 17.55% bigger. Ignore the colours and contrast, just look at the sharpness and detail. Click on the pic to view it large in a new window.

Note that the ISO (or film speed) is 80, which means the sensitivity is lower and therefore the noise level should be lower than the Iceland shot, for which an ISO of 200 was used. In basic terms, the Iceland shot should theoretically be grainier, or “noisier”, than the Vancouver shot. The Vancouver photo was taken at half the shutter speed of the Iceland photo, but 1/500 is still fast and there should be no shake.

Exposure: 0.002 sec (1/500)
Aperture: f/4.5
Focal Length: 30.5 mm
ISO Speed: 80
Image Width: 3753
Image Height: 2814

I’ve sliced away some parts of both photos to do another side-by-side at 100% (Iceland left, Vancouver right):

See the difference? Which do you find grainier? The Vancouver photo on the right side was shot by the 14.7MP Canon G10, which is more than double the MPs of the Pentax K100D at 6.1MPs on the left side. Now, part of the difference in quality is the lens glass. I am fairly certain that I took the Iceland photo with my Pentax kit lens, the 18-55mm, and a kit lens is the lowliest of all lenses in a brand line. Kit lenses aren’t always terrible, but it’s comparable in quality to the stock stereo you get with your car — for the average person it’s bearable, but people who enjoy music are going to replace it, anyway. On a camera, a kit lens is soon to be replaced, too.

The major factor in the difference is the sensor. If you were to go and read the sensor specs for both cameras, this is what you’ll find:

Canon G10: 1/1.7-inch type Charge Coupled Device (CCD), which is 7.17 mm x 5.31 mm
Pentax K100D: 23.5mm x 15.7mm CCD sensor

Now here is where size does matter! As you can see, the Pentax K100D has a much bigger sensor than the Canon G10 — around 3x bigger. DSLR lenses are bigger because their chip sensors are bigger. It is the one of the reasons why point-and-shoot cameras are more compact, even with a zoom, because it requires less glass to bring light to that little sensor. When companies try and cram more pixels into a small sensor, it actually reduces the quality of the photo.

This article by digitalcamerainfo.com puts it this way:

Fitting more megapixels in the same small amount of physical space means that all the receptor sites on the sensor must be smaller, which means that each site has less light hitting it. Less light per pixel means images that are less clear and sharp.

However, between two different manufacturers making CCDs that are the same size, there’s no way to know which produces better-quality photos using spec numbers because they use different computations when capturing and processing pixels. At that point it is a qualitative difference rather than quantitative. The only way to compare is to compare their photos, and that’s where personal preferences come in. But if you compare any DSLR to any point-and-shoot, the DSLR will always come out on top when the photos are displayed larger — because of the sensor, and because of the glass.

What’s that beef you were talking about?

I mentioned that Allan didn’t take that Vancouver shot at full resolution, which is what I was hoping for in my example. Actually, I couldn’t find any Canon G10 photos in his Flickr collection taken at full resolution. This is actually very common, and most people don’t think about it when they buy a point-and-shoot: if megapixels are such a good thing, why don’t people take advantage of them?

For one thing, the file sizes are way too large. My Nikon D300 is a 12.3MP camera, and the largest photo I can make is 4288×2848 pixels with a JPEG-format file size of around 4-8MBs (depending on what I’m shooting) and that’s plenty. (My RAW files are much bigger, at 9-12MBs.) Why would a point-and-shoot, with a sensor roughly a third of the size, need more pixels than a DSLR if it can only capture a third of the detail? Because it’s a gimmick! You’d never email a full-size snapshot around, and it’s far too big for a web page, Facebook, or any social media site. That size is really useless unless you’re considering enlarging it to hang over your fireplace.

Which brings me to my next point: you’d never want to enlarge a point-and-shoot snapshot, anyway, because even at the size I showed you, which is probably at least 75% of its resolution capacity, it has purple fringing and artifacts. You can barely make out the trees on the mountains. The level of detail is less than ideal; the cost of enlargement would not be worthwhile. The shot itself is good, the colours are set to vivid (that can be toned down in Photoshop), but the detail can’t be increased because Canon’s sensor is too small. It’s about pixel quality, not quantity.

But what about the price?

