Where will you go and what will you do with your new year?

Broadway and Murray Street, New York City - April 2011

"If you don't like something, change it. If you can't change it, change your attitude."
~ Maya Angelou

I am of the belief that each person is in control of his or her own actions and by extension, his or her own future. If you are unhappy with the location of the most recently placed pin on your map, it's time to do something. Time, which is defined this weekend by the flipping not just of the page, but of the entire calendar! It's out of there! Put up a new one! We're on the brink of a new year and another chance to change our lives and set off in a fresh, new direction! And the best part is... we get to choose which direction that is!

Yes, I am a flag-waving, hand-clapping, sole-stomping fan of New Year's resolutions! I love the buildup and mental preparation involved with deciding which things I intend to realign in the new year. I don't commit to anything groundbreaking, but I do make them relevant and attainable and enjoyable. Why tell myself to do something I don't enjoy? I know that I genuinely revel in nourishing my love affair with words by tending to this blog, so I strive to write more often. I know I feel fabulous when I eat fresh produce and that I am at my strongest physically and mentally when I'm running so I will recommit to this, now that the time sucking (albeit enjoyable) Christmas preparations are no longer dominating my lunch hour.

Now I don't beat myself up over the fact that I typically resolve to change things in my life that "should" be natural or that I "should" already be doing (such as spending more quality time with my kids and remaining calm when things don't work out the way I'd expected) nor do I get twisted up over writing down some of the same intentions as I did last year or the year before that (consume more nutrient rich foods more often)! I simply enjoy the process of polishing off my moxie and allowing it to forge ahead into a fresh new year and see what happens while occassionaly consulting my list of New Year's resolutions!

Besides, when it comes to changing habits and swapping out the details in your life with something more beneficial, I believe that you haven't given up until you've stopped trying. Make a list of things you WILL do... as opposed to things you want to do (it's not difficult to WANT something, after all! and doesn't really effect change!). Then set out to make the daily changes as if you're already doing it. (rather than "I want to eat better" or "I will try to eat better", state it as: "I eat well every day." and then you will be more likely to ensure this statement is true!

Happy New Year to whoever may be reading this! However you ring in the new year, be sure to do it with someone you care about (if you can't be together, pick up the phone and call!) and have fun!!

View from CN Tower

"You see, boys, the world looks much different from up here."

Robin Williams as John Keating in Dead Poet's Society

My kids would talk about wanting to go up in the CN Tower on occasion, even going as far as to state they would stand on its glass floor, but I knew it was just aimless proclamation. We had once attempted to visit the Skylon Tower (and venture higher than its midway game level!) but my oldest held back and admitted that he was too nervous to go to the top, so we both knew that the CN Tower was out of the question. Talk about being aware of your limitations!

It was in May of 2009 that we finally let one of those famous yellow pods whisk us up the 775 feet to the top of the Skylon. The experience of looking down at Niagara Falls and other familiar venues in this illustrious city proved to incite excitement, not trepidation, so I knew they'd be fine going even higher up.

So three months later, on a molten August afternoon, we ascended another 360 feet into Ontario's sky to drink in the sweeping view of Toronto. It proved to be a wonderful experience, right from the beginning. 2009 was the first year that the GO Train provided weekend service from Niagara Falls to Toronto so, as an alternative to driving to a city which was, at that time, relatively unfamiliar to me, we parked at the St. Catharines Via Station and I got to sit back and relax the whole way!

The lineup to secure a spot in one of this tower's pods felt as long as its ascension. I was slightly annoyed at myself for failing to anticipate this... with minimal diversion paraphernalia, it proved to be the only taxing portion of the whole trip. I don't remember exactly how taxing... I just recall that it was a long time for little people to stand in one spot and wait their turn!

But I do remember the rush of wonder that befell their faces upon looking through one of those panes of glass. I was mesmerized myself, only having been up there once before when I was a teenager, so I can't imagine what it must have been like for children whose highest views were typically realised by climbing the steps of a playground slide! We sat at this spot for a long time, our eyes skipping along the tops of office buildings and following insect-like vehicles along ruler-like streets, and even bearing witness to an aerial proposal!

When we followed the steps up to the next level, however, the flame was abruptly extinguished as my oldest caught a glimpse of the glass floor. It was as if reality hit him and he became blazingly aware of how high we were actually standing! My youngest thought it was cool, and when he realised how nervous his brother was, it became even cooler! He sprawled out and looked up at us, which even made my legs a little jittery. The location of my feet in this picture illustrates how much of the the glass I allowed my feet to cover... I wasn't too comfortable with the imagery myself. But my oldest was done. It was suddenly time to go! I guess sometimes the excursion out of our comfort zone is best experienced through a window that is in a position that is familiar to our eyes!

