I have a secret ...

I was recently in Hollywood with some dear friends, where I discovered a part of my past I had forgotten. Well, let me correct myself, a part of my past I had buried. I buried it so deep as to never be heard from again. It all came whooshing back to show it's face in a matter of seconds with the mere mention of a name.

Let's start at the beginning then so we're all an the same page. When I was a little girl, I always knew there was something bigger than the little tiny eye blink of a town that I grew up in. My grandparents were successful enough, my Hippie parents were, well, hippies. I experienced both sides of the financial spectrum but all at once. Talk about confusion... but I knew which one I identified with the most. I also knew which one taught me to survive when it was crucial. The finer points of this story will be in the book anyway... so let's move on.

As a child, I had a certain gift that no one recognized or chose to recognize until I was in elementary school. I did not have the opportunity to take the necessary steps to gain an education in this pursuit. My Hippie parents would never allow the expense, or quite possibly the risk of failure. We were all supposed to grow up, be secretaries, until we met a decent enough railroad worker and got married and popped out a succession of offspring who could work the little farm, raise homegrown crops of vegetables and a sheep or two. Wow... I sure must have been a shock when I showed the early signs of being an artist. My wax crayon drawings of tigers, underwater scenes, and horses were not encouraged once I started making murals 2 feet up the walls of our little cottage. Did I mention I could sing? Probably much better back then than now. I had the freedom to roam around our secluded little farm and sing my heart out to the trees, the sheep, especially the dog. He was a great audience and only needed a few dog treats to keep him sitting for the whole show. I sang in church every Sunday when my Mom would take me. My sister's or my Dad weren't much for the church thing, but I went because I could sing and no one told me to shut up, put a lid on it, or made me feel bad because I could sound like Barbara Streisand at the age of 5 and they did not.

When I reached elementary school, I sang everyday. Music and art were my favorite classes, Language Arts a close second because I loved to write. They were my escape from an often unpleasant life at the little hippie cottage and my teachers encouraged and prodded me to sing louder, use more color, and write whatever came in to my head. They cared enough to decide I needed to be a soloist in the Kiwanis Music Festival in grade 1. They made time in each school day because they knew I would never get the time or the help to rehearse at home. They brought in a substitute teacher to manage the grade 4 class so the grade 4 teacher could come and play piano for me a few times a day. We rehearsed while everyone else was outside at recess. I didn't mind, I loved to sing. Looking back now, I was really amazing for a little kid. Back then for me, it was just fun, and I could escape the bullies on the playground. In the school gym, with my teachers, I was safe, loved, and encouraged to greatness. The outcome and details of the festival, I'll leave for the book, but it made a lasting impression on me. So much so that it followed me into adulthood until recently. Also in the book.

I worked a few jobs to pay for professional vocal coaches through my teenage years. My family did not support the arts, nor did they support need to create and express. It came out in other ways, of which they also could not tolerate. I had the coolest vocal coach at 14 years old. She was loving and supportive, much like my elementary teachers. She had a radio program on every Christmas where her students were able to showcase and perform once per year on live radio. She was adorable. After a few lessons, I had trouble getting a ride to her place on a regular basis. The bus was just too far out of reach for me at that time so she suggested I go to Giovanni's Music on Whyte Avenue and order a certain book. She also said after a few lessons, I had perfect pitch. She intentionally made mistakes on the piano to see if she could catch me but each and every time, my notes were true and clear, so this book, she said, would assist me when I couldn't be there for lessons. She admonished a family member, who drove me there once, that I had a gift and if they did not support my gift, they should be ashamed.
The book came with a vocal track, diagrams, and amazing coaching. I studied that book from cover to cover, did the vocal exercises daily, and religiously, much to my family's chagrin. One of my sister's once shut off the electricity in the house so I couldn't rehearse. It was strange to have this support from complete strangers but never from my own family. This book was a lifesaver for me, a great source of comfort in my artistic struggles and the man who wrote it has been on my Top Ten List of 'must photograph subjects' since I first picked up a camera. Incidentally, the camera became a close rival of music about the same time.