When you take away the bulk of the DSLR, there’s usually a gripe about the price versus a compact camera. It’s true, they can be pricey, but if you’re an amateur or a beginner, the prices of entry-level DSLRs are actually lower than the higher-end compact cameras. Using the same cameras in my example, I bought my Pentax K100D in May 2007 for about US$500, including the Pentax SMC-DA 18-55mm f/3.5-5.6 kit lens. The Canon G10′s suggested retail price today is US$500. Which means that if you scout for a used Pentax K100D on Craigslist right now, you could probably get one with the kit lens for about half of what the Canon G10 costs currently, and make better-quality photos for much cheaper.

I try and tell people that for the cost of the new compact cameras, they could invest in an entry-level DSLR and even get a lens, but I think people are reluctant to learn how to use a DSLR. I would be willing to teach ANYBODY how to use their DSLR, if that would convince them to make the move.

It’s not that I dislike compact cameras or even Canon, not at all. In fact I owned Canon compact digitals for five years (2002-2007) before I bought my first DSLR, which was a Pentax. I still recommend Pentax for its value, especially for entry-level users. My current DSLR is a Nikon. (As you can see, I’m not particularly brand loyal. There is no need to be except that switching an entire system is expensive due to the lenses and bodies being incompatible between brands; each brand has strengths and weakness across all their lines.)

I learned composition on compacts, which is an important skill regardless of equipment. I still shoot with compacts on occasion, for video and some snapshots. I think it’s very possible to take decent photos with point-and-shoots if the settings are used properly (and displayed small so their flaws don’t show), and I have actually sold photos taken by compacts. But the newer point-and-shoot models mystify most people because they have a lot of bells and whistles. Nobody likes to read the manual (I generally don’t, either, I only use them as reference tools but usually I go online), but the manuals are written by technical writers and they don’t tell you how to take a good photo, they only tell you about settings and specs.

I think this is the longest post I’ve ever written on the subject of photography, but I wanted to take the time to write it out because photographic equipment at the average consumer level is rife with confusion and misleading information. People are bombarded with features that they don’t understand. At a professional level, sales people have less sway with buyers because pros have the technical knowledge and a more watchful eye on the industry. Professionals are pickier about their equipment and view it as a business investment. However, the consumer market is big money and companies like Nikon, Canon, Sony, Olympus, Panasonic, Samsung, Pentax, Casio, Kodak, Konica, and all the rest sell point-and-shoots every day to people who don’t know what to look for in a camera. If you want to compare them, I suggest the side-by-side comparison table feature over at DPReview.com’s buying guide section. There are also comprehensive reviews if you want to go more in-depth, and summary-length versions of the reviews if you just want to get their rating.

My recommendation is to do all your research before you walk into the camera store, then try out a few cameras that are your top picks to see how they feel in your hands, if the controls are in logical places, and if the way you would use it requires digging around in menus versus the settings at your fingertips. Better yet: borrow them from friends or let your friends show you their cameras. It’s also a good idea to read some reviews and ratings, but ultimately, you should look at the photos you already take — portraits? low light? action? landscapes? — and base your search criteria on the style of your shooting rather than gimmicky things like megapixels and dozens of “modes” (eg. snow mode, beach mode, museum mode). Hmmm… I’m getting into another topic (buying), so I’d better stop here.

And if I’ve confused you even more, I take full responsibility and welcome any questions to clear it up!

Possibly related posts:

1. Siwash Rock, Stanley Park I’ve been trying to sort through my photo collections to...
2. Monday Morning Streetcar Sticker You Are Beautiful is sort of an art-meets-life campaign, by...
3. First DSLR Re-homed I was surprised to discover today that apart from this...

The weekend of May 29-31 was, in a word, BRILLIANT. All missions were accomplished, and then some. (Makes me want to pun the title: The ReCAP.)

Thursday: arrived at Helma’s, was fed heartily (as always!)
Friday: met with Executor, picked up David’s flight bag, went to Mona’s house
Saturday: went to temple for David’s yizkor, lunch with Helma, then Mona’s house for birthday dinner
Sunday: went flying with Alan, Helma’s house, then Mona’s before driving home

I originally wanted to fly on Friday, but the weather was pretty foul so I opted for an impromptu meeting with the Executor. To have David’s flight bag back and finally wear our headsets again was a great feeling! It seems a bit silly to get attached to something as nondescript as a headset, but if you’ve been reading this website for more than a few years you’ll have seen the scores of flying photos and videoclips I shot with us squeezed shoulder-to-shoulder in our little Tri-Pacer cockpit, David wearing his light green David Clarks and me wearing my Red Barons. These are very fond memories for me, and just seeing that bag again triggered the anticipation of flying adventures and made my heart leap a little.