Divinity on the Avenue

While zigzagging around New York City last October, I walked to Central Park by way of the Avenue of the Americas when these two massive creatures, reminiscent of Venus de Milo, intrigued me with their stature at W52nd Street. I stood there looking up at them, their gnarled exterior both grotesque and stimulating, their postures fine examples of that sexy effeminate S-curve, their bronze forms rising out of a paper thin pool of water for all to see. I remember pulling out my faithful notebook and recording the intersection for this one, because I knew I'd want to look it up later! I could just gaze at these imposing ladies for hours... these two and their friend on the other side of the building.

Whenever I'm on a photographic adventure to an unfamiliar city, I ensure that I take a few shots of intersecting street signs along the way so that I can retrace my route on Google Maps upon my return. I vigorously maintain the order of pictures on my SD card for this reason as well, just because I take so many and I like to know what it is that I've captured.

This image initially posed somewhat of a challenge for me to identify. I knew which street they were on, but I couldn't seem to pull them out of any of my online searches. All my efforts seemed to be monopolised by another familiar Sixth Avenue creation, Robert Indiana's LOVE sculpture, with which I was familiar, but not as enthralled... evidenced by the amount of love it received from my lens:

Back to the Venus statues, I did find their exact location on the satellite view of Google Maps. I like being able to see the footprint of the statues, each one living inside of squares on either side of the building:

credit: Google Maps

However, I still didn't know what they were called. I was telling a girlfriend of mine (who happens to vivaciously share my love of Manhattan) about this image I wanted to post, and she reminded me of the option of searching using "Images" instead of "Web". Of course! I had forgotten about that option! So I am happy to report that I have since learned that the sculptures in my photo are entitled Looking Toward the Avenue by Jim Dine. Pleasure to meet you, ladies!

       

 

Fence between The Kirk and The Rooms

Harvey Road, St. John's, NL

Every morning upon awakening, Mr. Lister would shudder at the thought of the task awaiting his attention in the back yard. Burdened with undesireable responsibility, he sulked in his morning shower, rolled his eyes at his dilatory reflection in the mirrored medicine cabinet, and wrung his hands as he puttered down the hall towards the kitchen. He purposely left his faded yellow curtains drawn so that he was not immediately reminded. But his intentions were futile: the neglected task was all but screaming into his hairy ears because he could think of nothing else.

"Paint me! Paint me!! PAINT ME!!!"

When he had acquired his modest but cozy bungalow a few years back, he thought nothing of the abandoned steel fence that spanned the width of his property, tenaciously retaining its bordering function, as archaic and rusted as his own spirit. He decided that the interior of the house provided sufficient coverage from the ravaging Newfoundland climate... a place to watch television, a place to assemble a sandwich, a place to lay his head... it had everything he needed! He had no intentions of ever penetrating the backyard anyway.

But over time, its posture became more evident. He began to see those ruddy posts waving at him, taunting him like every other task he chose to ignore since he retired four years ago. He had become a crabby, lonely replica of the man he used to be, and with nobody in his life to keep him in check, he just accepted whatever mood befell him on any given day.

But then, his self-depreciating attention was kidnapped by the stunningly sweet lady who moved into the old Marsden place next door. He didn't think anyone would ever move in there, much less a witty, capable widow with a zest for life and a flare for landscaping. She introduced herself as Arianna as she deftly trimmed away the overgrown yews that divided her property with his. He would step out onto his porch for his newspaper and find himself lingering in anticipation of a wave or a greeting. His quick darts into the dewy mornings became longer and longer such that he would actually engage her in conversation. Over time, his eyebrows began to lift and the little crook that had been wedged between his eyes had all but disappeared.

He decided that he wanted to brighten up his home and brought in some of the daisies that were growing along his yard, persisting every summer in spite of his grumbling and ignorance. Finally, he wanted to enjoy their abundance and share in their cheerfulness. He was preparing to invite Arianna over for a coffee. He surveyed his humble kitchen and decided that it was acceptable, especially with the happy bunch of flowers perched in a vase in the middle of the table. 

And so it came that on one particularly sunny morning, he unwittingly threw open his kitchen curtains and he saw that which he had been avoiding so feverishly. But it didn't stir up disdain, it created a feeling that had been hibernating for so long that it almost jolted him with its intensity: he felt motivation! He no longer wanted to avoid the onerous task, he wanted to tackle the job and feel satisfaction. And he wanted to see a bold red fence waving at him from his backyard upon awakening every single morning, as quirky and charismatic as his new appreciation for his address... and for life. And so he knew just what he had to do: Paint it.

Dreaming big in the big city

Esquire magazine recently held a call for submissions for original works of short short fiction. The criteria? Stories had to have a count of exactly 78 words in honour of Esquire's 78th birthday. Ten winners would be chosen to win a trip to New York City to attend a fiction workshop, and then one of those writers would receive a writing scholarship for next summer. I decided that this contest contained too many good good things for me to pass up, so I accepted the challenge. It was intriguing and fun working on stories that short that would make sense being that short and I came up with a few possibilities before settling on a favourite.

