Category — Photography

Bowen Island, May 2010

Two of the great griefs of my life surround a love and church. It’s no surprise really, being that they’re two of the great investments offered us. Over five years a staggering amount of loss overtook, what I had considered, a mountainous faith. Chip by chip the magnanimity I once lived with came to a thunderous fall. I’ve been making my way back, slowly, since then. Through prayer. Writing. Counseling. Conversations. Hitting my head against the wall. Catching glimpses of light. There’s only so much you can do. 

That’s why two consecutive days, a couple of weeks ago, so much caught me by surprise and stumbled me over into a stream of forgotten grace. Questions I’ve been asking for years were answered on the spot.

It began on a Thursday. 

A friend from Ontario and his girlfriend came over to have coffee in the morning, then Madeleine and I stepped out of the house to have lunch with an old friend in Stamp’s Landing. Hugs, smiles and laughter were exchanged as he was introduced to our little girl for the first time. I sat back and basked in his recounting of the past year — new girlfriend, good job, church investment — taking note of his words:

“I’m happy. [Pause] It’s a weighty happiness. There’s a weight to it.”

As our meals arrived, (mine, a bed of spinach topped with candied salmon, and his, a prime rib burger,) he invited us to prayer. A beautiful, accomplished, to-the-nines man praying at waterfront hotspot, aloud. 

“Thank you God for friends, and for new life. Bless this meal…”

Bless. Bless. Bless.

Two broken people. A boy. A girl. A rambunctious toddler between. And hope spilling everywhere. You see, around the same time this friend and I found ourselves in a desert place in our hearts. Tired. Confused. Hurting. Deeply guilt-ridden. Longing. Here he is in a new place, with a fresh, beautiful posture of peace. Surrounded by friends, forging new faith in similar terrain — in a church not unlike the one in his old city. He didn’t give up. He hasn’t. And the spirit of God is blessing his open heart.

Bless. Bless. Bless.

There may have only been a crack but it was all He needed. You can see the joy in my friend’s eyes. Peace. Not striving. Contentment with hope. Dreams for the future. Promise. This is what a God-man looks like.

I am reminded: the church is beautiful.

I leave aflourish.

The same afternoon I spend an hour with half of an inspiring couple of artists training in Vancouver to return to Germany to establish a community arts centre in an old brick factory once used by Nazis during WWII. Light bursting out of the dark and broken. Their synergy is palpable. Their centre, obvious: Christ their hope, beginner and finisher of their faith.

Yes, I am reminded: the mission is beautiful. 

I come home and kiss my husband. Yes. We will see with the same light. 

Yes, marriage is beautiful.

Bless. Bless. Bless. 

Finally, the next day. I decide early to spend the afternoon in Sapperton, New Westminster. I go to meet my girlfriend who’s the new manager at the local java watering hole — Starbucks. We visit. Then I walk. Only to return to share a coffee with my mom. Halfway through our visit a woman with a daughter similarly aged to Madeleine walks in. My mom recognizes her/befriends her. Names and hugs were exchanged. 

This person is a tie to my past. Unbeknownst to my mom who continues the conversation for close to fifteen minutes. This is the girl I’d want to hate. The end. The one. The chapter-ender. A love torn like vellum, scattered on icy winds near Larch Street with no resolve, and ended in her arms. 

As her butter words spilled out, all jealousy, all fear, fled like a sparrow. My heart melted in an instant. 

“Yes, I’d like to meet your daughter. Yes, motherhood is the greatest experience in the world.” Yes. Yes. 

Bless. Bless. Bless.

I wanted to wrap her in my arms. Wanted to stroll away, our babies quietly bundled, and talk with her until the words ran out. I hoped the joy in my eyes made its way home in her arms. To him.

Yes, I am reminded: love is beautiful.

I am lying on wings. I am unwrapped. I am ready. 

Yes.

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I thank Brad Roberts for my new theme song — And It’s Beautiful — from Crash Test Dummies’ new album, OOoh, La La, released this week.

On the Bowen Island ferry last Friday

Life is brimming. 

This past month I had a big birthday and celebrated for a week. First, with a couple of my longest, dearest friends at Raw Canvas where, instead of receiving gifts, I entered into an afternoon of creating a reminder of friendship I can keep for all time. Steph was the daring first to dress the canvas with paint. Then Megan dove in. Then Marisa. Then me. We found a palette, together.

We sipped tea and ate cake and shared hummus. One of us got attacked by a paint gun, all of us dove in to help. Luckily it was acrylic and therefore washable. (Steph you are a silver-haired trooper.) I will cherish this afternoon (and the painting below) for years to come.

Then, the weekend of my actual birthday, Michael, Madeleine and I (and auntie Steph, for the ferry ride!) hopped the smokin’ EARLY ferry (and lucky too! that was the day of the record winds and ferry cancellations) to Victoria. First, we were able to attend the Good Friday service at St. Luke’s where the minister who married us is the rector. (See Madeleine’s first meeting Rvd. Parker below.) 