But my main purpose of this particular birthday trip, 42 years after David entered this world, was to visit his mother. We spent most of three days together, talking about David as a baby, a little boy, his childhood, bar mitzvah, all the way through school, college, married life, learning to fly, Civil Air Patrol, working life, our lives together, and his last days. Mona filled blanks for me, and I filled in blanks for her. It was dizzying how much we covered in one weekend, but I’m convinced this was the best thing that could’ve happened on May 30, 2009.

I went to Temple Israel on Saturday and attended the entire service, from beginning to end. There were three items on the agenda: David’s birthday, yizkor, and shavuot. When I arrived I sat at the back, and the rabbi — in mid-service — came all the way down from the front and greeted me. I have to say, this really made an impression! The rabbi and I last met in 2005, at Mercy Hospital and the hospice, and he remembered me.

I took away many ideas from that service, but perhaps the one that stood out the most was that of celebrating the life of the person(s) we’ve lost. 

In keeping with that sentiment, I went to the grocery store on Saturday to pick up some of David’s favourite food, and that’s what we had for his birthday dinner. David’s tastes ran a little to the unhealthy side (corn dogs, etc.) and I tried to balance it out with salad and fruit. I could’ve bought more food, but we could only eat so much in one sitting, so I purchased some in frozen form for Mona to eat later.

(Click on the pic to see the notes in Flickr): chicken wings, potato pancakes, soft pretzels, vidalia onion vinaigrette, corn dogs, key lime fruit bars and…

… the pièce de résistance: David’s favourite key lime pie.

I tried to see if the store would sell me half, but I had to get the whole thing. It’s a lot of pie! But Mona agreed: it was yummy — not too sweet, not too tart.

Mona bought a new TV a few years ago and nobody hooked up her VCR. She thought it was broken and never watched the memorial tape I sent her until I plugged in the VCR on Sunday. I escaped to the kitchen after I came on the screen but eventually I watched it (I still feel weird watching a recording of myself speak). I showed her who everyone was and told her how the memorial unfolded. This went on until about 3 o’clock in the morning, when my eyelids and limbs and head became so heavy I lay down on the couch. I had no energy left to drive the five minutes it would’ve taken to return to Helma’s house and I lay there, in the same outfit, fast asleep for four hours…

… until 7 o’clock when Mona woke me up to tell me that Alan was going flying! I was so completely disoriented — where am I and why am I wearing a skirt? — it took me a couple of seconds to realise IT WAS TIME TO GO FLYING! Helma knew how much I wanted to fly and tracked down Mona’s phone number, passed it on to Alan, he phoned Mona, and she woke me up!

I grabbed my wallet and shot out the door to Helma’s house to change out of the skirt and into pants (the configuration of Alan’s plane and where the stick is located in the back seat is not skirt-friendly!), and made my way to Cherry Ridge Airport to meet Alan. It was a fabulously sunny day and my timing couldn’t have been better: as soon as I arrived and walked toward the runway, Alan landed his plane right in front of me. Another funny coincidence was when I was talking to Alan after he deplaned: a pilot I flew with several years ago — and hadn’t seen since — taxied right by us to the fuel pump. I walked over to say hello, and he told me just last Thursday a friend saw a YouTube video of him flying (with me). I had just shown Mona those same videos the night before, and here he was, fuelling his plane! [Video 1, Video 2]

Alan and I got ready for takeoff, I put on David’s headset, and away we went! We flew over Lake Wallenpaupack and over to Mount Pocono Municipal Airport for a pitstop. Mount Pocono is the airport where I met Alan for the first time that memorable weekend in October 2004. He and another Civil Air Patrol pilot, Dale, were there with the CAP plane when David and I landed and we all had lunch together. Thanks to Alan I’ve been able to fly in a Piper on David’s birthday two years in a row now. (I also scattered David’s ashes from a Piper Super Cub — Stanley Segalla’s.) Maybe by next year Alan will have his helicopter license and I can fly over the valley like I did the first time.

