Striving to Achieve the Big "S" in New York City

Come for the Shoes

I've not been inside the walls of this footwear establishment nor do I have any idea about the quality or longevity of its offerings but a store with a name like this surely speaks to shoe-horny women everywhere.

Even those who aren't seeking sole satisfaction can appreciate a title like this.

I am in the latter category here - when it comes to shoe shopping, that is. I have to make a genuine effort to outfit my feet and I expend as little energy as possible doing the deed.

On occasion, I do feel the urge to embrace my inner Carrie Bradshaw and try to experience the euphoria of purchasing an exquisitely crafted, impossibly elevated, shamelessly expensive, and delightfully impractical new pair of shoes.

After all, I do love fashion and wearable art and I get it: the jaunty way they stand with their perfect matches, perched seductively on the shelves in rhythmic order. I like seeing them on models stepping all over the pages of Chatelaine and Vogue, and I marvel at real women who can sashay alluringly around the ballroom or the bar or the mall properly elevated and confidently upright. There’s something so alluring about a woman who is comfortable in her Blahnik’s (or her Jessica’s if that’s your arena – like all facets of sex appeal, it’s less about the cost and more about working with what you have). I appreciate the sensual effect of a high-heeled shoe, how it arches the feet in a way that just doesn't happen when feet remain parallel with the floor (although the barefoot approach does have its place). There is that slinky, stimulating shape and clever construction that defies gravity and demands attention.

But generally, I avoid the whole exercise - the ordeal of shopping for them, trying them on, paying for them, even storing them. The less time I have to spend before rows of shoes seductively whispering  "buy me" - even though they are out of my league - the better. As long as I have something structurally sound protecting my feet, I am good to walk. And since I am not afflicted with height-envy, I am okay with where I am. I don't need to walk in anyone else's shoes - I'll just be content to appreciate what other women do with theirs.

Red and White in Niagara Falls

 Canada Day on Queen Street in Niagara Falls, ON

As my son made his way over to the reptile exhibit with his camera, I held his place in the seemingly endless line for the inflatable slide. As I stood there, inching forward at a pace that would cause a child to bounce around long before reaching the compressed air, my eyes wandered among the crowd. I enjoyed the widespread display of Canadian spirit - residents and visitors came to the party in all their red and white glory. They sported flags dancing from their headbands like antennae and flags waving from sticks shoved into the taut hair of their ponytails. There were flags embroidered onto their backpacks, decorating the bands around their hats, and painted onto their cheeks. One guy even sported an actual Canada flag draped across his shoulders. They donned red and white striped socks, red and white t-shirts, and wore red and white streamers woven into their hair. Their offspring were carted along wearing red and white onesies as they focused on red balloons high overhead dancing from their strollers. Even the playground equipment at the end of Queen Street appeared patriotic in its fresh coat of red paint. And why not - it's such a great colour even on the other 364 days of the year!

In the Middle of Somewhere

Labrador City is situated in the middle of this Google Map satellite image.

Growing up, there was never any concern about the religious beliefs of foreign countries, the possibility that a quiet twenty-something might take his frustrations out on innocent people, or the threat of being assaulted on your way home from school. Feeling safe and secure weren't even identified as benefits because we didn't know anything else. We were just growing up and enjoying life. Aside from the very real threat of frostbite and the occasional black bear wandering into city limits, there wasn't much for us kids to be concerned about growing up in the mining community of Labrador City, NL.

We appreciated the pristine, natural world that stretched out endlessly beyond our town boundaries and sought many of our leisure activities within: hiking, cross-country skiing, camping, skidooing, fishing... We instinctively took care of that massive expanse of spruce and rock and water long before it was socially and environmentally correct to do so.

But just as we respected the dry, frigid temperatures in winter and the relentless black flies in summer, we respected the power of fire. When your whole world is a 40 square kilometre settlement tucked within 295 square kilometres of forest, you tend to respect such natural threats.

I remember the impact a distant raging forest fire had on our community. I suppose it would be similar to those who live in other areas similarly at nature's mercy - the threat of flood waters drowning your world or of earthquakes shaking it to pieces. My Labrador City world was never devoured by fire, but it frequently knocked on our door, letting us know it was there, reminding us of its potential. I remember people in nearby communities being evacuated, and others refusing to accept such an order, opting instead to remain tenaciously aboard their ship, coating it with a steady stream of protective water from their garden hose. I know people who have lost cabins, Newfoundland's word for cottage, a universal family refuge from responsibility-laden houses and time-dependant routines.

There is a fire raging in Labrador right now, close to town. Labrador City's neighbouring community of Wabush was recently ordered to evacuate due not to the threat of being incinerated, but to the poor, smoke-infested quality of their air. Like any event that necessitates an evacuation, those residents in the safe zones opened up their houses, churches, and cultural establishments to the ones displaced. It's a tense, uncomfortable, unsettling situation, but one that illustrates the generosity of neighbours.

Nature's fury imposes her will all the time, anywhere she chooses, as powerfully and as relentlessly as she chooses. It's a common story populating the newsfeeds and Twittersphere. But when she threatens the very place where you innocently spent the first twenty years of your life, you pay close attention. You feel the trepidation of its current residents, even at 2000 kilometres away. You can picture the pillows of smoke that smother the clean blue sky and flow past their television screens on the local news. You can smell the burning wood and moss and lichen and you remember that a dampened version of that smell will linger eerily along the highway for weeks after it has been extinguished.

One can only hope that temporarily poisoning the town's air is as far as the fire's assault reaches in Wabush. At last review, residents were permitted to return to their homes even as the fire continues to burn and the potential for another evacuation order remains. Even so, I imagine there is a wave of relief to return to their unscathed homes. Because regardless of how long you've been away from your home, you never forget what it looked like the day you left.

