Chilling after visiting the Icewine Festival

Niagara-on-the-Lake, ON

January 22, 2012

I had been very clear on the fact that it was going to be a grown-up event, not the sort of festival that sells nests of cotton candy and welcomes little sock feet into inflatable castles. We were going to linger at portable wine bars, sample weird food, and talk to other adults. I reminded them several times that I could make arrangements for them to go somewhere and play. Despite the insistence of tedium, both of my boys declared they wanted to come along, just to see what it's like... perhaps also to demystify what makes an event a "grown-up event."

I think the mental preparation paid off because there wasn't much in the way of coat pulling or sibling infractions or vocal vexations. They were curious about all the different kinds of chili (because Mom only makes the one kind) and enthralled by the ice sculptures: impossibly smooth, frozen depictions of winery estates and cleanly chiselled text in letters of both blocks and scrolls.


As I watched their gloved, and later ungloved, hands slide along the flat, frozen surfaces of the sculptures, I pondered whether I had even mentioned to them that there would be such attractions. But given the ridiculously tepid January we'd been having, I decided that this one little nugget of interest might not even materialise! So it wound up being an unexpected highlight for them - a quiet study in textures and temperatures and talent.


After enjoying the tented alfresco bistros, we made our way to Simcoe Park, my ten-year-old with his portable chess board slung over his right shoulder. It was his idea to bring it along in hopes that we might be able to play it somewhere. I had originally envisioned that being the distraction that would allow us adults to peruse the icewine bars, but as it turned out, we all settled into the shelter of the park's wooden bandshell and had ourselves a little tournament! It was the perfect arrangement: playing chess outdoors in the winter sunshine, breathing in fresh, brisk air, sipping Balzac's rich hot chocolate... with no mention from anybody of any desire to be somewhere else...

Chicago's Crown Fountain by Jaume Plensa

(A little summer fun for all of my heat seeking comrades out there!)

A colleague of mine was in Chicago recently on business, and this prompted discussion about some of the aspects of this dynamic city amongst a couple of us who had been there. There was mention of the mesmerising sculpture Cloud Gate (see my entry made August 5, 2010) and the brilliant bandshell Jay Pritzker Pavillion (my entry of August 21, 2010). And how about those two towering video screens that displayed people's facial expressions and periodically spewed water out onto those frolicking about on the splashpad.

This prompted me to revisit the pictures from my trip back in the summer of 2010. Upon reviewing the meagre imagery that I shot at this location, I am disappointed that I didn't shoot more... more faces, more activity... from varying angles and heights. But then I recall that it was absolutely sweltering on this July day, and the city devouring and museum absorbing events that preceded visiting this locale were extreme both in energy expediture and in geographical coverage. At this point, it took everything I could muster just to raise my camera to my eye!

Still photography doesn't really do this creation justice: these faces aren't static images, they are video clips which actually portray random likenesses of local Chicagoans (nearly a thousand of them, as I've learned). Imagine knowing your neighbour or your buddy could appear on that big screen at any time! And it gets even better: some of the images portray people pursing their lips which coincides with the eruption of water from fountains installed inside... imagine a kid being able to see a 50 foot tall video of his face spitting water out onto all the people playing there!!! This sort of thing doesn't just happen in any city, folks...

Dufferin Islands in Niagara Falls

January 2011

On a fresh, January afternoon last year, we went to Dufferin Islands with a peanut bottle filled with birdseed, a thermos filled with hot chocolate, and cameras filled with... available SD card space? (not quite as romantic as film, is it?) But we were prepared. I admit I was a little skeptical towards claims that birds would trust us enough to land on our mittens, but on such a bright, frosted day I really didn't want to be anywhere else.

My son trudged along the feathery path that must have seemed endless to him in the sea of whiteness. I am somewhat disappointed that my kids don't exhibit the enthusiasm and energy to play in the snow that I did when I was their age. In their defence, you can't really get into the allure of a polar climate around here. It's a pretty fleeting concept... illustrated by the fact that this weekend's offering is the most it's felt like winter since winter's exit last year!! Growing up in Labrador, Newfoundland, we knew what to expect temperature-wise and precipitation-wise, and we never had to wonder what form our precipitation would take. It was dependable. Once we were in the sub-zero groove, we were ready for it, and could adjust accordingly. We would go out, properly dressed to shield our tender skin from the biting cold, and play until lunch... or supper, depending on which quadrant of the day it was. I suppose I must have complained at the weather at one time or another, but it wasn't the norm. And I don't remember it being difficult to find something to do. We just allowed ourselves and our imagination to be swept up in winter's magical metamorphosis. We trusted it.