The crazy crosswind landing is written up in the previous post: If I Were The Pope I Would’ve Kissed The Ground. It’s those sorts of landings that don’t allow us to take the science of flying for granted.

After Alan and I landed safely, I drove to Helma’s to fetch my things, had a shower and a long nap, and made one more stop at Mona’s house. I ended up staying at Mona’s until 1am late Sunday night, when I couldn’t delay my departure any longer since the drive back to Toronto takes at least six hours and it was my first day of work at the new company on Monday. (I’m always right to the wire, I know…)

It’s taken me more than a week to write about it, but I’m pleased to declare that I completed all the missions I’d lined up for David’s birthday, and the weekend exceeded all my expectations! Many thanks to the three people who made the weekend possible: Helma, Mona, and Alan.

Possibly related posts:

1. David’s Weekend in Vancouver: Joint Birthday Bash Sunday, May 29 On Sunday morning, David and Dad and...
2. David’s Weekend in Vancouver: Happy Birthday George! Well, it’s only taken me a week to post this,...
3. Thanks For A Great Weekend, Upstate New York! And Pennsylvania, too — thanks, Helma! (And Kitti!) View Larger...

Thankfully I had the foresight back then to write dates and names on most of the prints. There is no way I’d retain all that info after 18 YEARS. Wow, can this photo really be 18 years old?? This is me at 18: gawdy red lipstick and awkward bangs (or “fringe” depending on where you’re from). Yikes.

February 1991
Banff Rocky Mountain Resort staff accommodation

Simon LeComte was a huge French-Canadian guy, at least 6’5″. He’d work out in the gym and I’d have to reset all the equipment after he was done with it. Wouldn’t harm a flea, though, he was a gentle giant from what I could recall. Staff accommodation resembled a university dormitory — everyone hung out in everyone else’s rooms. I’m sure this wasn’t mine — I was too bashful to own such a scandalous-looking calendar of beefcakes.

I did, however, develop an attachment to red lipstick and bangs to cover my forehead and eyebrows because I hadn’t figured out tweezers yet. When I first arrived in Banff in September 1990 (a story in itself), I got a job on the first day as a housekeeper at Banff Rocky Mountain Resort. I stubbornly wore makeup every single day (I can hardly believe I gave up precious morning sleep to tend to my face), and one of the other housekeepers later told me that for days she thought I was a guest. Until she saw me carry a vacuum.

Two months later I got a job as a sports facility attendant at the same resort. I still wore makeup most days, even though I spent most of my shift playing squash. What a waste of makeup!

July 30, 1991
“Buffalo Paddock”
Cascade Inn, Banff

I’d organised a big beach volleyball tournament for all hotel and bar/restaurant staff working in Banff, which sucked much of my free time leading up to the event. Man, was I ever glad when it was all over. I developed conjunctivitis (“pink eye”) in one eye, too, but you can’t tell. I think after numerous kegs we all had bloodshot eyes, anyway, and I blended right in. I was later informed that the post-tournament party drank the ENTIRE town dry that night.

Possibly related posts:

1. Flashback Friday: Pink Under Protest Burnham Park, Baguio City, Philippines I believe, since I have...
2. Some Blasts from the Past with Jamie and Eric with Rob and Marlene (& Eric...
3. Taking a Break … from evolutionary psychology and physiology. Not exactly a stimulant...

I’ve been sitting on the 2007 review for a year, but it’s time to release it into the wild so I can finish my review of 2008. I was working on the 2007 review just after New Year 2008, but then Arliin passed away, the cats moved in, I had to learn how to inject Beano, my last day at my government job arrived, and I became preoccupied with figuring out my employment situation.

Life was a little topsy-turvy at the beginning of 2008, but then the rest of the year TOOK OFF like a galloping horse. But, I’m getting ahead of myself — back to 2007. First:

Last October I was driving back from New York City, and I mentioned writing a ‘Year in Review’ while in conversation with one of my passengers (who I’d just met a few hours before). She commented that she didn’t do anything of the sort, that she didn’t believe in looking into the past, she only looked forward. I was a bit taken aback. “What about goals?” I asked. “How do you know if you’ve made any progress if you don’t review what you’ve done? What if a goal is long-term?”

