Laughter is the best medicine...

Growing up in a rural setting, one tends to have experiences that are not the average for the regular city kids. Here's one that always makes my Mom tear up with laughter whenever she has to tell it. I'm thinking from an adult perspective it seems quite a bit funnier than when I was 4.  At 4, this was serious business.

I'm playing outside on the lawn, we had a lawn that was a few acres back then so there was a lot of room. My Dad was home and working in the garage. Every so often I could hear a few interesting words and the sound of a wrench or a hammer falling on metal. I thought this would be a perfect time to go tell my Dad I was home and see what he was up to. Sometimes, Dad would give me a hammer, a box of nails, and point me in the direction of his scrap woodpile and tell me some random thing he decided it would be imperative that I build for him right away. Dad was no dummy. He knew how to keep me busy for hours.

I'm outside building a bridge for the duck pond we had yet to build, with 2" x 6" scrap bits of spruce... this bridge was going to take a while. When I look up from my intensive labors, my middle sister ( I have 4 older sisters ) is standing there glaring down like she has the most dire news to impart to me. She informs me that the ant bait in the little round can, just behind me is poison and if I touch it, I am taking a trip to "The Happy Hunting Grounds". That means dead for those of you not familiar with Bugs Bunny trivia. I give her my most annoyed look my four year old attitude can muster and continue on with my work. What seemed like a few hours later (but at 4 how long could that really have been, maybe 15 minutes?) I am bored with my task, I'm guessing Engineering was not in my future at this point, and I decide to hop across the double wide opening for the swinging barn doors on the garage. In the middle of aforementioned garage door threshold, is a 2 inch round can of ant bait. As I am swinging on the doors and jumping as far as my little four year old legs can carry me, my fingers lose their grip on the big wooden door and I slip. My tiny toes landed on the little can of death and as nimble as Baryshnikov, I leaped back on to the door and stole a glance at my Dad to see if he noticed. He was busy fighting with some contraption or another that he was building. My super brain started to digest the facts, I was swinging from the garage doors, probably that alone would be frowned upon by everyone for starters. I landed on the can of ant bait, granted it was only for a second and I was wearing socks, thick sturdy farm boots, and don't forget the really cool welding goggles that my Dad let me borrow... Lol! But still, I TOUCHED the can of ant bait. I quickly came to the conclusion that I was on my way to the happy hunting grounds. I must have turned 50 shades of white in a short amount of time as I dragged my dying feet across the yard and into the house to say goodbye to my Mom and wait for the end to come.  Would it be slow? Would it be fast? How will I know when I'm dead? All these things were playing through my head as I slowly took off my boots at the kitchen screen door, hugged my Mom while she was baking bread, and went to lie down on the sofa and wait for my last breath.

A short time went by and my Mom's  'spidey senses' were tingling that something was up so she felt a look was in order. She walks into the living room, and there I am. Lying on my back on the sofa, stiff as a board. The blanket my Great Aunty had knit tucked up tight under my little chin, my arms crossed solemnly across my sobbing chest. My face was white as a sheet, now Mom didn't know the story yet so she's wondering if I did something bad and am worried about getting in trouble.

She comes over to ask what I did and in my littlest voice, I burst into tears and strangled out that I was going to "The Happy Hunting Grounds" and then between broken sobs, a lot of sniffling, and questions, I managed to squeak out my story of the swinging on the doors, the ant bait, the happy hunting grounds, the slipping from the door onto the ant bait, ( might I add that even back then it was a childproof container). You would have had to  #1  shake it pretty seriously to get any of the bait to fall out of the teeny little holes made only for ants to crawl into. #2  you'd have to ingest a serious amount of the microscopic pellets to even get something more than a little upset stomach. So here I am totally destroyed by my perilous predicament, and my poor mother is trying to keep a straight face. At one point, I think she left the room to get some tissues for me and I could have sworn she was snorting while trying not to laugh too loud from the other room. Having already raised 4 curious and often precocious daughters, this must have been somewhat of 'old hat' for her. Maybe not quite so dramatic though.

