My car gets me from point A to point B, and I try to remember its oil change schedule.  For my brother, owning a car is a hobby, and he's sure gotten good at it.  For him its one of those hobbies that could probably be turned into a career pretty easily.  He can often be found tinkering on a friend's vehicle as they stand watching, trying to figure out what's wrong.

My brother has probably spent more money tricking out his Honda CRX than I have on camera equipment.  We decided to photograph the car before he hides it in the garage for the winter, and spends more time under the hood.

Here are a few photos from out shoot last week.  Enjoy.

A funeral and a family reunion
In Memory of Kate Duivenvoorden, my beloved Aunt who passed away on August 22, 2009

I suddenly found myself on an airplane to New Brunswick last week, seated between my parents and my two grown siblings.  An airplane is not a form of transportation I frequent often because of my fear of flying.  We’d received the tragic news that my Aunt had passed away from cancer treatment.  Her death came as a shock.  Suddenly it was easy to put down everything I was doing and travel home.

We are a close family that lives far apart.  Over the years it’s been easy to bury myself in my West Coast life, and shove my East Coast roots to the back of my mind.  Although my immediate family lives in Victoria, my large extended family is scattered throughout eastern Canada in Ontario, New Brunswick and Newfoundland.  As a result, I rarely see them, and had not been back to the original homestead of my grandparents in twelve years.

When my mother’s parents immigrated to Canada from Holland, they bought a dairy farm in Jacquet River, New Brunswick and started a family.  My Mother is one of ten siblings.  Two, including one of a set of twins were lost in childhood to a rare blood disease.  When my Mom was 22 her 23 year-old brother died tragically in a farming accident that left our family devastated by his death.  Of course, I wasn’t born then, and I forget that if all had gone as planned I’d have three more uncles. 

As if that wasn’t enough tragedy for one family, my grandfather died of lung cancer when I was a child.  At that point my grandmother had lived through the deaths of three of her children as well as her husband.  How she found the strength to cope is beyond me.  But I admire her greatly for being able to live through it, and maintain a positive outlook on life.

When the news came earlier this year that my Aunt wasn’t well, I was shocked that my family was being threatened again.  She was my Mom’s next youngest sister, and had endured a lifetime of restrictions that made her one of the strongest and most determined people I know.  Her passing came as especially sad news because of her determination to live.  After my grandfather died, my grandmother found her house very empty, and seeing as my Aunt didn’t have a family of her own and was living nearby, it made sense for her to move in.  My grandmother has not only lost another child, but she has lost a companion.  She is living alone again, searching for a new purpose in life.

Jacquet River is a tiny town in the middle of nowhere.  Good luck finding it on a map.  It’s humble, somewhat impoverished and absolutely stunning.  The sky is blue and endless, the grass is green and lush.  Atlantic surf hits the cliffs like thunder, sending a fresh, crisp breeze into the air.  Huge CN freight trains roll through three times a day, a sound I miss hearing in Victoria.  Everything smells like the outdoors. 

As a kid living in Halifax, I’d spend many summers on what was my grandparents’, and is now my uncle’s farm in Jacquet River, taming all of their barn cats.  But it took coming back as an adult to really appreciate the raw beauty of the area.  Situated on the Bay of Chaleur, and close enough to Quebec that you can’t trust the clock on your cell phone, it is an undiscovered area full of the most warm and welcoming people.  This tiny, unassuming community came together and stretched out their arms to our grieving family.  They brought food, flowers, hugs and tender memories.

People on the West Coast of Canada tend to trivialize the Eastern provinces a bit.  BC and Alberta like to treat their Eastern counterparts like disadvantaged siblings.  I’ve known people who’ve traveled all over the world, but never been east of Alberta because they think there’s nothing there.  I’ve heard them say, “Oh, Nova Scotia, aren’t they all poor?”