Writing in this website has been very useful to me in terms of keeping track of myself. I believe in setting goals — a mix of short-term, long-term, easily-attainable, and relatively large-scale — but part of the plan is measuring and benchmarking in some way. Some things aren’t quantifiable or measurable, sure, but if I want to become a better photographer, for example, how on earth will I know I’m better if I don’t look back at my old photos? How will I know if I travel more if I don’t actually count vehicle mileage or boarding passes? How would I know if I wrote more or less this year if I didn’t compare my publishing stats? Perceptions are one thing, stats may say otherwise.

While I don’t think it’s necessary to share all my goals with the world wide web, I think it’s a morale booster to share the personal victories and accomplishments, whether large or small. There are hard times in every calendar year, but there is always something worth celebrating and there are always lessons to be learned from new experiences, taking personal risks, stacking up the gains against the losses.

I’ll probably add to this, but here’s the 2007 list for now, in no particular order:

FIRSTS:

• Sat in the pilot’s seat for the first time.
• Missed my first international flight. (Air Canada gave my seat away!)
• Slept in an airport overnight (Barcelona). Nearly twice (London)!
• Saw my first night of Midnight Sun.
• Stood beside a geyser as it was about to blow!
• Stood behind a waterfall.
• Sold advertising on my website (on individual posts).
• Attended an open-casket funeral. (Don’t want to do that again anytime soon.)
• First time in Quebec (I only ever got as far as Ottawa as a kid).
• First time in Nova Scotia.
• First time in Iceland.
• First time in Africa!
• Bought my first DSLR.
• Made my first external website (Vincent Sushi).

ACCOMPLISHMENTS/VICTORIES, BIG AND SMALL:

• Passed my Category 3 Aviation Medical after being told that my heart murmur might be too strong. After months of ground school, here’s an explanation for why I shelved flight training.
• Made it through a 10-week bereavement group therapy program without quitting.
• Was offered a contract by a branch of the Ministry of the Attorney General of Ontario in January, which was later renewed.
• Made it through two weddings without bailing.
• Made it through two memorial services without falling apart. There would’ve been a third, in France, had my passport arrived one day earlier.
• Moved house without incident. (The last mover was a crook.)
• My car broke down not once but twice in upstate New York in one weekend, but I came out of it with a brand new fuel pump for free (!) and got a memorable and unplanned visit to the Curtiss Museum in Hammondsport thrown in.
• Won a bidding war for the helicopter flight in Durham Region purely by strategy.
• Won my office’s End-of-Year Scavenger Hunt. (Competition was stiff!)
• Four visits to Vancouver!
• Posted 502 entries in my website. (There were 621 in 2006, but I didn’t work most of that year.)
• Uploaded 2,225 photos to Flickr: a mix of film, point-and-shoot, and DSLR.
• Taught myself enough Photoshop to work with RAW files.
• Shot my first wedding from beginning to end (nearly 20 hours).

TRIPS:

• January – Vancouver
• February – Pennsylvania, Cambridge (ON)
• March – Niagara Falls
• April – Vancouver
• May – Pennsylvania
• June – Iceland, Paris, Halifax
• July – Montreal, Ottawa
• August – Kingston, St. Catharine’s (ON)
• September – New York, Pennsylvania
• October – New York, Pennsylvania
• November – London (UK), Barcelona, and Morocco
• December – Vancouver

(I would post links, but it would take me forever.)

Five trips involved flying, the other 8(+) trips were by road. I counted 20 commercial flight segments, 4 (?) trips to Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome, and an exciting hour in the Durham Regional Police helicopter. I would’ve travelled MORE, except I maxed out my vacation limit at my government job.

Undoubtedly, 2007 was a much better year than 2006, even without having a “Year in Review: 2006″ to compare it to. Going to Cuba at the end of 2006 was the best choice I could’ve made at the time, because it completely reset my brain for 2007. Mentally, I was a different person when I returned to Toronto on January 1, 2007. If you know me in person, you’ve likely heard me say this more than once, that I attribute a great deal of personal growth to that trip and credit the people of Cuba with fortifying me in a way I still can’t quite explain, even today.