Well I just found out that my submission was not one of the ten finalists in the contest so I thought it should at least get published here:

New York TenaCity

Otis stepped trepidatiously out onto Madison Avenue, He scanned the crowd, removed his tattered fedora, and tipped it onto the sidewalk. A leather strap secured his saxophone against his body as he wrapped his fingers around its neck, raised the mouthpiece towards his lip, and took a deep breath. Suddenly, he was jostled by a dapper executive. Determined, he regrouped and proficiently weaved Ellington, releasing a smile when he heard the clinking of coins collecting in his hat.

...thanks for reading!



From South Tower to South Pool

World Trade Center Memorial, NYC

My first thought as I absorbed the tidy, minimalist setting of the reborn World Trade Center site was how glad New Yorkers must be to have had this tribute built for them. But as I looked around, I realised that it wasn't just built for New Yorkers, it was built BY New Yorkers. Everyone who shares these zip codes has shared in the loss and rehabilitation whether they lost loved ones in the attacks or not. Having only visited the city a few times and never having had the bittersweet pleasure of seeing the twin towers standing proudly over this tightly woven metropolitan forest, I can't even imagine the journey that these residents have taken to achieve this level of calm. It was eerily quiet but sublimely serene as I walked around... as if visitors were saddened to see what their towering glories have been reduced to, but realising some level of closure and content that they can now visit the site and see peace.

My young nephew who was travelling with me asked me if I thought that something like 9/11 would happen again. I was surprised at how quickly I came up with my response: I told him that the people who did this have already done their damage and probably don't feel the need to do anything else. I wasn't just providing a reassuring answer to an eleven year old.. that's actually my own opinion about it. Reassuring myself as well perhaps? And although the security process to attain entry to the memorial was elaborate and there were police officers and security guards everywhere - patrolling or remembering or both -  there was nothing foreboding about standing there. In fact, I felt fortunate to have secured the opportunity to stand there. It made me further realise that the damage was not only done to New York, but to everyone who believes in goodness... in humanity... in life...

I observed those who had suffered personal loss as they garnered what they needed from their visit: some were photographing the blue directional and identification signs, some were sitting quietly absorbing their experience, others had secured tiny flowers or rosary beads into a recessed letter that was important to them. A young lady next to me was working on making imprints into sheets of paper by colouring over the letters in the name of a loved one. These names were not simply engraved into the metal skirt that bordered each memorial pool - one pool for each tower's footprint - every letter was cut all the way through the sheet, creating a substantial reminder of those who lost their lives in those events ten years ago. I also thought it poignant that the names were not organised alphabetically, but grouped with family, colleagues, precincts, brigades, and other socially relevant assemblies. Close in life, close in memory.

Mather Arch - Fort Erie, ON

On a bright Sunday afternoon in November, I stood in an audience not to applaud a marvellous musical or theatrical performance, but rather to participate in a mass acknowledgement of feats much more revered. I must admit that I hadn't taken part in a Remembrance Day ceremony in several years, but I was just glad to be doing it in 2011, and even more proud that I brought my two young boys along with me. They stood beside me, at times with arms wrapped calmly around my legs, for a long enough period that I supposed they must have absorbed at least some of the emotion and solemn gratitude that was shared by the attending community.

As a mother who frequently runs around, both with and after, these two terrific, busy boys, I held a great appreciation for the young man in my photo who displayed great discipline and patience and maturity in his service that day. Of course this was my perception. As I'm writing this, I am thinking that perhaps he wouldn't consider it that way at all. Perhaps he would tell me that it didn't take a shred of effort on his part and that he is extremely proud to have been given the opportunity to stand there at all.

Either way, he played a poignant part in the ceremony and unwittingly provided me with one of my favourite images from the afternoon that I spent appreciating my freedom.... I mean, even the simple act of being able to drive to Fort Erie and walk across the grass and stand there in witness of this celebration of honour and remembrance is an example of why we need to attend such events, and being there made me feel incredibly proud to be Canadian.

A Vine Weevil checking out Signal Hill

St. John's, Newfoundland

When I contemplate summer's flame flickering its final breaths of vitality, I realise there are two aspects of this occurence that saddens me. And only two: the hibernation of my pedicure and the demise of the bug community.

I don't think I have to elaborate on the first item in any great detail..donning airy footwear that doesn't pinch at the backs of my heels or smother my painted toes continues to be one of summer's great carefree benefits. And I do miss it when I have to envelop my tootsies in cotton and thrust them into rigid walls of leather until springtime.

The second aspect of summer's end affects me pretty significantly, albeit somewhat indirectly. I personally do not have an affinity for six legged creatures.. I can coexist with them but I don't necessarily need to know they exist. I don't want them to feast on my appendages nor do I desire to share my home with them. I appreciate their quiet tendancies as well as the fact that they are two legs short of an arachnid.. but their absence has never caused a void in my life.