The things that are important to those of us who live in a society driven by excruciating real estate prices and materialistic tendencies is different than what’s important to humble, small-town people.  Here, we tend to over-work ourselves to afford the lifestyle we think we want.  There, the people work hard too, but they also take the time to reconnect with each other, usually over a cold beer or a cup of Tim Hortons’ coffee.  Small-town life does not look appealing to people who live in a flashy rat race, but it sure looks appealing to me.

In Jacquet River it isn’t the things that matter, it’s the people.  Hundreds showed up at the church for my Aunt’s funeral.  They were there to support our family and share tears and laughter.  Many had stories about my mother when she was growing up.  Being back in Victoria makes me realize that I don’t want an expensive house, and a million possessions, and I certainly don’t want to work myself to death so I can afford to live here.  I’m not attached to a city that is a bit self-absorbed.  I want to be near my family.  It is unfortunate that it took the death of a close, well-loved relative for me to realize this.  But if it means spending $30,000 on a little summer-house by the water, and getting over my fear of flying, then I’ll do it.  And I want a goat and some chickens too.  I was born on the East Coast, and raised on the West Coast.  But I don’t belong in a city that needs to count its flowers every spring.  The time will come for me to go home.

Fireworks and Soundwave

Believe it or not, I'm posting photos from our Canada Day Fireworks here in Victoria.  I know I'm well over a month late, but I wasn't actually going to post any at all.  I'd uploaded my photos and forgotten all about them, writing them off before I'd even had a chance to go through them.  Who wants to see more "fireworks photos"?  Well, I weeded through them today and found a few I actually really liked.  So here they are, whether you want to see them or not!

I find I've been really back-logged with my own photos lately.  Ever since I started shooting regularly at work (food and product), my own stuff seems to be on the back-burner.  I get home from a day in the studio and the last thing I want to do is pick up my own camera.  As photography becomes more and more of a profession, its increasingly difficult to keep it up as a hobby.  An aunt of mine is a highly sought-after food photographer in Toronto, and one of the best I know.  She once told me that she had come to dislike shooting as a hobby, because she did it at work everyday.  I'm starting to understand how she feels.  I find myself toting my camera around less and less.

You'll also find some of my Soundwave photos here.  Yes, that's right, I went to Soundwave, devalued my car by driving it over 28kms of extremely rough gravel, and witnessed 2000 people litter a wilderness campground with beer bottles, plastic and sound pollution.  The only wildlife remaining was trapped in inescapable tide-pools.  I saw a guy piss into one of these, ruining an entire ecosystem.  Ok, I don't hate Soundwave.  It was pretty cool, but I can't help myself.  I'm all for music festivals that don't intrude on our delicate wilderness.

Photography and Real Estate

It's been just over a month since I updated.  July flew by, and it appears August is doing the same.  I've been keeping myself extremely busy, and here's an example of something I've been up to.  Recently I did a shoot with Fashion For Learning.  The wardrobe was provided by Blush Bridal Boutique, Hair & Make-up done by Sharon Rai Hair & Makeup Artistry.  It was a collaborative effort, and a ton of fun!  The weather was perfect, possibly better than perfect because that blue sky has hardly been enhanced in post-production!  Models are Kaitlin Morton and Koh McRadu.


On the real estate front, I encountered something extremely annoying at our last viewing.  My fiance and I went to look at a town house that, by the photos, seemed to be quite promising.  When we got there, we realized that the agent selling the place was also selling four other units in the building and had decided to put up the same photos for each listing!  Not only did this seem to be a particularly lazy move, but we wouldn't have wasted our own realtor's time if we'd seen the actual size of the living/dining room.  Which was smaller than our current spare bedroom.  Which is really small.  You would think that someone making THAT kind of money from the commission of a sale, could at least muster up the energy to waddle down the hallway and snap a few extra photos.  Its not like she's paying for film anymore!  Pure laziness.  When I have a place to sell you can bet I'll be taking my own photos, and writing my own listing.  I've seen a lot of spelling errors on MLS too.