In 2007 I was a government employee for the first time in my life, at 34/35 years old. I was grateful for the opportunity, and the relatively stability it offered was likely what I needed to best make the transition from my former life in Pennsylvania to my abrupt reality of landing in a new city and new situation. But by the end of 2007 I knew I wasn’t government material, that I needed more creativity and autonomy in my work. I gave myself a year to see whether I liked it or not, and at the end of that time frame I could not honestly envision myself as a career public servant. When my job entered (restricted) competition in December, everyone expected me to apply for it but I didn’t. Well, technically I did, I submitted my CV at the 11th hour of the Friday deadline but retracted it on Monday. Then I did something else everyone thought was sheer madness: I told my manager I would stay on until they hired someone else, and I would train that person before I left. (It took until February 29 for this to happen, but I am a person of my word and gave my replacement nine days of training.)

I ended 2007 on an uncertain note, job-wise, but overall I felt better about life in Toronto. In June I moved to a better apartment in a great neighbourhood, met more people, travelled to some amazing places, and was relieved to reach the end of 2007 with more good stories than bad. I felt at various points in 2007 very down/angry/out of place, but these periods were mercifully brief in comparison to the year before. In 2006 I was quite a recluse and not working for the most part, but in 2007 I was working full-time and able to channel that energy in different directions — particularly aviation, travel, and photography. I took my Pentax K100D everywhere, hit the road every chance I got, and flew in every type of aircraft I could get a seat for.

2007 was when my life in Toronto really began, I felt. Tomorrow I’ll post about 2008.

Possibly related posts:

1. Goodbye 2007, Hello Butternut Squash Soup I’m not one to make New Year’s resolutions, but as...
2. 6-Year Blogiversary Today I officially reached another milestone: the six-year mark for...
3. Arliin, In Her Own Words – 2007 The 2007 index of Arliin’s comments has been a long...

I think this picture looks better a little larger.

Part of my Lunchwalk Series, which I’ve been trying to restart. Work has been exceptionally busy, and I often eat lunch at my desk now. But today I had to drop off some dry cleaning, so I took the opportunity to shoot some photos while I was out.

When I saw this man on the street corner, I just had to take his photo. I put some money in his tin can and asked permission to photograph. He was fine with it, but I also tried feebly to communicate to him that I would return the following day with his photo as a print. I don’t know if he understood what I said, but I printed out the pictures to take to him, anyway. I sure hope he’s at the corner again — I’d like to see what his reaction is like (and take a photo of that, too!).

Possibly related posts:

1. The Saxophonist Pentax K-1000 corner of King and Yonge Streets July 5,...

A second picture from my lunch walk series that I started a week ago. I haven’t made a set yet, ’cause there are only two pics so far. Haven’t taken any lunch walk photos this week, which will have to be remedied soon. Today’s weather was brilliant and warm — around 20C! (68F!) — but I took lunch hour to attend a bargaining unit meeting a short walk away and didn’t take my bag, or my camera. I felt a bit lost without the camera.

* * * * * * * * *

Whenever I see the notice ‘Post No Bills’, I think of my friend Eden Aminoffe, from Israel. I lost touch with him after he visited me in Edinburgh and I hope he’s alright. I wonder because the last time I was able to reach him, Eden was still completing his required military service, something he’d been avoiding by travelling as far away as he could. Our paths crossed in Queensland, Australia, which is about as far away as an Israeli can run from conscription and a home life which included Orthodox (with-a-capital-O) parents. After hearing from him what that meant, I know I’d probably run away, too.

Both of us were working under the table, but it was much more obvious that Eden was illegal because Australia and Israel had no reciprocal agreements for working holidays, while it was common knowledge that Canadians could obtain working holiday visas. I didn’t have one, but it was assumed I did.

Eden and I were both in the same boat regarding money — we were skint, flat broke, didn’t have any. If we wanted to keep travelling we had to work illegally, or get out. (Possibly both, by getting deported.) We had to be careful, and careful with money. So we worked out this arrangement where we would pay for one bed in a hostel by working and sleeping at different times. When Eden was filling out employment applications, he gave the number of our hostel and I would, as “Eden”, pick up his messages for him. Eden would sneak into the hostel at odd hours and sneak back out again when the coast was clear. I can’t remember how long we kept up this charade, but I don’t think it was for more than a month or so because I found a way to live even more cheaply: commune-style, in a tent near the beach.

Eden continued to board at the hostel but we still spent a great deal of time together while trying to stay under the immigration radar. We were so young and naive, both of us fairly fresh from a conservative upbringing. We had NO IDEA what we were doing. We went to our first rave together and even secured some, er, rave materials beforehand. Not five minutes in the club Eden turned to me.