Then I had kids. My fourth grader is and always has been one with the bugs: Bug Lover, Bug Hunter, Bug Protector... his title evolves as he grows. And being incessantly curious and enthralled about the little beings, the onslaught of winter induces aggravating, endless, persistant boredom! Without day to day participation in the activities of nature's smallest tennants, he has minimal desire to venture outdoors at all. "But Mom.. there's no nature in winter!!!" he stresses.

Which induces aggravation for me, being vehemently enthralled about winter and all!!!

I admit I feel excited when I spot something that one just doesn't see every day.. even if it is vicariously. My son is proud to remind me that this phenomenon now even extends to spiders! (I'm proud of that as well but I still don't intend to allow one to graze my skin or clothing!) I will call him over upon discovering something crawling along a wall or fence. I'm excited about his passion, even when we are knee-deep in intermission. 

I consulted with him to obtain the name of the little guy, above, puttering along the rock wall that surrounds the Cabot Tower in Newfoundland! My son loves it when he gets to teach me things, and I think he's pleased to have been instrumental in today's posting because without identification, it would still be tucked away in my Drafts.

When on vacation...

One should always block off time in an itinerary to explore the view from the water in your host city (if such an option exists, of course!) Whether it's an intentional touring event that provides a knowledgable, narrated, and sometimes spirited explanation of the various highlights and notorious stories that flavour the city, or simply an alternate, fluid mode of transportation, it is worth the effort! Even if you aren't on the water, sometimes all you need to do is drive around the harbour and voila.. a skyline!

Similar to contemplating an oil painting, standing back and drinking in the view from afar allows you to appreciate the amalgamation of what makes it great! The towering (or sometimes colourfully modest) assembly of buildings that makes up a skyline is sometimes one of the most recognisable and revered images that can be captured of a city (I believe that it ranks right up there with the view from the highest observatory.. ooh I smell another post idea!!). Drifting along its perimeter, through its veins, or right under its arched connectors, one is granted insight into a different aspect of a city's personality, one that compliments what you see as you stand right on the doorsteps at street level and slide your gaze upwards.

I was thinking about this recently, and I realised that I have done the water view in some of the largest cities in North America. And I will do it again.. each and every time such an option exists.

Architectural Tour

Chicago

Duck Tour

Boston

Staten Island Ferry

Manhattan

Rented Powerboat

Toronto

Southside Road

St. John's

© Christine Mastroianni, all rights reserved

The pull of the ocean.

Chapel's Cove, Newfoundland

June 2011

Something magical happens at the ocean's fringe. You feel its pull and its monumental strength, even as your feet remain dry. Common knowledge is burnished away.. you struggle to recite everyday facts such as your address or the current day of the week. Such details matter little here. You brain becomes refreshingly aired out, allowing your thoughts to flow freely in and out of your mind as opposed to taking up valuable cerebral real estate. Your breath is drawn in deeper and your eyes are focusing on the horizon or not at all. It's just a blissful state in which to be immersed. The only questions on your mind are 'how far can you throw'.... who can hit that block of driftwood first'.... 'how many waves come in between the really big ones?'.... (by the way, the consensus is seven)

It always intrigues me how content and occupied my boys are while standing upon a Newfoundland beach - far removed from the familiar faces of their peers and the usual double screened electronic stimulants. This is part of the marine magic I mentioned a few lines back. It is relieving not only to see them enjoying themselves in such a natural and unrestricted, undefined environment, but to learn that such a phenomenon is even possible. (Okay I exaggerate a little, but it is still wholly and genuinely refreshing!!)

The beach in this photo is the only sandy beach I think we've visited.. at least in a long time. The ones near my parents' home in Conception Bay are abundantly occupied by orbed geological inhabitants of varying shades of grey and copper = lots of rocks, no visible sand. I think this granular expanse was a bit of a treat for us all because any discoveries of beached beings were readily visible and easily retrievable. A large yellow bucket became a secure tote for green nubby shards of sea urchins, perpetually positioned starfish, and salmon-hued crab legs either orphaned or still attached to a shell body. It was a cornucopia of irresistable maritime trinkets that would eventually make the three hour flight to Niagara, surprisingly intact, and occupy a prominent space on a family bookshelf.. just a few steps away from the equally entertaining electronic stimulants.

ILLUMINAQUA IN BLUE SEPTEMBER 2, 2011

I thoroughly enjoyed sitting on the grass absorbing the energetic and uniquely artistic Ashley MacIsaac experience. I was close enough to see the strings dancing on the end of his bow and to hear the time keeping pulse of his foot.

His delivery was a little restrained compared to what I was expecting, an opinion echoed by the performer's own acknowledgement of the absence of his previous revealing, kilt-flying antics. But he did not disappoint in any sense of the word. Not only did he and his band explode off the floating stage expertly relaying his stylised version of an already mesmerising musical genre, but he began and ended the show with an intimate and breath arresting solo performance. He proved, especially with the final set depicted in my photo, that he is capable of putting a rock spin on a folk circle.. and also of making his well worn fiddle sing the way it was meant to sing. He started off melodic and mystical and, with the precise timing consistent in Cape Breton music, he increased the tempo and got everyone else's soles helplessly tapping the concrete amphitheatre steps in unison. No drum required.