Let's skip forward to my recent trip to Los Angeles, CA. I went with my friends to a meeting at the Paramount lot and we passed a man on my way out that looked a little familiar. It didn't dawn on me who it was until we were in the offices for our meeting. The young man we met with is a great filmmaker and one I believe will be an Oscar winner in the near future. His recent entry into THE Sundance Film Festival was a winner and was also up for 3 Independent Spirit Awards a few days ago.
As were were all discussing our mutual acquaintances and his recent trip to Calgary for the launch of the Teenaged Paparazzo film, he mentioned that a very dear and longtime friend of his just left the office. Seth Riggs. Yes, non other than my long distance vocal coach. Vocal coach to Julie Andrews, Ann Margaret, Stevie Wonder, Micheal Jackson, the late Whitney Houston, and many, many other gifted artists. I was actually the only other person in the room who knew who he is. He is not an 'in-the-spotlight-guy' unless you train vocally so I did not feel that was unusual. My filmmaker friend said, we had to set up a meeting. I had to meet him. I was almost overwhelmed and had to sit quiet for a minute.
The day for our meeting with Seth Riggs was packed into an already full schedule. I was getting a little antsy, even though the people we were meeting with already were no small potato's either, but people I had met with on our previous trip, and will likely meet again for many years.
Finally came time to go to his house. We arrive, he is gracious and genial, welcomes us in. Normally better manners would prevail but I was so nervous, I had to sit down immediately. Now considering I spent two days in the presence of His Holiness, The XIVth Dalai Lama and really wasn't nervous at all then, this nerves thing was a bit of a shock. The meeting was short as we were delayed arriving, but my filmmaker friend made sure I was able to get my pictures as well as a picture of me with Mr Riggs. He is the magic behind the talent of many of the worlds best and brightest and another moment in time that will be replayed in my memory for many years to come.
SO yes, my secret. I can sing. Although the promise I made when I had my children was to let go of music and be a good mother, did not make it easy to cultivate my gift. I again, had to have my creative outlet and I chose my camera and a life overseas with my children. My vocal chords are now rusted and scarred from lack of use, the notes don't pour out as smoothly or sweetly as they once did. I still hear the notes in my head as perfect pitch but the lack of exercise doesn't always make them come out as they should. I am assured that with practise and the right coaching, I could have them back at will.
I dug out that old book the other day. When my daughter, at 3 years of age displayed the ability to sing a song, note for note, word for word, I replaced the old cassette from the back of the book with a CD. The book is dog eared and tired looking but the information and exercises in it are still as true as they were back then. Both my children are blessed with musical ability, but chose an easier road to make a living.

I was in the laundry room in my building the other day. The acoustics are almost decent enough to practice in. With the washer and dryer going simultaneously, I was sure no one could hear me... so I sang. I sang the kids favorite Disney songs because those were the ones I could remember notes and words clearly. When I finished my repertoire, I heard the mumbling and clapping from the doorway of the basement laundry. My warbling did not go un-noticed or un-heard. After a few minutes of embarrassed laughter from me, the compliments were forthcoming. I collected my clothes and sheets and returned to my floor, shut the door of my flat behind me and leaned against the door with a sigh and a smile. After a few weeks of travelling and laundry to catch up on, I'm sure I'll have a return engagement there the next 5 nights. Thank you and Goodnight Calgary!!!!!

Don't forget to check your Compass!
Cole

Doing what I love everyday!

I'm in a place where the music from 100 years ago is still relevant today. Where not much has changed in the last 50 years. Where the differences of culture, class, or color don't matter. I'm talking about the Blues folks. Not the blues of depression or chemical science, but the Blues of the heart and soul.

I have stood where Elvis walked, and sang, where Jerry Lee Lewis pounded out 'Great Balls of Fire' on Sam Phillips piano, and Johnny Cash's deep timbre of vocals layed down 'I walk the line'. Yes, Memphis Tennessee.

There is a competition here once a year where some self proclaimed Blues Aficianados, 100 +/- of some of the most talented singer/songwriters/musicians I've ever seen,  and a few dedicated fans come to pay homage to the dark soul of the music.The competion is fierce. The bands I have seen are something to behold. If we could get half of these players up in Alberta, we'd have a heck of a compliment to our own thriving blues scene. I might add that as Canadians, we can proudly cheer on our own knowing that of the 17 +/- Canadian acts that made the journey, 6 have made it to the finals. I am so proud of our people, we have represented well. I'll let you know how it turns out.
They come from as far away as Australia, The Mojo Webb Band, and Pristine from Norway. France and Italy sent their best. I'd defininately come back to experience this again. As much for the comeraderie of the musicians as the quality of musicianship available. We all roam from club to club, marvelling in each other's talent and individual gifts. Supporting the connections and making new friends. I personally have a case full of business cards for the new aquaintances I've met. Perhaps made inroads to a job or two in the future.