“Do you feel anything?”
“No. Do you feel anything?”
“Nothing.”
“Did we just buy aspirin?”

To give you some idea of how clueless I was at the time, the thought never even crossed my mind that Eden might be gay. It’s not that it would matter either way, it was more the fact that we were always together and the subject never came up. I guess we were too busy with more pressing matters like trying not to get deported and how quickly we could save up to go to New Zealand. I didn’t find out until about a year and a half later, when I was living in Edinburgh and Eden was back in Israel.

I was half asleep sitting on a bus on my way to a mindnumbingly dull job doing data entry at the Royal Bank of Scotland, and I’d picked up a letter from Eden as I was going out the door. In his dramatically expressive way (how could I not know he was gay?), Eden had written in big, bold letters a few words on each page. He always wrote in big letters when he was excited.

I HAVE SOME
*page flip*
BIG NEWS FOR
*page flip*
YOU, GAIL, I AM
*flip!*
F$%*ING GAY!!
*flip!* (loud page turn)
???
*flip*flip* (now people on the bus around me are craning their necks to read)
I AM COMING TO VISIT YOU!

Eden always had a way of spicing up my often colourless days at the bank by writing such letters for me to read on the bus, but this one was particularly dramatic. He told me the part he was dreading was telling his father he was gay. Eden told me the story later in person, and I can tell you that no matter how you may feel about homosexuality, a person would not bring such wrath upon himself willingly if he didn’t have absolute conviction in its truth.

Eden went to the Reading Music Festival before coming to visit, and by the time he arrived in Edinburgh he had a thousand and one questions for me because his English was out of practice. In Australia I was his de facto English teacher only by proximity, and I knew he’d have some trouble understanding the Scots. So where did he visit next? The Fringe Festival…

I think Eden’s eyes were permanently widened after experiencing the Jim Rose Circus. I had to work that day, but came home to Eden trying to demonstrate how a man swung a lawn mower around by a cable attached to his testicles. English simply lacks the words to properly describe this.

After days of attempting to break down English (Scottish, really) into simple phrases for Eden, we were walking down the street and he pointed to a sign.

Whew, I thought. Something easy this time.

“What does ‘Post No Bills’ mean?” Eden asked.

We stopped. I burst out laughing. I couldn’t stop laughing.

“Is it funny?” Eden prompted, wanting in on the joke. “Tell me! What does it mean?”

I could barely breathe, so I pushed out the words one gasp at a time.

“I… don’t… know!”

Eden was totally confused by this, but I really didn’t know. I never considered it. Here I was, the native English speaker, and I had no idea what it meant because all I could think of was “post” meaning “mail” and “bills” meaning what the Brits call “notes”. After living in Australia and learning Queen’s English the hard way (by being made fun of) and then living in Scotland, I’d been mixing up all the vernaculars and cultural references in my head and ended up with a sentence I’d seen a million times but couldn’t make heads or tails of at all!

Eden, my friend. In the name of all that is good and true, I hope you’re still alive. Please Google your name so you can find me again and I can tell you what “Post No Bills” means. I promise I’ll even come to Tel Aviv or wherever you are and tell you in person.

Possibly related posts:

1. Painstaking (oh the pain) I’ve been working on fixing my archives for what seems...
2. Bit By the Altruism Bug I just took two Edinburgh lads to the airport… I...
3. Infodesk Back from a morning shift at the HI-Vancouver Jericho Beach...

Yesterday I drove from Toronto to Scranton, arriving shortly after 10 o’clock in the evening. Helma greeted me with a wonderful meal, the kind of meal that can bring one back from the dead. I wasn’t feeling quite that bad, but the six-hour drive turned into seven hours because of busloads of sports fans heading east (to Rochester?) combined with sections of heavy rain and dense fog.

My plan was to pick up a fruit basket or something once I got into town to take with me to the hospice, to give to the night nurses. Last year I returned to the hospice on Christmas Eve with copious amounts of food that was brought to the house after David died. I simply couldn’t eat it all, and the nurses were grateful for “real” food instead of chocolate. (I can hear some of you saying now, but chocolate is real food!) Helma called along the way to check up on me, and kindly offered to buy the basket for me to save me a trip to the grocery store, bless’er.

