I stepped out the front entryway of my big old red brick mansion, Van Morrison's Moondance on my Ipod, sun shining, birds chirping. Yes I can still hear the birds through my headphones. I don't crank the volume up to the roaring blaring white noise that would make my ears bleed. Just background music to pace my walk.
The walk I was taking was not a long one, but as I walked in time with the music, I had a lot to think about. My Mom tried to raise my 4 sisters and I with little or no help. I know how she felt, I did the same but only with 2. She must have felt some relief after we all grew up and moved away. No stress, fun with her friends, hanging with her boyfriend John every other weekend.
John, being John Wayne, yes THE John Wayne. My Mom is a western addict, and anything with John Wayne is watched as if it were the first time she ever saw it. I tease her and call him her boyfriend. This is always a great way to start a conversation with her these days.
Life was going really great. Kids were getting ready to be adults and start their own lives. I had put a deposit on a zippy little two seater sports car. A guilty pleasure after driving the big shiny black SUV full of Hockey and Ski gear all over the province. I was making plans to run my photography studio full time, take a few well deserved vacations, and spend more time doing things for me. I was ready for the freedom that comes with my kids growing up. Then the most unexpected thing happened...
My Mom had a major stroke and I sold or gave away everything I owned to go back home to look after her. Let go of the dream of driving my zippy little black sports car through the rockies as well. After her rehab, she stayed with me for quite sometime. We were blessed to have my Uncle agree to house us so we didn't have to worry about finding a place to be. He is a saint in my eyes for all his help.
When I first saw her after her stroke, she was unable to speak, eat, or move unassisted. They kept her in the Emergency ward for almost a full week I think. There was a moment, when they had to perform life saving procedure on her with one of my sisters and I gently shoved from the small curtained bed. In those tense moments, my life with my Mom flooded back on me like waves on the beach. Everything said, not said, experienced, and felt. In those moments, the time she may or may not have to spend with my kids seemed to be most important. She was a vibrant, active person one day, and weak and helpless the very next.
With my plans for my own life on hold, we did the best we could to keep her going. There were times when she was in recovery in the Heart and Stroke ward at the U of A Hospital when she seemed to give up. Depression came and went, and frequently rears it's ugly head even now. It's in these times when my family may have seen a side of me they didn't expect. I was the black sheep, the wanderer, the artist and it was here they saw the tough single Mom come out.
With everything I had been through, the Mom in me kicked in and when my Mom was feeling particularly down and unwilling to do the work to get better, I would ask her if she liked being stuck in the hospital bed, not allowed to even get up to dress herself. She said she hated it. So I got in her face and said "If you don't want to be here then start doing the exercises from physiotherapy so you can get up and walk out on your own two feet." That lit the fire and she pushed through the tough stuff.
With the help of my sisters and my uncle, I managed to keep pushing her to be independent. One time, she refused to get in the truck so I could get her to the doctor's appointment. She was having a major temper tantrum. I told her to get in the truck or I would pick her up and put her in there myself, and she didn't weigh much more than a 100 lbs after her stay in the hospital so she knew I meant it. She nearly burned my Uncle's house down a week or so after that making apple pies a little too soon after she was released from the hospital, but she can walk, she can talk, and today she lives in her own little apartment in a seniors building close to my sister.
Now I'm not going to shine you on with a miracle story here. There were complications from the stroke that are irreversible. She is partially blind in one eye, she has limited movement of her right side, so she no longer is the active person she used to be and she can not drive her car. She does however, still have her weekend trysts with her boyfriend John. The biggest transition for us all to get used to, she is no longer the smart mouthed, sharp witted woman who loved a good naughty joke, and lots of laughter. We can no longer ask Mom about gardening, sewing, children, or cooking questions. She does not remember. The Mom we knew is not there, but there is a new one in her place. She is about 13 years old and the roles are now reversed, she as the child and my sisters and I as the Mothers.
So my advice to you, call your Mom wherever she is, say a prayer if she is no longer, and remember that no matter what she is right now, she is the reason you are here. This I am grateful for.
Happy Mother's Day!
Cole
Don't forget to check your Compass!