We spent three luxurious (as luxurious as they can be with a 7-month-old) at the English Inn Resort where they upgraded us from a garden facing room in the main mansion to a two bedroom, two floor town house on the sprawling heritage property. The building out our window was thatched. THATCHED. Crazy.

We spent lazy hours walking through downtown. I even got to spend some time on my own perusing Lower Johnson — the fashion hub of the city. I snagged a sweet chocolate, black and white polkadot dress and a grey knit hat. Michael had his time in the bookstores. We indulged in a private, breathtaking meal at the Rosedale - lamb shank melting off the bone. And Michael spoiled me with thoughtful, thoughtful gifts: a journal from Paper-ya, “Granville Island crack” (aka caramel chocolate brittle) and Bowen Island’s Cocoa West Signature Hot Chocolate from Edible BC, and a beautiful handmade ceramic tile we’d eyed in Vancouver a couple of weeks before. Perfection.

The next weekend some more girlfriends took me out for dinner at Sandbar and topped off the fun with a sparkling cake from Cupcakes (thank you Sara and co!)

The same weekend marked Madeleine’s baptism at our little church: St. Alban’s. Dressed in the Dutch lace gown I wore at my own baptism, she was wonderfully happy as the service took its course. It was a profound morning as the water was sprinkled, symbolizing her joining the family of God. So many of our family and friends were able to attend which was an immense blessing. Thank you to everyone who came. I was able to find time to hand-make little momentos of the day with a type-written thank you from Madeleine and Luke 18:15-17 which reads:

“But Jesus called them to Him, saying, “Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God. Truly I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it.”  

In between all of this, Michael’s parents were in town to take in my sister-in-law Brittany’s grad fashion show. Her technical motorcycle line, Velocity, was amazing, as was the whole show. Michael’s mom also surprised me with a birthday night out at the ballet — Ballet’s BC’s big comeback show, Re/Naissance, which included of-the-moment choreographer Chrystal Pite’s stunning 24. 

Last weekend was the last one out of town for awhile, and I am glad. We spent the better part of Saturday and Sunday celebrating with my dad and stepmom as they marked their 25th wedding anniversary in Whistler. All of the siblings (all seven plus in-laws) were together for what may be the last time for years. One sister is engaged to an Australian (Yay Lynn!) and the other lives south of the border (Las Vegas, baby) and they’re both pursuing permanent residency. The family is spreading its wings… it’s sad but also very exciting as everyone chases love and their dreams.

Cousins Reuben and Jesse Fin with Madeleine

It makes me feel better about our big life plans. Toronto is very much on the table for us. It’s not something I’ve been talking a lot about because, honestly, it makes me extremely sad to consider life away from my family. At the same time, I can see glimpses from time to time of the kind of life and the kind of marriage Michael and I could have in a new place. There is possibility surrounding a huge step like that and it will require a depth of love and trust that I don’t think has been demanded of us yet. This excites me. More on that later.

This has been a whirlwind post, I will leave you with two final shots of Ms. Madeleine.

Have a wonderful day, friends.

“What if the mightiest word is love?”

- Elizabeth Alexander, Praise Song for the Day

Earlier this year I made an important decision. I signed up for a Mother’s Unfolding circle at Pomegranate Midwifery.

For six weeks ten of us newbies gathered around to talk about everything but children. While the three-month-olds gathered at our feet, nursed in our laps and flapped on the floor, we discussed marriage, bodies, careers, sex. Nothing was left off the table. We loved our group so much that most of us decided to keep meeting. So, every Friday at noon I gather with an actress, a pianist, a writer, a hair stylist and a grad student to talk about life plus one. It’s a time we all tremendously cherish.

Last week I had the privelege of hosting the ladies in our little home. Here are a couple of shots of the babes playing on the lovely quilt our neighbour crafted for Madeleine. 

The first shot was adorable:

Then we put a very tired Madeleine in the mix:

Oh dear.

So, it turns out I have way more postcards than I thought. I’m not sure from where I’ve accumulated them all, but there they are:

I’ve decided to send postcards to anyone that’s commented in the last two months, because I am simply enamoured with this project. The more postcards to type, the better!

If you’d like to receive a postcard (complete with a typewritten quote of my choosing) than simply say HI! below and I’ll follow-up to get your address. Know a friend who’d like a random postcard to show up at their door? Send them over…

Tippity-tap-clackity-clack, your resident of-all-trades-jack: Christina

Here in the Terminal City the Olympics have arrived, the sun is making a rare February appearance, and Vancouverites are uncharacteristically Canada-clad. It’s a lovely scene.

So far, thanks to my brother in Whistler, I’ve been able to attend the final dress rehearsal of the Opening Ceremonies which at times reminded me of Cirque du Soliel and left me similarly jaw-dropped. If you watched it, I’m referring to orcas taking breaths through the floor of BC Place. From our vantage point in the nose-bleeds, it was breathtaking. Nelly Furtado and Sarah MacLachlan weren’t too shabby either. 