I should explain that the misty air you see above isn't the by-product of a well-positioned smoke machine nor is it a blush of fog from MacIsaac's birthplace. It made its way to the stage from the many iron pods of fire-burning wood that dot Welland's recreational canal every few Fridays in the summer. The combination of fire, water, music (and another facet that they don't mention in the event's marketing but should: the desirable smell of burning junks of wood!) culminate in a stellar way to spend a summer evening close to home!!

As I was leaning back on my hands in the grass, taking the occasional picture, I kept thinking that I should make my way up against that frame of stone blocks that lined the edge of the bank. I'm so glad I did it for his last set! Perched against the stones with my camera, I was in awe of the reflection cast by the calm canal water that separated me from the stage.

Edgefest atop Rockefeller Centre, New York City

April 2011

Emily Pretorious stepped up into the open air and filled her lungs to capacity, gratefully inhaling the temporary distraction from the column of work that awaited her at her desk. She often came up here on her lunch break to escape her occupational reality a few floors down. She knew she wouldn't encounter much in the way of familiar faces up here; most of her executive colleagues shunned the blazing tourist trap that was the Top of the Rock as viciously as they avoided Monday morning water cooler banter.

Emily was atypical in that she loved watching tourists. They were the same professionals and labourers who volleyed innovative ideas and assembled useful machinery and spun intricate webs of marketing innuendo in offices around the world just like her own but here, having been transported to their vacations, they flourished like rinsed off versions of themselves, excited... innocent... refreshed. They scurried past her, flitting about with their children and sliding their arms appreciatively around the waists of their accompanying adult of choice. Here, they remember how to laugh and forget to check the time. And they are all entranced by the view.

With her turquoise plaid lunchbag dangling from her fingers, she waded through the crowd until she spotted a vacancy. She sat on the bench and plugged her Apple buds into her ears before retrieving a glass container and a fork from her bag. She began to eat her quinoa salad with dried cranberries and toasted almonds, the same one that had served as her side dish from the previous evening but had now become a very satisfying main course. As she felt the tart cranberries exploding onto her tongue, she breathed in a smile as Frank Sinatra assured her that she was all he longed for, all he worshipped and adored. Her eyes sailed along the cavalcade of visitors as she became witness to the preservation of memory after memory, secured by determined outstretched arms and repeated shutter releases.

Next, she savoured a few pieces of dark chocolate as she thought about her twin brother, Otis, who had recently returned home for a visit to celebrate their 28th birthdays. Although she missed him very much, she loved knowing that he was spreading his wings and making a name for himself in the Napa Valley, out of his urban comfort zone but firmly in his element. She chuckled as she imagined him behaving like one of these enthusiastic tourists, with every single day providing the fresh, intriguing, and stimulating series of experiences that inspires vacationers. In other words, he was doing exactly what he was meant to be doing.

She checked her watch and released a sigh as she collected the remnants of her lunch. She had consumed more than physical sustenance.. she had attained some clarity and rejuvenated her spirit, giving her the vigor she needed to get through her responsibility-laden afternoon.

(see related post: Thursday, November 11, 2010)

I had heard about something called a Screaming Tunnel years ago and always retained the understanding that I would never ever feel the need to visit a place that warranted such a title.

But luckily, the bite of the photography bug stuns my hesitation and I usually find myself sliding my fears into my back pocket while in pursuit of the picture (see August 8, 2010 entry for further proof of this)

So I was feeling adventurous one afternoon and upon the urging of my work colleagues, I made up my mind to at least drive up to this notorious limestone passageway and witness it firsthand. In all fairness, I should confess that I didn't undertake this little spelunking expedition solo; I brought my nine-year old son along with me...... because, well, you know, he had heard of it as well and was interested in seeing it and it wouldn't have been nice to go somewhere cool like that without him....... yeah.. that's why!

I had googled the route, which was much more straightforward than I'd thought, and after making the final turn in its direction, the Screaming Tunnel's existence could not have been more visible if it had been flanked with streamers and had an assembly of balloons frolicking at its entrance! I shuddered at its nearness and continued driving forward to the cul-de-sac where I paused a moment before turning around and putting my vehicle into park directly in front of it. If phase one was driving to its doorstep, phase two was walking up and knocking on its door... so to speak.

My son thought it looked cool, but was disappointed at how shallow it was. I think we had both expected that it would be a longer, darker pathway, a tunnel so deep that it escaped from the light and kept its exit eerily out of view. He jumped out and motioned for me to follow him. He expressed only a moment of hesitation at its entrance before bounding forward, calling me and reminding me that it's not so scary after all and would I get out of the jeep already!! I obliged and stepped slowly towards the looming archway. 