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Rocky Horror Picture Show
Where to begin...
I was maybe 16 or so, time escapes me, my first boyfriend was a football player for a high school I did not go to. He was on the defensive line so use your imagination. He was not a small guy, probably 6'3", maybe 240 lbs. I think he was 19 or so. Everyone we knew, played football, built muscle cars, had great house parties, and we cruised the hotrods down 18th Ave because it was the longest piece of road where you didn't have to turn around. (muscle cars are built to go very fast in a straight line, for those of you that don't know how that works.)
We were a very tight knit group, all 23 of the boys + girlfriends. We were always together. Movies, cruising the strip, football, High School Drags at the old race track downtown, and did I mention
football?.
One night, some of the older brothers of a team member were going to the Roxy Theatre to see the Rocky Horror Picture show with a group from their Fraternity at U of A. They invited us along. I ended up being the only girl in the group. Had my parents, grandparents, sisters, aunts and uncles known back then, I would have been in BIIIIGGG trouble, but they didn't and I was safe from punishment for the night of debauchery!
So we get to the Roxy, it's maybe 11 p.m. We're a bit early as we all wanted to sit together, all 24 of us. We take the two middle rows stage right ( that's left for you non-camera people). The U of A frat crowd shows with another 47 or so people and fills another 4 rows. On the other side, that would be stage left, is seating 2 more rival frat houses with girl friends and alumni in tow, from U of A. In the middle of the theatre, sit the innocent general public, quiet, unassuming, well ... except for all the drag queens with assorted hotdogs, toast, and various other party favors. Imagine me, serious little farm girl, never exposed to a big city RHPS audience. I would bet I was staring slack jawed at the costumed crowd. Little did I know what was about to transpire.
There was a slight delay in getting the picture started, the house lights are still up, the crowd is of course restless but talking quietly within their groups. One of our football crew passes around a message that at the count of three, we're all going to get up and yell something at the far side of rival frat houses.
So the signal comes through, we all stand in unison, and yell and point..... "THE OTHER SIDE SUCKS!" and sit in unison. With 70 or so in our group, doing this in unison, unrehearsed, was a spectacular thing to behold. The gauntlet had been thrown down, it was now game on!
A few minutes later, movie still delayed, the other side gets up, and yells back the same phrase. Now to the little wide eyed farm girl, this was a whole new twist in life to experience. The cascading up and down and taunting went back and forth and then, with excellent secret battle plans that would have done Napoleon proud, both outer sides stood in perfect unison and pointed at the quiet innocent general public in the middle and yelled as loud and theatre shaking as possible "THE MIDDLE SUCKS!" The entire theatre finally burst into helpless fits of laughter and the theatre grew dark immediately and the picture show began to play.
To be truly honest, there was so much going on, I don't even remember the plot lines of the movie anymore. I actually had to rent it when it came out on VHS to see what it was all about. I know I've heard this from many people that did the same. The movie is really silly on it's own, but I will remember that experience forever as one of my great firsts.
The football player, he was long gone to university the next fall. The relationship didn't last of course. We've since reconnected and talk every few months by email.
We all moved on, grew up, got married, got careers, had children, traveled the world, joined the peace corps, played pro football, joined the military, became writers, lawyers, doctors, bakers, butchers, photographers, got divorced, lived, laughed, loved, cried, and laughed some more.
Slowly, we are all finding our way back to each other, thread by thread.
I of course, am remembering this story to you all because this evening I am heading to Rocky Horror Picture Show at the Palace in Kensington. I'll let you know how it turns out. :)
Don't forget to check your Compass!
Cole
I was maybe 16 or so, time escapes me, my first boyfriend was a football player for a high school I did not go to. He was on the defensive line so use your imagination. He was not a small guy, probably 6'3", maybe 240 lbs. I think he was 19 or so. Everyone we knew, played football, built muscle cars, had great house parties, and we cruised the hotrods down 18th Ave because it was the longest piece of road where you didn't have to turn around. (muscle cars are built to go very fast in a straight line, for those of you that don't know how that works.)
We were a very tight knit group, all 23 of the boys + girlfriends. We were always together. Movies, cruising the strip, football, High School Drags at the old race track downtown, and did I mention
football?.