The greatest connection I made has nothing to do with the music industry at all. I met someone here who was one of the people who made a difference to the world in the 60's with the civil rights movement. Our meeting was serendipitous really and will make an excellent column all in it's own, aside from the actual interview about his work and incredible career in changing history. I think the story will be a winner. Meeting him was truely a gift I am incredibly grateful for.

Stay tuned for the winners of the IBC in Memphis, TN and some really great stories of my adventures in the south!

Don't forget to check your Compass!
Cole

The Directions of 2012

Another peaceful afternoon in my neighborhood coffee shop, just waiting to meet with a client I had done pictures for before. While I sit waiting, I'm making my schedule for the new year's projects.
Finish the cosmetic renos on my condo on the river, organize and archive my last years accounting, digital files, and paperwork. My least favorite part of the business end.

I have a few different projects in the works for my photography that will all be revealed in due time, and making the business plan is pretty fun for me. Much more engaging than filing the last year's paper work. My new assistant Andrea and I having phone meetings making room for her in the bigger picture. By the way, Andrea works when she wants and is strictly administration so no, my dear photographer friends, you may not borrow her. She's busy with her family and in school so she really doesn't have any extra time. Any extra time she has, she very kindly donates to me. Lol! (for a price). PS thanks for the great boots AD and I must say, I think I got the better end of that deal.

As I've mentioned before, my last year, and some of the tough lessons are in the past, but I haven't missed the value in the lessons. Once the paperwork is all signed and the work Visa's are in place, I can announce my major projects for 2012. If I start discussing it before the paperwork is done, it usually ends up in file 13... Lol! I can say, I am slowing down on the non-profit stuff more than I expected in 2012. I have my one favorite client that is a mix of profit and non-profit, so my work with them will continue as usual and the projects I committed to before the financial meltdown of 2010/2011. I am focused on rebuilding my financial empire to what it was in the past life, and once that's in place, I will have more time to help out with all the non-profits that need a hand.

The funniest thing hit me while I was travelling somewhere last year. The flight attendants go through thier safety briefing everytime with the same schpiel, and we all pretend to listen but really, we're all making our own mental check list of our luggage, our trip, etc etc. They know no one is listening but they do it anyway because it's the law and their insurance underwriters insist on it. The WestJet staff on the flight down did not do the safety briefing as usual. They added a little bit of a punch to it and made it interesting. As I looked around, I noticed everyone on the plane was really listening and interested. The witty remarks the flight attendants added were serious in nature but sharp and funny in delivery that they immediately had everyone's attention. With all the miles I've logged on airtravel over the years, I have to say, other than the very first time I flew ( more years ago than I can actually remember ) I listened. Want to know what major revelation I had from that briefest of briefings? .... "put the mask on yourself before you place the mask on your (child, wife, husband, partner, companion)". How simple is that?  Make sure you are in a position to help before you step up.

With that basic bit of safety information, I'm planning my next 4 years of business on that same thread. I can continue to help those that I've already committed to because those groups appreciate and value what I can do for them, and really, it costs me nothing but my time.

The direction for me this year especially... Just because I love everyone and want to help everyone, doesn't mean I can, and I better put my mask on before I try and help everyone else, because they will survive just fine if I take care of them first, but I likely will not. Lesson learned.

PS... Don't forget to check your Compass!
Cole

This was a New Years to remember...

There I was with no plans for New Years ... no personal plans anyway. I had a few job offers but the lack of a proper budget prevented me from accepting the work. It wouldn't have even covered my cab fare there and back with all my gear. Frankly I was insulted at the offers available, so I had an invitation to spend it in a beautiful location with just the girls and a few adorable little people... (and when I say little people, I mean children) .

We left on the Friday afternoon and arrived a short while later. The 'cabin' was magnificent. A place I felt so at home in, like I had been there before but truly had never set eyes on previously. In fact I had drawn a picture of something meant to look exactly so when I was a teenager. The stunning views were ones I had had dreams about over the years since I was a girl. Each corner I turned brought a wave of deja vu, but I know I had never set foot there before.