Earlier in the day, at the comfort of my work cubicle, I would never have thought I'd actually walk through, but here I was at the fifth hour, penetrating its infamously haunted air and walking breathlessly towards the exit! Phase three.. check! I took pictures of my vehicle from the other side as proof that I'd actually walked through and I shot several at each entrance but I shot nothing from directly inside.. because that would have required my STOPPING while inside!! But it was an interesting spot, just the sort of historical construction that I love to photograph, and it felt good to conquer my fear.. especially when I was so sure earlier that I would never be able to do it.

I have personally chosen not to delve into the legends and lore of this steadfast underpass in my blog, but if you would like to rattle your creepy bone a little bit, here is a link just for you:
http://www.ghostwalks.com/14_niagara_screamingtunnel.html

A Toronto Island Pedestrian Bridge and its Scribbled Reflection

We slide into our saucy little powerboat - ours for the next hour and a half - and stow our cameras and other necessities safely at our feet. After a noisy sprint across Toronto's inner harbour, steering comfortably clear of the airport buoys and avoiding the path of the ferries, it is now time to explore. With the throttle pulled down to a hum, we cruise the channels of the many islands that sit in awe (or is it nonchalance?) of that instantly familiar yet metamorphic urban skyline. Rows and rows of sailboats float impatiently on either side of our path, their masts growing up out of the water like stiff reeds, sulking at having to spend this refreshing afternoon suffocatingly moored to dry land. Fingers of elodea that wave to us as we float above their tall stalks become more plentiful as we make our way through the waterway, unwittingly wrapping themselves around the propeller, and only releasing upon being spun in reverse!

It is neat to see evidence of the city on these natural, unassuming land masses, with the City of Toronto's city hall logo visible on everything from Fire Station 335 to a solitary blue recycle bin, not to mention the presence of the CN Tower looking uncharacteristically out of place protruding from this most agrestic of landscapes!!

It has turned out to be a beautiful afternoon, much sunnier and dryer now than in its preceding hours. We ride along our liquid trail beneath many things: the string of red and yellow shaded seats of Centreville's Sky Ride, distinctive bridges such as the one in my photograph which I believe stretches out to Olympic Island, the occasional Porter flight, and of course, a picturesque blue sky satisfyingly accessorised with fleecy white clouds. We leave nothing in our wake but a gentle ripple, and perhaps a few cares that we really didn't need to bring back to land anyway..

Respite 

Part of the Niagara Falls, ON Skyline

The intention was to capture fireworks. During the summer in Niagara Falls, its Friday and Sunday nights are illuminated by bursts of green and red and yellow... huge gleaming chrysanthemums and corkscrews reaching out across the sky before dripping back downwards to mingle with the mist. The idea of watching  pyrotechnic paint exploding over this Everest of waterfalls has intrigued me ever since I moved here. And while I have enjoyed the show a few times, I've never ventured out to photograph it, or any fireworks display for that matter!

Doing so required only a little effort and even less patience.. it was relaxing, refreshing, enthralling.. it proved to be a wonderfully effective escape from all the little uncertainties and obscurities that so often infect my brain. Turns out all it took was a different angle, a clear focus on something totally removed from everyday challenges and contemplations. Nothing wrong with a little distraction from time to time!

The exercise taught me so much about extended exposure times and how to make them work for the subject to produce different effects. I also discovered how a flash of light, and as well a series of moving flashes of light, can create a hearty, unique image.. delightfully surprising no matter how expected the result may have been!

As it turned out, our selected location wasn't the best vantage point for freezing multi-hued explosions dancing over hotel alley. But that's okay.. some of my favourite pictures from that evening evolved without any fireworks at all! I devoured the preliminary practise photography as the lighting readjusted itself to suit the setting sun... stalks of hotels with their lucent windows and all of their architectural personalities towering over this famously picturesque but torrent waterfall.. a natural phenomenon only discernable by the ghostly flow of mist rising above its brink.

But since I have mentioned fireworks, I do have some evidence of their occurrence that evening! While I look forward to more practise in the realm of night photography, I do like the display I captured in the following shot.. the suggestion of an erupting thistle flanked by a pair of aurora borealis with a meteor shower to the right....... okay perhaps it is like cloud formations in which each viewer typically sees different creations and now you think I'm crazy for thinking I see these things!! Anyway, however you see it, it was a great experience!

Vine Envy at Thirty Bench Winery in Beamsville, ON

On a Wednesday afternoon, a Thirty Bench Winery dandelion is once again faced with a view of impossibly tidy rows of fruit-bearing grapevines, and shivers with envy. Look at them, all proper and organised. Oh to be so refined, so revered, so coveted.... Surely the potential of a common dandelion pales in comparison to that of such a smart, cultivated vine. They get all the attention: the coddling, the support, and the praise. It's enough to make even the most gratified Taraxacum blow his seedhead.


Dandelion has no idea of how frequently the members of the stifled, restrained row of grapevines gaze out at this down-to-earth patch of free-spirited weeds and shiver with envy. It is oblivious to the soaring expectations placed upon every stalk in that vineyard.. the constant pressure to produce, the continuous demand for succulent results. If only it knew how much those stately stalks would love to just be a common weed, asexually regenerating in the breeze rather than bearing their burden of producing swollen, luscious grapes required to craft the next great vintage! It's enough to make even the most content Vitis split its grapes.