One night, some of the older brothers of a team member were going to the Roxy Theatre to see the Rocky Horror Picture show with a group from their Fraternity at U of A. They invited us along. I ended up being the only girl in the group. Had my parents, grandparents, sisters, aunts and uncles known back then, I would have been in BIIIIGGG trouble, but they didn't and I was safe from punishment for the night of debauchery!
So we get to the Roxy, it's maybe 11 p.m. We're a bit early as we all wanted to sit together, all 24 of us. We take the two middle rows stage right ( that's left for you non-camera people). The U of A frat crowd shows with another 47 or so people and fills another 4 rows. On the other side, that would be stage left, is seating 2 more rival frat houses with girl friends and alumni in tow, from U of A. In the middle of the theatre, sit the innocent general public, quiet, unassuming, well ... except for all the drag queens with assorted hotdogs, toast, and various other party favors. Imagine me, serious little farm girl, never exposed to a big city RHPS audience. I would bet I was staring slack jawed at the costumed crowd. Little did I know what was about to transpire.
There was a slight delay in getting the picture started, the house lights are still up, the crowd is of course restless but talking quietly within their groups. One of our football crew passes around a message that at the count of three, we're all going to get up and yell something at the far side of rival frat houses.
So the signal comes through, we all stand in unison, and yell and point..... "THE OTHER SIDE SUCKS!" and sit in unison. With 70 or so in our group, doing this in unison, unrehearsed, was a spectacular thing to behold. The gauntlet had been thrown down, it was now game on!
A few minutes later, movie still delayed, the other side gets up, and yells back the same phrase. Now to the little wide eyed farm girl, this was a whole new twist in life to experience. The cascading up and down and taunting went back and forth and then, with excellent secret battle plans that would have done Napoleon proud, both outer sides stood in perfect unison and pointed at the quiet innocent general public in the middle and yelled as loud and theatre shaking as possible "THE MIDDLE SUCKS!" The entire theatre finally burst into helpless fits of laughter and the theatre grew dark immediately and the picture show began to play.
To be truly honest, there was so much going on, I don't even remember the plot lines of the movie anymore. I actually had to rent it when it came out on VHS to see what it was all about. I know I've heard this from many people that did the same. The movie is really silly on it's own, but I will remember that experience forever as one of my great firsts.
The football player, he was long gone to university the next fall. The relationship didn't last of course. We've since reconnected and talk every few months by email.
We all moved on, grew up, got married, got careers, had children, traveled the world, joined the peace corps, played pro football, joined the military, became writers, lawyers, doctors, bakers, butchers, photographers, got divorced, lived, laughed, loved, cried, and laughed some more.
Slowly, we are all finding our way back to each other, thread by thread.
I of course, am remembering this story to you all because this evening I am heading to Rocky Horror Picture Show at the Palace in Kensington. I'll let you know how it turns out. :)
Don't forget to check your Compass!
Cole
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Dreaming....
I had a very nice evening tonight. I went to a play with a dear friend. We stopped to meet with another friend and went for dinner to a place I'd never been. To be perfectly honest, and this may come as a shock to some of you. The photographer's life seems very exciting from the outside, but here's the secret. It's not as pretty as it looks. I get to go to all the best parties, concerts, and shows, but rarely do I ever get to sit and enjoy them, or have any meaningful conversation with anyone. My mind is always on the work, getting the action, trying to be sure not to miss a minute because you may miss a superb shot that the client will love. The food is always exceptional, and I am encouraged to relax a bit and try a bite of this or that by my clients, but by the time I can sit down to taste anything, it's usually all gone.
My clothes are usually something simple, like black pants and black top. My attire is built to manage the stresses of a photo shoot. I may find myself perched precariously on the edge of a ladder, stage, or balcony just to get a good shot for my client and I can't have a random nail or sharp edge of said ladder snagging my Prada, so Mark's Work Warehouse is more than enough.
Earlier this week, I was sitting in exceptional seats at the Ballet. It was so moving, I practically had tears streaming down my cheeks from the beauty of it. It was a lovely performance, but that's not what had me so emotional.