My kids have become victim to the information age taunting them with the next big technological wonder. Instead of marvelling at the glimmering uniqueness of a single snowflake, they marvel at the flickering possibilities of a single pixel. I'm not saying it's anyone's fault, it's just evolution... and it's happening to everyone, not just children. But I know this: I remember my childhood. I wonder how much today's children will remember of theirs... will they be able to discern what was real as opposed to what happened virtually? Will they hold specific experiences close to their heart or will it all meld together?

It is because of our synthetic world and its pull to keep my kids indoors when it's cold out that I seize any opportunity to expose them to special moments in the snow. It only took a few moments of patience and a still, flat, mitted palm to entice a nuthatch to perch for a snack. This wasn't a staged event or a trained creature; it was real and magical and awesome... it induced awe in my son... so much so that he still talks about that afternoon when the birds ate seeds from his hand.

How many differences can you spot?
Manhattan Skyline

October 2010

October 2011

These photos were taken exactly one year apart. Last October, I gazed at Manhattan's awesome skyline in the bright autumn sunshine and revelled in all its metropolitan glory. But since my first trip to New York City occured many years after the September 11 attacks, I was only able to imagine, not remember, how it would have looked with its twin towers standing tall over everything else. Locals probably look at this expanse and see the void. I see something fantastic.. a view that differs immensely from the reserved buildings that exist near my own address... I'm aware that there is a void but I'm not missing it firsthand.

I realised on my most recent jaunt to the Big Apple that I am now witness to the reconstruction of Manhattan's skyline. I have captured an image of the interim. Like seedlings pressing up out of the soil and towards the sun, the structures of the World Trade Centre are slowly growing out of the flattened earth. Not recreations of the originals that, like the lives who were lost along with them, can never be replaced. But the next generation, if you will. What was once twin towers will now be four relatively modest towers - two of which are already visible in my second picture above. And at the site itself, a sad, gnarled, crippled frame has been replaced by a smooth, placid waterfall eliciting a shared sense of calm.

It is intriguing to have recorded evidence of such a transformation and I look forward to seeing the next chapter when I am once again visiting the great, tenacious New York borough that is Manhattan.

My beautiful Aunt Claudia was all about the good things in life. She was the type of person who always set out her most elegant table settings for a special occasion... like for example an overcast Tuesday afternoon in May. This is because her regular, every day table settings were elegant, and every single day was considered a special occasion. A simple lunch for visiting family included homemade pastries, freshly prepared salad with crisp lettuce and a selection of dressings, including Russian, for those guests who happen to enjoy Russian dressing. Even when I was very young and perhaps didn't fully appreciate the details, I always felt special when I sat down at her table, as if I were as important as any guest she'd ever had join her there.

Everything about my aunt was quality and class, but she was also incredibly genuine and down to earth. She valued her friends, many of whom she had retained since her childhood school days, and strived to keep in touch with them often. She never skimped on the important details, but she never seemed bothered if something didn't work out as planned or if cranberry juice were spilled on the tablecloth.

Still, I always remember feeling as if I ought to remember my manners a little more acutely while I was there. Boldly patterned walls and curtains, plush, pristine carpeting, and a grand piano contributed to a home that just seemed to command respect. Exquisite art adorned every room, including original paintings by my grandmother and by my Dad (her brother), and prints created by her childhood friend, Christopher Pratt and Mary Pratt as well.

One of my favourite memories took place in June of 2006 when Aunt Claudia invited my Dad and me to attend an opening of Christopher Pratt's exhibit at The Rooms Provincial Art Gallery. During the reception, she purchased two copies of the artist's most recent collection of work, and handed one of them to me with a smile but without explanation, as if she just knew how much I would have loved to have it.

I greatly enjoyed the relationship I shared with my aunt; I've always felt like we shared a love of culture, words and art. My entire life, I spent at most two weeks out of the year in the same city as her but those visits helped shape who I am as a Newfoundlander. I can't say Pippy Park, Duckworth Street, or Quidi Vidi (either pronunciation) without hearing her own voice speaking these place names. Whether we were visiting with her and my Uncle Frank at their home in St. John's, or out at their cabin in Manuels, Conception Bay South, where the two photographs I've posted here were taken, we were always treated to a scrumptious meal and spirited conversation, with lots of compliments, lots of hugging, and lots of love.

Claudia O'Connor 1935-2012