I’ve been donning my cherry red Olympic mittens with pride as Madeleine and I galavant through Metro Vancouver, and my red Roots hoodie has been getting its share of wear. Oh Canada. 

I’ve only watched a bit of the actual Games because we live in a cable-free home. On my mom’s t.v. I saw Canada pummel Norway in hockey (sorry Hunny,) at our neighbourhood coffee shop I witnessed the Dutch kick-ass in speed skating, and while I got my haircut at a friend’s house yesterday morning, I took in some curling. What I’d really like to see is some big air. 

Last week I spent the better part of a morning with the Billy Graham Rapid Response Team, interviewing them for a piece for Decision. No, they weren’t called in in the wake of disaster (although the first few days of the Games had its share of it.) Instead they are in town to serve with the More than Gold, a Christian umbrella organization, as community chaplains and hospitality volunteers. You know, serving hot chocolate and all that. They were a great bunch, the oldest of which was a spry seventy years. I met them at the base of Canada Place (aka the International Media Centre,) steps away from the Olympic torch, which also happens to be my little sister’s place of work. So, her and I met up.   

Thursday is my big Olympic Day. I am going to bundle Madeleine up in her adorable blue and white sweater (the most Olympic-looking item in her ‘closet,’) comb through downtown and buy her a Quatchi bear. 

Vive les Jeux Olympiques!

His name is Remi, we are having a love affair, and my spouse knows about it. 

He is a Remington Portable. A archetypal typewriter manufactured in the mid-1930s. His ruddy grey body sits squarely in the centre of my coffee table, the focal point of our living room. And rightly so. As a writer married to a bibliophile, words are central in our home.  

And now more than ever. As new mother I have never been so keenly aware of language. Word by word I am naming my daughter’s world. Raffi songs are sung by heart, daily chores are narrated, and tastes, colours, sights and sounds are animated for her sheer delight.

My daughter teaches me each day that, when it comes to words, it is all about the delivery. For instance, plainly announcing “We are going for a walk” receives no more than a glance, while sing-songing the same line results in a mess of wild baby giggles.

Typewriters have a similar effect on me.

It doesn’t matter what words fall into Remi, he makes them beautiful. It’s this beauty, and the love of sending and receiving letters, that inspired my friend Marisa and I to co-found the Vancouver Letter Writing Party last fall. Each month a growing number of us gather for no other reason than to type. Letters are written, brimming with minutiae, and they are beautiful.

These words want to be read. They are climbing up, off of the paper, begging to be stamped, sealed and sent.  

When was the last time you wrote a letter — typewritten or otherwise?

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This post originally appeared on the After Hours blog. 

This past Saturday I spent the loveliest of afternoons in my hometown of New Westminster. Julia (the Chemist) hosted us in her home for our monthly letter writing party. 7 writers and 4 typewriters turned up at her charming apartment in the heritage neighbourhood of Queen’s Park. (View more pictures on the Letter Writing Party blog.)

While New Westminster has its sore spots, it is also a small city with immense charm. The Quay which once anchored the city is going through a complete renovation and will soon be reopened as the new River Market, nestled on the shores of the mighty Fraser. A handful of new condos have already sprung up in and around the downtown core, the construction of a new civic centre is underway, and the City recently purchased 10 acres of property which will soon become additional waterfront parkland. With all of this afoot, the River Market is simply the icing on top… but they need our help! 

If you live in or around New Westminster (or ever plan to visit) please sign your name to the campaign to secure an amazing local grocer at the soon-to-be-opened Market. Let’s call it the Granville Island of the east. ;)

Here’s their appeal:

“We are charging full steam ahead for grand re-opening this summer! We need you to get involved. We are in the final stage of discussion with a prospective anchor grocer. We can’t tell you who yet because of the ongoing negotiations. But, we can tell you it’s a local independent grocer dedicated to the freshest produce, organic foods, and specialty items. At affordable prices. They are super responsive to customer needs and make every effort to source your favourite products. Many of you named this grocer as a favourite during 30 Days of Quay Ideas last year. 

We’d like to show this grocer that there is much love and support for a vibrant food market in our community. To do so, in the next 30 days, we’d like to get 3000 signatures for a letter of support to be forwarded to the grocer. It’s also an opportunity for you to let the grocer know your requests and wishes.”

To add your name to the 3,000 signatures in 30 days campaign, click here. It takes two seconds, promise.

Paris, 2009

Cardus, my favourite Canadian think tank and publisher of Comment magazine, where I frequently contribute, has a new online venture called After Hours. It’s a daily blog interested in ‘issues that affect the architecture of North American public life, including economics, literature, religion, politics, social and scientific innovation (and sundry other things.)’

“Slow for Good,” my first post as a Contributing Editor, went live last Thursday. It’s a bit ‘manifesto-y,’ according to my husband. I get that way sometimes. 

Anyone is welcome to contribute to After Hours. Please, fire off an e-mail if you are interested.