In my past life, I was a single mother. There were times we barely had enough money to pay the rent, and regular meals for me were a luxury I couldn't afford. I would go without so my children didn't have to suffer.
As I watched the dancers float gracefully across the stage, leaping and turning like they were born with toe shoes, I remembered saying to myself in the lean years how I wanted my life to be. I had imagined myself sitting at the Ballet, watching the dancers twist their bodies into pliable sculptures, and there I was this week, doing just that. Then tonight at the Theatre watching a play, meeting my friends, going for an 'after theatre bite'. Coming home and hanging up my beautifully designed clothes in my dress closet. These were things I could have only daydreamed of when I was raising my kids alone and here I am living my dreams right now. I loved being invited to an event, and I was encouraged to come without my usual appendage, and to eat, drink, and be merry. Of course those of you that know, cranberry juice is my usual poison and that's about as wild as it gets, but the food and the company were wonderful, and I only missed my camera a little bit.
Would I have been able to appreciate those seemingly innocuous events had I not spent so long in the deprivation chamber of single parenthood, I don't know. What I do know is, I work very hard, for very long hours, for a very long time and at this moment, I am living proof that anything is possible. What are your dreams? Are you living them?
Don't forget to check your Compass!
Cole
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Dateline Calgary!
(Play ominous intro music here) ... Lol!
Those of you that know me well, know I had been studying with Buddha for quite some time before photographing His Holiness, The XIVth Dalai Lama. In my quest to get the #1 on my top ten list, I put myself through a rigorous discipline. I gave up all of my favorite things, caffeine, chocolate, steak, dating, etc. and added daily 3 or 4 hour meditation, happiness, and more compassion and empathy to my life. I lived the regimented life of a Buddhist monk for many years so I could get that photograph and I achieved my goal. What I learned in the process, became even more valuable than the amazing photographs I took.
Since then, I have been slowly easing back into the guilty pleasures of life, one at a time. Wow, I had no idea how much I missed chocolate... or steak. The only one I seem to have had any real trouble re-introducing to my repertoire is the dating thing. My outlook has changed dramatically so my previous default date type has become obsolete. I thought I knew what I wanted in a date/mate but every man I am introduced to seems to be lacking in one department or another. I had a heart to heart conversation with a very down to earth and dear male friend the other day. He told me very honestly, that I needed to stop thinking I can have anything meaningful with regular guys. I was a little shocked at first, as I have always considered myself a prairie girl from small town Alberta, and I am just a regular girl at heart. He reasoned that my life has been anything but regular, my experiences are over the top, and most regular guys seem a little dazzled by the shiny glamour of the industry. At first, they try to keep up, but in the end, they slink away with their tales between their legs.
I have recently had a few brushes with some men that were on the margins of the celebrity industry, and they really just wanted to connect with me to get closer to some of the names on my client list to further their own agendas. There is something to be said for networking, but just dating to connect to circles that are way above your station and ability to converse is a little slimy. I have returned home from a few of these encounters feeling like I should burn my outfit in the fireplace and throw on some sage for good measure! Seriously thought about bringing in a priest to do an exorcism on my belongings after the last one! Lol!
In the photography industry, you meet a wide cross section of the human race. You work with other artists, athletes, business executives, homeless people, housewives, celebrities, children, seniors, singles , and animals. Rocks, sticks, trees, and plant life can look pretty friendly after a long day of photographing active teenagers. In this cross section of the human condition, I am blessed to work with some very gifted and giving human beings also. It's in these moments that I really feel I know what I want out of the rest of my time here in this life. Not too long ago, some one I know and respect made a facebook comment about how you can have everything in life you could possibly want and yet still feel lack of satisfaction. This is something that really hit home with me. One thing I do know, I refuse to waste another minute of my precious time unfulfilled.
So I decided I'm not going to search out Mr Right, Mr Right Now, or even Mr Kinda Cute. I'll maybe put the dating idea in the box in the back of my closet, ( under my favorite pair of ripped up college fraternity sweats). If a man with a pure heart, who knows what PURE LOVE means, drops out of the sky, maybe we'll go for Chai and it will just all make sense. Until then, I think I'll stick with my camera cause it came with instructions and I can return it for a new one if it starts doing dumb things! Lol!