After a big meal and some conversation it was nearly half past midnight, and I announced that it was time for me to go to the hospice.

Helma was surprised: “Now?”

“Yes, now.”

I put the basket in the car and drove the quiet streets of Scranton, darkened but for the seasonal Christmas lights. It was much warmer than it was the same time last year. I remember the big snowfall was on December 9 because it was the first time Mister Hugh set paw in snow.

I didn’t make up my mind until recently where I wanted to be the night of December 17-18. When I arrived at the hospice, I found the head nurse and explained to her that I’d just driven from Toronto to return to the place where my husband had died one year before. When I began to elaborate on why I felt the need to be there, I could tell by the look on her face that I was in the right place because I didn’t need to explain anything.

The hospice is a completely different environment than the hospital. Hospitals are noisy and unrestful: beeping machinery, moaning patients, nurses bursting in the door frequently and around the clock. In the hospice the objective shifts from medical rescue to comfort. It’s all about pain relief, and I didn’t miss for a moment the equipment and the tension-inducing sounds they made, like timebombs about to go off. Even a champion sleeper like me never slept fully at David’s bedside in the cancer ward, because I would listen for a change in the cacophony of sounds that would send me calling for a nurse.

The hospice, in contrast, is calm. Even the nurse’s station is conspicuously quiet, and there is no hustle and bustle in the halls. It’s a whole different world, one you could never imagine unless circumstances brought you there. That is where I found myself last night, by choice.

The night that David died, however, was uncharacteristically chaotic. One day I will tell the whole story of that night, but that is not for today. Besides the head nurse, two of our friends were present to support me during this time, one who flew from Vancouver on a few hours’ notice and the wife of the minister who married us less than three months before. Also, two more friends showed up in the middle of the night on a gut feeling. The help offered by these friends was invaluable, especially as that evening other events took place, such as our car getting hit by a drunk driver. No one was hurt, thankfully, but all that went through my mind at the time was, ‘I’m in so much shock already, nothing can shock me now.’

In spite of all the stress of that evening, David’s final moments, at 1:15am, were peaceful. Hugh lay quietly at his feet, and I stood by his side. We were given time alone, and I sat with his body for a while. I felt like I was hallucinating, it seemed like the room was expanding and contracting. My husband had died but the room had come alive and one part of me wanted to escape, the other part was rooted to the chair. As I watched David’s body physically change, I slowly began to realise, ‘This isn’t David anymore. It may be his body, taken over by cancer, but wherever he is, the man I married, he is not here.’ As this thought began to sink in, I calmed down.

Last night, after talking to the nurses for a while in the kitchen, I found the Reflection Room. Last year the hospice was in the middle of renovations, and this room didn’t exist. I sat in a stuffed chair and made myself comfortable, thinking I would just stay a little while before returning to Helma’s. By this time it was 2am, and there was only the soft noise of a television on low and muffled snoring from across the hall.

Why did I feel so comfortable in the hospice? I wondered. It seems counterintuitive to return to a place that evokes such haunting memories. Why go back? I think it’s because I found the hospice, as a whole, to be a peaceful haven, but the night that David died was incredibly stressful for other reasons. Returning one year later brought me closure because I could ponder the experience without the stress. I was in the one place where people face terminal illness and death every day. After a year of receiving platitudes, opinions, judgement and unsolicited advice from people who are evidently uncomfortable with these taboo subjects, I felt such a relief to be somewhere where I’d find none of that. I was sad but didn’t cry. I didn’t feel that heaviness of despair, the weight of sorrow that literally brought me to my knees when the oncologist choked on the words, “I’m so sorry, Gail.” What I felt last night was only peace, an acceptance that David’s journey ended with dignity and love.

With those thoughts, I fell asleep in that chair.

I woke up at 5 o’clock in the morning. I would’ve stayed longer in the Reflection Room, but my contact lenses were making my eyes burn. I bid the head nurse farewell on the way out, and slowly walked down the eerily silent corridors of the hospital and out the front doors to Jefferson Street.

Mercy Hospice, One Year Later – 13 photos

Possibly related posts:

1. Mercy Hospice – Friday, December 16 I brought our cat, Hugh, to be with David when...
2. Have Mercy On Us, Mercy Hospital This will be brief as we’re about to go to...
3. David is Back at Mercy Hospital His temperature shot up this morning after we got home...