Once Upon a Wine Vault

On the road to Fort Amherst, along the 'other side of the harbour', far below those massive white Irving Oil orbs that I always see from Water Street, there are caves. I counted at least eight of them along the route, unassumingly nestled within the Southside Hills, all sealed up and padlocked and keeping their secrets to themselves. A cave such as the one pictured above would no doubt have quite the flavourful collection of yarns to spin if it could: as the story goes, these caves served as storage for port wine cargo from ships that had been steered off course by pirates back in the 1600's!!

And as romantic and adventurous as it sounds to imagine getting past those derelict, haunting entrances, each one with its own personality, I'm not sure that I would ever have the nerve to venture in, if given the opportunity! But it doesn't matter because one cannot access the halls of these caves. 

But you can get inside The Newman Wine Vaults, located across the harbour on historic, eclectic Water Street. Reportedly among the oldest buildings still standing in St John's, the vault's curved ceilings also looked down upon large batches of port wine. Port was regularly shipped over from Portugal specifically for storage back in the 1800's, and was carried through these doors regularly for years. Now the building is protected and cherished as a Provincial Historic Site, retaining its historic interior but enclosed in a more modern, but stylistically aligned exterior. And it continues to store Newman's Port wine except now it is not stored merely awaiting a return shipment to Europe; it is stored as it awaits individual local purchase, often for immediate consumption!

I was fortunate enough to savour some of this sweet crimson wine for my very own palate when I joined the audience of an intimate and spell-binding evening with The Once. I originally wasn't familiar with the group, but knowing the friends who had invited me to go, it promised to be at the very least, an intriguing evening! But it was kilometres ahead of my expectations. This local folk trio is some of the most unassuming, genuine talent I've ever encountered.. in concert or not.

Andrew, Geraldine, and Phil assembled at the front of the room and instantly commanded the attention of the delightfully modest audience with their authentic instruments, melodic mastery, and vividly haunting lyrics, some original, some traditional. They even weaved a few Leonard Cohen tunes with exquisitely crafted arrangements paying fine homage to songs that have seen more than a few covers over the years.

I remember sitting in that rustic environment, the heels of my boots working their way into the crushed stone flooring as my feet unwittingly tapped away to the beat of the bodhrán, and thinking that a Newfoundland musical experience couldn't get much better than this. Every facet of our environment - the exclusively candlelit lighting, the acoustic and frequent a capella song treatments, the raw brick and stone walls - was wonderfully woven together creating a magic that was only surpassed by the razor sharp harmonies of the performers. Geraldine's lead voice was unbelievably pure, with a delivery that ranged from soft and delicate to fierce and insistent, effectively evoking the range of emotions that is inherently characteristic of Newfoundland music.

But I think the coolest part of the show occured during the performance of one of their own songs, Sail Away to the Sea. Shortly after Geraldine began conveying the lyrics, I began to hear echoes of her words flowing around me. The majority of the audience had obviously heard the song once or twice before and were very much enjoying hearing it performed in their presence. Now I know that it's not unique to be sitting in an audience and hear everyone singing along with the musicians. But it was the band's reaction that blew me away..  these guys were sincerely and utterly enthralled by the treatment...  almost surprised by it! It was, as one of my friends commented, almost as if they were just now realising that they've made it. I wouldn't doubt that everyone else in that dimly lit room knew it too. Artistry as honest as this, and as deeply rooted in Newfoundland as the wine caves in the Southside Hills is real and relevant and deserves to be shared and revered and performed again and again. But you don't have to take my word for it... check them out, and if you have the opportunity to see them live, anywhere, don't hesitate to venture in.

http://www.myspace.com/nowtheonce

North Wabash Avenue, Chicago, July 2010

I kind of wish I were into Transformers movies..

... because then I would be able to see how the streets of Chicago appeared in their most recent installment, and I would get to utter those words that I love to utter, with an outstretched index finger, whenever I encounter the cinematic opportunity: "Heyy I was there!"


We didn't realise, when we were visiting the windy city last summer, that movie crews had taken over sections of downtown Chicago until our tour bus narrator advised us that we would be changing our route (as if we knew which route we were expecting to take otherwise!) because the street on which we were supposed to drive had been invaded by a production studio!

We didn't see any of the invaders of course.. nor did we see Shia Labeouf meandering about. But hours later, on our way back to our hotel, we found ourselves in the vicinity of the excitement that had caused our detour earlier, so decided to check out the set.. as seen in my photograph above. We were soon ushered away, along with the others that had gathered, and advised to join the rest of the oglers on the opposite side of the river:

I'm not sure what they were gathered to see because there wasn't anything going on while we were there. I will assume they are locals because in the few days' vacation that we had, we couldn't justify spending it watching a artificially demolished street waiting for some action.. Still, it was a neat experience. And everytime I see the trailer on tv, I smile.. and if someone is around, I point at the scene with the Marina City corn cob parking garages and chirp "I was there!"