Have a great Sunday and don't forget to check your Compass!
Cole
Those of you that know me well, know I had been studying with Buddha for quite some time before photographing His Holiness, The XIVth Dalai Lama. In my quest to get the #1 on my top ten list, I put myself through a rigorous discipline. I gave up all of my favorite things, caffeine, chocolate, steak, dating, etc. and added daily 3 or 4 hour meditation, happiness, and more compassion and empathy to my life. I lived the regimented life of a Buddhist monk for many years so I could get that photograph and I achieved my goal. What I learned in the process, became even more valuable than the amazing photographs I took.
Since then, I have been slowly easing back into the guilty pleasures of life, one at a time. Wow, I had no idea how much I missed chocolate... or steak. The only one I seem to have had any real trouble re-introducing to my repertoire is the dating thing. My outlook has changed dramatically so my previous default date type has become obsolete. I thought I knew what I wanted in a date/mate but every man I am introduced to seems to be lacking in one department or another. I had a heart to heart conversation with a very down to earth and dear male friend the other day. He told me very honestly, that I needed to stop thinking I can have anything meaningful with regular guys. I was a little shocked at first, as I have always considered myself a prairie girl from small town Alberta, and I am just a regular girl at heart. He reasoned that my life has been anything but regular, my experiences are over the top, and most regular guys seem a little dazzled by the shiny glamour of the industry. At first, they try to keep up, but in the end, they slink away with their tales between their legs.
I have recently had a few brushes with some men that were on the margins of the celebrity industry, and they really just wanted to connect with me to get closer to some of the names on my client list to further their own agendas. There is something to be said for networking, but just dating to connect to circles that are way above your station and ability to converse is a little slimy. I have returned home from a few of these encounters feeling like I should burn my outfit in the fireplace and throw on some sage for good measure! Seriously thought about bringing in a priest to do an exorcism on my belongings after the last one! Lol!
In the photography industry, you meet a wide cross section of the human race. You work with other artists, athletes, business executives, homeless people, housewives, celebrities, children, seniors, singles , and animals. Rocks, sticks, trees, and plant life can look pretty friendly after a long day of photographing active teenagers. In this cross section of the human condition, I am blessed to work with some very gifted and giving human beings also. It's in these moments that I really feel I know what I want out of the rest of my time here in this life. Not too long ago, some one I know and respect made a facebook comment about how you can have everything in life you could possibly want and yet still feel lack of satisfaction. This is something that really hit home with me. One thing I do know, I refuse to waste another minute of my precious time unfulfilled.
So I decided I'm not going to search out Mr Right, Mr Right Now, or even Mr Kinda Cute. I'll maybe put the dating idea in the box in the back of my closet, ( under my favorite pair of ripped up college fraternity sweats). If a man with a pure heart, who knows what PURE LOVE means, drops out of the sky, maybe we'll go for Chai and it will just all make sense. Until then, I think I'll stick with my camera cause it came with instructions and I can return it for a new one if it starts doing dumb things! Lol!
Have a great Sunday and don't forget to check your Compass!
Cole
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
The business of running a business...
When I first decided to be a photographer, I was about 14 years old. Those of you that know me, well ... let's just say that was a really long time ago.
It wasn't something that anyone did or said, not really, it was more about the camera. It was like a natural extension of my hands. I liked the feel of it, the sound of the shutter clicking continuously. I liked being able to catch the light just right on some random subject. Mostly, I enjoyed showing someone or something in a situation they/it wouldn't normally be seen in. I still love it.
The pay is marginal at best, most people don't understand what it takes to make a picture a sellable image so they don't value the work. I recently was chastised by a stranger for having high prices, when I did my research, I was on the low side of the range compared to my colleagues with the same years in the trenches. In another life, I can make $15,000 per image. I was told by an agent when I was in my 20's that I 'didn't have the right equipment for that kind of paycheque'. I was still a little innocent and checked my camera bag against all the big name pro gear at the time. Back then it was still the good 'ol boys club and women in the competitive sports and wildlife field were rare. I really didn't have the right equipment. Lol!