As our midnight approached, we were all relaxed and really had no plan for the evening. Just us girls and the kids. There were no pretty fluffy dresses, masques, or tuxedos. Just most of us in PJ's and wrapped in warm blankets around a roaring fire, laughing with the kids, playing board games, dinner, and a movie. We were so engrossed in the movie, or perhaps half asleep in our cozy stupor, we didn't mark midnight until the neighbors on the iced over lake shot off fireworks. Startling as it was, it sounded like someone was banging on the windows at first. Then we saw the glittery explosions shoot past the windows like rockets in the night.
We toasted New Years and the texts and emails from loved ones far away arrived to all our phones like a tropical rainstorm, hitting us with all the drops at once.

The past year was a mixed bag of blessings, licking the wounds of my lost dream studio space. Rebuilding from the financial losses, which I am reminded of each time I pay a bill, or see the newly made money disappear like Houdini. The ending of weak and one sided relationships, the strengthening of bonds with clients that become trusted friends, and the blessed appearance of new friends that feel like centuries old connections.

With the passing of the old year comes a bright new future. The endless possibilities of this bright shiny 2012 are yet to be realized. I make my new business plan, budget, and forge ahead. Undeterred by the past mistakes I made, acknowledging them, and swearing to not repeat those same mistakes again. My 2012 looks pretty bright, still I have hope and optimism beating in my heart for success, love, and peace. Regardless of the lack of material wealth, I am blessed with a true circle of friends, regular photography clients I have big Buddha love for, and happiness in abundance. My hope for the future is for financial independence ( perhaps I should have picked a different profession.... Lol!), the ability to travel and use my skills to shed light on the issues of the oppressed, endangered, and cultural differences of the other lands we share the globe with, but don't yet understand. I'd like to experience the countries I've already seen, but this time with the eyes of my grown up self, with more money, more time to learn, and less rushing. I'd like to be a Duchess, a baker, a candlestick maker... Lol! Sorry, too much tea today...

I will live with more compassion, empathy, and understanding. I will forgive those that can't forgive themselves, but most of all, I will squeeze every last drop out of life cause that's what it's for. Here's to 2012, may it be a wealthy year full of good things for us all!

Don't forget to check your Compass!
Cole

Last year on this date...

... I was in a last minute decision to move from my beloved new studio. The roof leaked, the repairs were not being completed by the land lord, functionally nor esthetically. The Cafe downstairs had twice almost burned us out. All the people who had encouraged me to open a location so they could book, seemed to vanish into thin air so the money was not coming in as had been promised. I was continually having to transfer from other accounts to keep up. As much as I loved the studio idea, it was proving to be a bigger hassle in the long run. The fire threat was the most uncomfortable thing and it being an old building, it would have gone up in a flash.

I reluctantly had to give notice to my landlord. They were unsympathetic and cold. They were business owners. They did what they had to do to make their justifications and I ended up paying a bigger price tag than I ought to have, just to be free of the albatross. I called my commercial insurance provider and explained the issue, I had said my main concern was the fire hazard of an ill managed Cafe. My agent had scoffed at my concern. Shortly after all of my pricey gear was out of the loft, the Cafe below burnt to the ground. I called my agent to make sure my insurance had been switched to the new address. When she found out about the fire, she was silent and said she would never doubt my intuition again. To this day, I think there is only a shell on the lower floors.

I picked myself up by my bootstraps and forged ahead. Being a mobile photographer was where I started, so back to it I went. Recovering from the financial loss is still a burden I deal with daily. I learned to conservation picture frame from the very best of the best in that field to supplement my income, but the cost of getting to and from work everyday, wore on me, and my dreams of being the photographer I wanted to be were gradually slipping away.

Here we are today, with endless possibilities ahead. Press releases, articles to be published, events to attend and write about, world famous music producers that make extraordinary espresso, iconic authors with book launches, and photo sessions to edit and deliver. My life has been anything but ordinary to this point. In fact, I don't know that I'd be able to manage an ordinary lifestyle.

I have yet to turn down the fantastic offer of a job in Central America that I was heralded for earlier this year. I keep waiting for the City of Calgary, that I love so much, to yield the financial crop I had been hoping for. This abundance has eluded me thus far. The warm Caribbean breezes beckon me still, and every time I have to discount my work yet again, because someone does not value my skill, the call of the warm blue sea builds to a roar in my ears.

After trips to paradise and excursions abroad, I've learned that my skills are far more valuable everywhere but home. I can honestly say I know very few photographers who have said anything different. In fact, most of the musicians I know have the same conundrum. There is one blues artist here in town who had to fight for anyone to recognize him here, and no one paid him any mind until he was signed to a plum gig in the US. His voice is what I think soft butter would sound like if it could make a sound. He is smooth, yet powerful with his delivery. His band and their songs are clever and catchy, very tight musically. He had to be recognized by a foreign entity to be taken seriously here at home. Just for the record, I always knew he was gifted and made mention of it to him frequently enough.