What home would have looked like the day I left twenty years ago.

One Passion Captures Another

One Passion Captures Another

Some might argue that it's unnatural or even unsettling to find oneself underneath a bridge. After all, the main reason for a bridge's existence is to enable secure passage over water. But on Welland's recreational waterway, it's perfectly acceptable to pass underneath one - several of them, in fact. This one is the historic Main Street lift bridge that, aside from the spirits of historically-inclined individuals, no longer lifts at all. But it does add to the character of the canal, whether or not you appreciate its structural stature.

And while the bridge does safely transport motorists over the canal, there aren't any motors whirring beneath it. Only non-motorised vessels are permitted, providing a welcome calmness for those who like to glide along in their canoes and kayaks on a mellow summer evening.

I happened upon this eclectic team of rowers one evening while I was exploring the eastern edge of the waterway. It was rather exciting to encounter, actually: a refreshingly dynamic subject to photograph compared to the motionless lightposts and monochromatic brickwork along the shore. Not only that, but the lime green and violet and royal blue of the rowers' jackets were like drops of paint against the combined greyness of the cement canal walls, the steel bridge, and the rippled early evening water.

You don't need to be a part of a team to experience the water in this way. Anyone can indulge in their flatwater inclinations on the old canal thanks to the rental program at the Welland Recreational Canal Corporation.  It's a great way to perhaps try out a new activity and to see the bridges one drives over all the time from a completely different angle!

A Few Residents of Broadway Avenue in NYC

My son recently discovered that he can purchase those hard-to-find trading cards from eBay. He still buys the packages, but sometimes likes to know he's getting a card he really needs rather than taking chances on packages. When he is awaiting a delivery, his usual direct entry into the house is interrupted by a pause to dip his hand into the mailbox. Even though the anticipated envelope will be addressed to me (as the owner of said eBay account) he always seems to know when its contents are intended for him.

It makes sense that his mail would stand out, aside from the outline of the enclosed card. Like many people today, most of what arrives addressed directly to me is in a business envelope with a formally typed address, either labelled or windowed. I don't receive much in the way of personally addressed correspondence anymore.

I suppose in one way, today's culture of on-line malls and limitless worldwide retail access means receiving goods in the mail is more prevalent than ever. But as someone who prefers exploring actual merchandise to virtual shopping, the thrill of mail anticipation is pretty much a distant memory.

It's too bad because it used to be such a thrill. I remember keeping a list of all the packages that I was expecting in any given week. I loved having a reason to rush out and check the mail. At any given time, my list might include things such as: Barney Bentall and the Legendary Hearts cassette from Columbia House, birthday party photos (with negatives) from Tootons, the latest colourful little catalogue from Au Coton, a pair of outlandishly coloured pants from Sears (because all we had growing up was a catalogue outlet), and a handwritten letter from my friend Julie who had moved away but was always very good at keeping in touch.

I occasionally shop on eBay, and once in a while I receive a wedding invitation but even these arrive with a cold, laser-printed label. Christmas cards are still hand-addressed but I have noticed a significant drop in their distribution as well. I suppose when you can see on Facebook that people are generally keeping well, and you can see how much their kids have grown and look like one parent or the other, greeting cards aren't the gems they used to be. Although my thinking is that because of tools like Facebook, we should make even more of a point to sit down and pen a personal note on a Christmas card. And imagine the impact this effort would have when it takes the form of a properly-timed birthday card!

It makes me wonder if mailboxes are going to be harder and harder to find or perhaps you don't know where any of them are until you need one... kind of like payphones. But like this row of mailboxes in Manhattan, they still hold a certain charm. And perhaps even more so.

 I made a calendar of some of my favourite NYC street photography to hang at my cubicle at work. Most of the images are of everyday life: local people walking, cycling, sitting, shopping, and browsing. I do love being a tourist and I fully embrace my place when I'm there. But that doesn't stop me from trying to imagine what it might be like to live in such a vivacious, eclectic city and wake up every morning with so many options!

The image above made the cut. I specifically chose this one for my birthday month because I love being around art, whether historically impressive or passionately personal. There's something comforting and relaxing about wandering among creatively adorned easels in an open air art exhibit, and this one in Union Square was an unexpected treat while exploring the city in April.

I think birthdays should be a celebration of oneself, to unabashedly indulge in whatever excites and amuses and pleases. It's a day to be embraced and perhaps buy special treats and flowers and whatever else would make the day special. I don't think it just happens without a little preparation and I don't think someone else should be on the hook to provide it. And it should not be overlooked.

Here are some more ideals I feel like sharing in my way on my day:

 

Former site of Dani's Bistro, St. Paul Street, St. Catharines

Try out new eateries.

                             

Antique Wooden Escalator ascending lower floor of Macy's - 34th Street, Manhattan

Take the easy way up if it's more interesting.

Spotted in a shop window near Union Square, Manhattan

Smile.

Flatiron District, Manhattan

Opt for the balcony whenever you can.

Spotted affixed to a lamppost in Manhattan

Say it in your own way.

Signal Hill National HIstoric Site

Allow yourself to be swept away.

Water Street - St. John's NL

Accept yourself for all that you are.

St. John's, NL with The Rooms in the background

Be intrigued by the juxtaposition of styles.

Rainbow Bridge, Niagara Falls

Always have good music in your vehicle.

And remember:

Spotted along the Harbourfront - St. John's, NL

(no caption required!)

Cheers!

Christine



Part of the view from Signal Hill

St. John's, Newfoundland

“...where folks are real and people feel so deep inside
and the sea just rolls right through the soul of Newfie pride”


from My Home’s in Newfoundland

Just one of my favourite lyrics from Stompin' Tom.