I had totally forgotten that old story by the next day until one day, a few years back, my family was all together. My Mom decided she had to tell this story ( before she had the stroke ) She was laughing so hard in the retelling, she could barely get out the words. With everyone watching her laugh so hard, they of course started laughing too. Not so much from the story as Mom was quite hysterical, she was barely making sense, but from her enjoyment at the comical sight of 4 year old me with my arms crossed as if in my casket already. Eventually, when the laughter died down, and I crawled out from behind the sofa, everyone in the room had seriously exhausted themselves from the comedy routine and new stories were remembered and the retelling of those brought out more hilarity and jovial kinship. The bonds of family healed over laughter, old wounds cleansed of scarring by a new adulthood version of a child's folly. Seeing yourself as a child through your own adult eyes can be quite cathartic.

There are hundreds more stories and time to tell them all so don't forget to check your Compass!
Cole

New or Used....?

 I am currently shopping for a new vehicle. I have been driving my Dad's 1991 Jeep Comanche since April of last year.  I gave the last little pick-up truck to my daughter to drive and she, being the smart, sharp business mind I raised her to be, promptly sold it to her boyfriend for $2000.00.

The Comanche is barely stock, no radio, CD player, or Bluetooth. Manual transmission, bench vinyl seat, and plain white. It had 31,000 original km on it when I started driving it, it's been quite mechanically sound until recently. During one of our last snowstorms, I had to jump a snow bank out of my driveway to get to an assignment and I think I lost a chunk of the already thin exhaust pipes right up under the driver's side. This can't be good for the truck. It loses power going up hills, and is making the trip to my friend's shop on 16th a little tedious in the early morning hours.

I started looking in the last few weeks. I briefly thought about resurrecting my dream of a little black zippy sports car. My girlfriends all talk wistfully about the perfect little black dress and I am daydreaming of ripping up the mountain passes at ungodly speeds in my little black sports car. (while wearing my little black dress and stilettos. Lol!) I shopped around for something sporty for only a short time. I checked out a few older Porsche Boxters that were well cared for, a Pontiac Solstice, a few other convertible rocket ships, and then the practicality of the situation became evident. I needed a vehicle I could carry my gear in. The little zippy black sports car faded away into the mist waving it's windshield wipers goodbye as it zoomed away into the fog. (insert big mellow dramatic sigh here)

Hmmm, the practical vehicle. What should I choose? I had the big shiny SUV and loved it until it started falling apart after 4 solid years of hockey tournaments and ski races. Many friends suggested the Range Rover Sport as a suitable candidate, I smiled and politely reminded them of the current budget, then we quickly moved on to the next category. I toyed with the Ford Escape, the Nissan Pathfinder or Rogue, a VW Beetle, Golf, or Jetta. Then we touched on the Smart Car, the inevitable Toyotas, and even looked into older BMWs and Mercedes. What does one do when one is faced with so many choices? I called my insurance broker and asked what vehicle has the best insurance rates for a skilled driver, no accidents or speeding tickets, or demerits in 26 years of driving. I was schooled on the process by my agent. Did you know that the resale price of replacement parts is the first thing that is considered in the price of your insurance? Some car manufacturers prices are so outrageous that the insurance broker said quite plainly "don't even think about that one."

I now consider myself educated about these choices and am on the hunt for my slightly older new car. It isn't likely that it will be zippy or sporty, but hopefully, it will fit all my studio gear when I need to take it on assignment, both my kids when we need to go make the obligatory visit North to the family, and maybe a few friends for a day trip to hike in Kananaskis or Banff. I'd like to have one that will fit the kayak and gear when I feel the need to be on the river too, but maybe I'll settle for a decent roof rack. (umm I'm sure the Porsche Boxter is out of the running with that task anyway. Lol!)

I'll let you know what the final choice is, but don't wait up! This could take a while. Lol!

Don't forget to check your Compass!
Cole

Mom's day ...

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!

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

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

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

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