 I have possibly secured an assignment that is turning out to be everything I had hoped for. I am at present waiting for the final word of a start date. It will take 6 months to complete. I'll be in the air more than I'll be on the ground, and maybe even getting paid enough to pay my rent. It is not based out of Calgary, or even Canada. If this is the way, why shouldn't I move to the Caribbean. I can work in every other country just as easily from there... but I love my condo on the river. I love my friends here, my kids are here, my life is here, there is just no regular work here for what I do.

In the end, unfortunately, one can not live on love alone in this society. I could be Buddha-like all I want, but my landlord still wants his rent cheque, the grocery store still wants to be paid for all the food, the electric company does not love me back, and my internet provider does not take trades for photography. Here is my question then... why do people want me to work for free or below standard prices if they themselves don't work for free?

Hey! Don't forget to check your Compass!
Cole

Weirdest photo shoot ever!!!!

I've photographed some pretty interesting things in the past. I'd have to say the most interesting was when Sheikh Hamad took Qatar from his father, Sheikh Khalifa in a 'peaceful' coup d'état. Don't remember what year that was, I think it was in 95. The kids and I were living on the 10th floor of the Sofitel Hotel in downtown Doha. From my hotel room, I could see the whole of the city including the Emiri Diwan. It was eerily quiet for a city that usually wakes up at 4am to beat the heat of the day before 8am. The ports were closed so we couldn't get much more than grilled cheese sandwiches and bottled water for 3 days. That was back when I used a film camera. But those details will be in the book with the pictures I took.

So yesterday, I had a last minute engagement shoot in between the buildings downtown. The couple showed up in separate vehicles, not unusual. They appeared happy and totally immersed in each other. He, a charismatic American upper middle class 30 ish, polished, and well dressed. She, a tall willowy model type, also attractive, polished and well dressed, definitely Western European, well educated, undetermined age due to exceptional plastic surgery. They seemed to need to touch each other, even just slightly through the whole consultation bit of 15 minutes or so. The photo session is going very well. They look like a Ralph Lauren/Vogue advertisement. Our lighting was perfect, their energy and infectious laughter made for easy pictures. They had obviously both been photographed often.

Towards the end of the photo session, a dark car slowly edges to a stop close to our chosen point of location. Two tall, Armani suits step out with briefcases and cell phones in holsters. If you asked me to describe their facial features, I couldn't. But if you looked in any fashion magazine for some square jawed young corinthians, you'd probably have it close enough.

They stand behind me, just watching and talking on their cell phones. Based on their body language and sharp tones, They could have been talking to each other on their cell phones for all I know. We take a 5 minute break and the suits step forward to confer with my male client. The intended bride retires to her car to touch up her make-up for the umpteenth time, and when she returns, the suited bookends, and her beloved, all with the movie star smiles, step over to speak with the future Mrs. beloved. They extract folders and documents and hand her a pen. She reads the first page and her face turned bright red.  She reads a little further, cursed in a couple of languages that I won't repeat, throws the documents at the three smiling underwear models, and storms off to her car. The bookends immediately get on the cell phones. She is now sobbing in the back seat of her rental car, mascara and goo running down her face already. Her beloved is also on the phone, speaking rapidly to his parents, I am guessing.

As I'm watching this unfold, my facial expression must have been similar to what would happen if you were caught on the tines of a fork. I didn't want to be there, to witness this scene of destruction and betrayal. From what snippets I caught of the bookends conversation, the young man and his family had doubts about the girl, or maybe it was just his family. Either way, they sprang the prenuptial agreement on her without notice or opportunity to consult a lawyer. Not sure but she may actually be a lawyer. Hard to tell with all the languages she used while spewing her epithets at the 3. What I find odd is it was done in front of the photographer (me). Isn't this something you would do behind closed doors for this very reason? Or did they think I'd be crass enough to photograph the outburst if it was expected? I did not, in case you're wondering.

So as this is unfolding in front of me, it reminded me of my own divorce many years ago. We didn't have a prenuptial agreement, nor did we need one. I wanted custody of my kids and nothing else. There was no fight, I just wanted to be free from the neglect and careless treatment.