I don't really worry about the paycheque so much anymore, although I do like to get paid for my work, I love photographing the events for not-for-profit, they tend to treat me really well and appreciate my work. I've photographed some pretty impressive people, almost have my 'Top Ten' list covered. Everything I set out to do, I usually get it done in a short amount of time.
After I captured my most current 'Top Ten' subject from my list, I am looking for something more from this profession. I have decided to organize all my catalogue and find my best stuff. I have 5 BIG boxes of film negatives and slides to sort through. Hundreds of hours of digital files to peruse. This may be a big project!
My agent in Toronto suggested a Gallery show. I thought this was a little funny coming from a guy who doesn't really try to hard to get me work.
Honestly, if I did a gallery show, I'd have to go after a new subject. Most of my work is editorial and historical, not splashy enough for a full on show. After thinking about it, meditating on it, and sleeping on it, I have found my subject. It is risque, controversial, and could get me black listed from some circles. I must do it!
I will keep my blog updated every step... I promise to wake you if you snore! Lol!
Hey, don't forget to check your Compass!
Cole
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Fan Mail ...?
Today, I went to my mail boxes to pick up my bills. It's dawned on me that all my greetings and letters from friends come electronically. In the past year I have received maybe two actual pieces of letter mail that were not about money or someone asking me for a favor. I have received all my birthday greetings and holiday cards by email for a few years. As much as I am all about the environment and being eco-responsible, There is something wonderful and exciting about getting a card or letter in the post-mail.
Many years ago, I knew a soldier. He was deployed overseas and we used to write often. I saw the movie Dear John a while ago and it brought those memories of his letters back to me. We numbered our letters too. There were times when he couldn't write as he was posted somewhere where they were doing something important and it wasn't easy to get letters out. I would keep writing and telling him stories of where I was, what part of the world I was in, what the word was on our mutual friends. He would come back from whatever scary place he was saving from the "evil doers" and have a bunk full of letters and not know which one to open first. He said it was like having a really tough work week and having Christmas waiting for him on his bunk every time he came back.
One day his letters stopped coming, I never knew what happened to him. Trying to get information about a special forces guy and where he might be, or if he even is still breathing is like trying to make the Buckingham Palace guards laugh in London. When you are not related by blood or by marriage they don't disclose anything at all. This soldier saved my life once, many years ago, but that's a whole 'nother story. I grieved the loss and lamented that I was never able to properly thank him for his sacrifice on my behalf.
So ... at my mailboxes today, imagine my surprise to have a notice from the post office that they have a bag waiting for me. So as I'm waiting patiently at the counter for the 'postmistress' she hauls out this big ugly box stuffed to the laces with letters. From everywhere. I spent my day rifling through the most interesting looking ones and some were in languages I haven't learned yet, so I put those aside to see if they can be translated. So far, there isn't anything naughty, but there have been some questionable suggestions.
I wasn't sure why all the fan mail but it was forwarded from a private publication I submitted my work to overseas. Apparently their readers liked my work and now I have international fans.
It was like Christmas all over again. People say some really nice things when they appreciate your work.
Although I am a photographer and most people never see my face, only my work and my photo credits, so the letters are the only way they can contact me. I am not easy to find, according to those that have tried. I took them to the studio of one of my colleagues for some tea and a discussion about what to do with it all. Do I answer them? After looking at the majority of them, they are not asking a lot of questions, just expressing their thoughts on my work.
This brings me back to my soldier boy. Imagine a soldier's worst possible work week, what would that consist of? Could I face what they face on a daily basis? Could I give my life for another or to protect my 'brothers'?
While you're thinking of this, write a letter to a soldier in Afghanistan, and post it to the following;
Many years ago, I knew a soldier. He was deployed overseas and we used to write often. I saw the movie Dear John a while ago and it brought those memories of his letters back to me. We numbered our letters too. There were times when he couldn't write as he was posted somewhere where they were doing something important and it wasn't easy to get letters out. I would keep writing and telling him stories of where I was, what part of the world I was in, what the word was on our mutual friends. He would come back from whatever scary place he was saving from the "evil doers" and have a bunk full of letters and not know which one to open first. He said it was like having a really tough work week and having Christmas waiting for him on his bunk every time he came back.