An apartment buildling on St Marks Place, Manhattan


So I asked Mr. Cab Driver to bring me to the East Village, but instead he brought me to Writer's Block. Let me tell you, it is not a place you ever want to visit.. with its sarcastic welcome mat, brazenly laid out, as if they just knew I was going to show my face here sooner or later. And there is no strength in numbers on this block; the fact that all creatively inclined creatures end up here at one point or another in their actual or elusive careers provides zero consolation. No.. you must believe me when I tell you that no good can come from a place like this. All I wanted to do was hop on the next blue CitySights tourbus and get the heck out of there. But they were no help.. I waved my ticketed hand furiously in hopes that I would be noticed, but driver after driver just sped past me.. I was merely just another piece of text on the page. As if I didn't have anywhere better to be!!!

I stewed for a while, and finally decided that the only sane thing to do was to find myself an accessible bench and take a load off. Literally. I removed my trusty red knapsack and leaned back on my hands and decided I would no longer consider my self-imposed schedule. Like literary insomnia, I figured if I stop thinking about it, it would solve itself.. my body and mind would know what to do, upon being freed from all the expectations and assumptions and timelines of my imagination. Really, there's no point in trying too hard because life is going to happen regardless of what you do... and there will always be a story to tell, a picture to capture, a memory to share, and an experience to.. well.. experience! It's all good. Really.

En Route to Fort Amherst 

Every time I've visited St. John's, a drive up to Signal Hill is always on my list of "must see or do" activities. I am still a tourist when I'm on the rock (heck I'm admittedly a tourist wherever I go, whether that's at the end of a ten hour drive or a ten minute drive!). I grew up in Labrador City and never actually lived on the island of Newfoundland so when I'm there, I'm visiting my parents. I don't have memories of venturing up that sinuous road with my high school buddies after the movies at night ignoring the fact that one or more of us would probably have been told not to venture up there after dark!! I have never played Cabot Tower tour guide for visiting relatives and stood back and watched as they were swept away by the breathtaking views of the metamorphic masses of fog floating across from them over the craggy cliffs (although I am certain that I would have been very happy to do so!)

And yet in all the times that I've stood in awe at the top of Signal Hill, undaunted yet feeling very small in the face of its powerful climate and majestic vistas, I've never seen it completely. I've never explored the trails that wind around the lower hills and around the edges of the rock and I've never viewed it from the other side of the harbour. So during my most recent trip just a couple of weeks ago, I made the request to cross off one of those experiences: "Can we drive to Fort Amherst?"

Fort Amherst is visible from the front yard of the Cabot Tower, across the harbour, and far, far below reaching out into the ocean from the outer tip of the land.... on a clear day, that is! And just as you are never sure how far you will be able to see from up on the hill, the low-slung cloud cover is just as capricious down on the other side!






But I was patient and managed to capture some images of the tower while I was there. I didn't actually get all the way in to explore the fort itself.. something to look forward to in the future!

I was also enjoying a front row seat to the St. John's Harbourfront and Battery, images that I'll be posting in future entries! Let me just say that now I know where photographers are standing when they capture all those enchanting jelly bean row house ensembles lining the harbour!!

Manuels River, CBS, Newfoundland

© Christine Mastroianni, all rights reserved

Without knowing a whole lot about snails I can only muse about what is taking place here. I like that each person's explanation would depend on their own outlook.. I know what I think is happening, but someone else could deduce something totally different. So, what do you think they are doing?

Are they engaging in a little competition, feverishly racing towards the finish branch as fast as their slimy undersides can move?

Have they just woken up and are now searching for a slippery little morsel to share for breakfast? Or maybe they did just wake up and are edging one another out of the way in order to be the one to find the first bug.... like siblings...

Perhaps they are out for their daily dose of exercise.... It wasn't without its own efforts, however - the one on the left had to coerce and nag and push the one on the right to get off the rock to get moving already…  but now, as with any exercise, they are both glad to have made the effort!

Without visible pathways or avenues, do they ever take the same path as yesterday? Or do they always? Do they argue about which way to go next? Does one snail demand that the other snail ask that ladybug over there for directions?

Are they twittering about their being dangerously exposed to predators? Perhaps it's because they haven't considered the possibility that if a winged creature were to look down in their direction, it would shudder at seeing two large yellow eyes looking up at it and fly on! Or... perhaps they are close together to produce that exact effect... 

Of course what they are really doing is being close together.... moving and breathing….exploring and existing.... forging ahead, encountering whatever obstacles intensify their journey, celebrating milestones like reaching the safety of the forest, making their way through the familiar as well as the unfamiliar, and sticking close to one another over the widest of gaps and the sharpest of shale.. knowing that even the most challenging surfaces can be enjoyed as long as you have someone with whom to experience them.