I was also reminded of a not so recent potential boyfriend. We went out a few times but it never progressed into anything meaningful. He was disillusioned about marriage and having to fork over half his estate to his bride of less than a year. I felt a little sorry for him as it sounded like there was potential there for something wonderful for the two of them, but his wounds were still fresh and gaping. I politely declined to be the transitional relationship. Quite recently, he contacted me to meet. He felt the need to apologize for whatever his indiscretions were back in the day. Then went on to say how, when discussing with friends,  how he wanted to get back into the dating scene, he was reminded how I had said if a man presented me with a prenuptial agreement, I would sign it. (Now I will bet my amazing lawyer is reading this and cringing at his computer desk, and I will probably get a lecture about that later). He is delicately trying to broach the subject of dating me for this reason alone, but has yet to pluck up his courage. I am not interested and will have to one day soon, I suspect, gently refuse his overtures.

Back in the day, marriages were arranged as a matter of business between two consenting families, and in some countries, they still are. The financials, disbursements, and transference of property were done by the elders of a village, the ruling families, and later the lawyers and oldest male heirs. Things were decided, right down to where the bride will live out her dowager years. (that's the final years after her husband has since departed this earth.)
The reality is, if you're going to marry in this day and age, you should expect something like a contract, number one, and number two, if you don't have any hidden agenda, sign the stupid documents. Just to note, don't spring it on your bride or groom last minute. Be intelligent, schedule lawyers for both parties and make it official. But do it in private, it's really no one's business what you decide.

I'm standing there scanning the images of the only moments before this blissfully unaware couple were attacked by the blindsiding of a necessary evil. Now entangled by lack of trust immediately equal on both sides, and a possibly intrusive family that now appears like they have been proven correct about the bride's intentions, I stowed my gear, returned the money to the disheveled former bride to be, and walked away. Thankfully, a few days prior, I had photographed a truly happy couple, who had been together long enough, (or already signed their agreement), to trust, love and honor each other. I went back to my editing room to review their pictures, and found myself thinking, there's hope for us all yet.

Don't forget to check your Compass!
Cole

Train People ... part 2

When I am taking the train to anywhere in Calgary, it's always an adventure.

There are times when it's silent, everyone is sitting quiet with their headphones on, plugged in to their electronic devices to get a little privacy before or after a long workday. Then there are days when it's bustling, cramped and noisy, and then on occasion, very rarely, something happens and we all laugh.

One morning, the car I'm riding in is not overly full but every seat on the train is taken at my stop. The next stop, a kid gets on. He's maybe about 18 or 19 years old. Typical snowboarder wear, skate shoes and a hoodie. He has his IPod turned up so loud we can all hear the beat at the other end of the car. (definitely wasn't expecting Beyonce to be blaring from that boy's headphones, he looked more like a GreenDay kinda guy). He looks around very briefly, and stands beside the door.

 So the train jerks and groans to a start and we're all enjoying the sounds of Beyonce as we're rocking along and all of a sudden, a big tough male voice starts screaming obscenities. We can all hear it, but no one's lips are moving and then the voice repeats the same sentence over again after a brief pause. The woman (who's ear is just beside the pocket of this Beyonce listening kid's hoodie) yanks on the kids sweater and tells him his pocket needs a bath cause it has a dirty mouth. This kid is so absorbed in his Beyonce song, his eyes are closed and he's mouthing the words, having his own private little concert... in his head, he's not hearing her. After one more ring, she finally gets his attention and his face turns red as he's fumbling to get the phone out of his pocket ... before it rips into the potty mouth rant one more time. He grabs the phone and accidentally hits the volume button so now it's even louder. By this time we've all clued in on where the noise is coming from and we're all a little embarrassed for the kid and also a little amused. (At least those of us with a sense of humor were amused...) By the time he had finally answered it, we were all laughing out loud, and the poor kid of course can not sit down and try to be anonymous or anything , so he does the next best thing. Tells everyone on the train it's his Mom calling, so everyone please say hi to his Mom. Full train load of people saying hi to his Mom, in some small PEI town. After he was off the phone he told us she'd never been off the island and now she loves Calgary because everyone is so friendly to her little boy, and she thinks he must be safe in such a big city. I'm guessing he changes that phone ringer before he heads home to the Island for a visit.

So, as much as I like to poke fun at Calgary Transit for the poor planning and lack of consistent schedule, it's not all bad.

Don't forget to check your Compass!
Cole