One day his letters stopped coming, I never knew what happened to him. Trying to get information about a special forces guy and where he might be, or if he even is still breathing is like trying to make the Buckingham Palace guards laugh in London. When you are not related by blood or by marriage they don't disclose anything at all. This soldier saved my life once, many years ago, but that's a whole 'nother story. I grieved the loss and lamented that I was never able to properly thank him for his sacrifice on my behalf.
So ... at my mailboxes today, imagine my surprise to have a notice from the post office that they have a bag waiting for me. So as I'm waiting patiently at the counter for the 'postmistress' she hauls out this big ugly box stuffed to the laces with letters. From everywhere. I spent my day rifling through the most interesting looking ones and some were in languages I haven't learned yet, so I put those aside to see if they can be translated. So far, there isn't anything naughty, but there have been some questionable suggestions.
I wasn't sure why all the fan mail but it was forwarded from a private publication I submitted my work to overseas. Apparently their readers liked my work and now I have international fans.
It was like Christmas all over again. People say some really nice things when they appreciate your work.
Although I am a photographer and most people never see my face, only my work and my photo credits, so the letters are the only way they can contact me. I am not easy to find, according to those that have tried. I took them to the studio of one of my colleagues for some tea and a discussion about what to do with it all. Do I answer them? After looking at the majority of them, they are not asking a lot of questions, just expressing their thoughts on my work.
This brings me back to my soldier boy. Imagine a soldier's worst possible work week, what would that consist of? Could I face what they face on a daily basis? Could I give my life for another or to protect my 'brothers'?
While you're thinking of this, write a letter to a soldier in Afghanistan, and post it to the following;
Any Canadian Forces Member
Op Athena
PO Box 5058 Stn Forces
Belleville ON K8N 5W6
Op Athena
PO Box 5058 Stn Forces
Belleville ON K8N 5W6
It may not seem like much, but it may make the difference between a good day or a bad day in a tough work week. Just a suggestion.
Hey! Don't forget to check your compass!
Cole
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Conversations with a crustacean...
I was out getting groceries today, and standing in line behind me was this attractive young couple. They had just popped in to pick up some ingredients for a fabulous cozy dinner for two. Some healthy choices and a couple of fresh lobsters.
The lobsters were packaged in a bag and apparently still live and squirming about. The guy was talking to the girl in this squeaky little voice that sounded remarkably what I would imagine lobsters could sound like if they spoke english. He had this poor girl in stitches laughing herself silly in the line up. Eventually the whole line up was smiling and adding their two cents worth of a lobster conversation. The one restless lobster was bargaining for his life, one minute it was suggested he would be a great pet, then he could be a great substitution for the pool boy, and finally he would walk the dog. The line was not unreasonably long, but I have a suspicion that the cashier was listening more to the group stand up routine and maybe was moving a little slower to prolong the banter.
As I drove away from the parking lot, more goofy lobster conversations went through my head and I was chuckling all the way home. I bet every one else in the line up was too. What a great way to end a cold blustery Sunday evening.
Don't forget to check your Compass!
Cole
The lobsters were packaged in a bag and apparently still live and squirming about. The guy was talking to the girl in this squeaky little voice that sounded remarkably what I would imagine lobsters could sound like if they spoke english. He had this poor girl in stitches laughing herself silly in the line up. Eventually the whole line up was smiling and adding their two cents worth of a lobster conversation. The one restless lobster was bargaining for his life, one minute it was suggested he would be a great pet, then he could be a great substitution for the pool boy, and finally he would walk the dog. The line was not unreasonably long, but I have a suspicion that the cashier was listening more to the group stand up routine and maybe was moving a little slower to prolong the banter.
As I drove away from the parking lot, more goofy lobster conversations went through my head and I was chuckling all the way home. I bet every one else in the line up was too. What a great way to end a cold blustery Sunday evening.
Don't forget to check your Compass!
Cole
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