The Hunt Continues

Yes, we are still looking for a home.  Just like every other renter in this city with a decent-paying job, we can only afford a low-end house that needs some work, or a mid-range condo, preferably in a steel and concrete building.  And since we don’t want to spend the rest of our lives, and half a million in interest paying it off, our choices are very limited.

The months of May and June have GOT to be the worst time of the year to buy real estate.  Even though our economy is tanking, and a record number of Canadians are signing up for EI, people in Victoria have forgotten all about that and, to the delight of the Real Estate Board, are jumping into the market with fervor.  New home-owners are readily signing up for 25 year mortgages at an interest rate that won’t last.

Recently we went to look at a charming little place in Fernwood.  The yard was exceptionally small, and upon closer inspection, we discovered an addition that had been tacked on haphazardly in god-knows what era.  It was the kind of place you’d want to inspect VERY carefully before buying to ensure you weren’t investing in a nightmare.  But it was cute, had a great kitchen, and probably lots of potential. Half an hour after we walked through the place, and before we’d even had time to talk about it, our agent called us to say someone was putting in an offer, and if we were interested, now was the time to do so as well.  Um . . . great, thanks.  I think we need more than an hour to make the biggest decision of our lives.

This past weekend we looked at three places.  The first seemed hopeful from the listing.  The pictures were quite delightful.  It looked well-taken-care-of and it had a suite!  When we got there, the smell of “febreeze” nearly knocked us out.  The place had been tenanted for quite some time, and although it was now vacant, you really got the sense the renters had been hard on it.  And it had some very strange attributes.  At least two additions had been put on, and maybe not thought out well judging by the floorplan.  The carpet in two rooms was filthy and covered in animal urine.  In the upstairs “master bedroom” which was only accessible by a (inspector alert) wobbly spiral staircase, loomed a massive claw-foot bathtub.  What the hell?

The back yard was a mess, with crap stacked everywhere, including an old motor, a pile of wood and a forgotten patio table with one empty can of orange crush on it.  And then, to top it all off, the tenant from the suite downstairs materialized.  He took one look at us, grunted and proceeded to tinker with his sports car which was in pieces in the driveway, and his mororcycle which was in pieces in the front yard.  And he wasn’t even wearing a shirt.  Thank god our agent has a sense of humour.  She was probably wondering why the HELL we’d asked to see this place.

The second place we looked at turned out to be one half of a duplex.  Sneaky.  It was an open house, so we didn’t have our agent in tow.  The place (which was the upper half) was brand new, and bland, with its unimaginative, characterless fixtures and floorplan.  “European-inspired kitchen, stainless steal appliances blah blah blah . . . “ 

But the selling agent was quite a piece of work, and really stepped up to make the experience more than ordinary.  He introduced himself with a limp shake of the knuckles while gazing over my shoulder.  He was old, brusque, and crusty, and I felt like he was reading our financial situation with an x-ray, and judging us by our age. 

“Is the downstairs-half zoned for commercial or residential?” my fiancé asked, as we wandered around, taking note of the plastic floor that was made to pass as hardwood.
“It’s a duplex.” Replied the agent gruffly.
“Right, but is it zoned for commercial?”
“It’s a DUPLEX, that means TWO homes.”  Right.  Got it. Thanks.  Maybe learn what zoning means.

 Cleverly he took note of the fact that we didn’t have an agent with us, and saw an opportunity.
“What are you looking for?”  He asked.
“Mmmmm, a house or a condo.” My fiancé replied.
“What price range?” Pause.
“Low to medium-”
“Sign my guest book!” He said, sweeping his arm in the direction of the book.  We looked at him for a few seconds, blinking.  The awkwardness thickened.
“ . . . No.”  My fiancé replied.
"Why not?"
". . . Because I don't want to."  Thank GOD my fiancé isn’t a pushover, and was willing to stand up for himself.  We left.

The third place we visited was also an open house, and it was our kind of place!  But I won’t get into it.  That would be pointless because when we walked through the door we discovered from a shrewd mouse of an agent that it was already sold, and in case we were hopeful that offer might fall through, it had a backup offer by someone who hadn’t even SEEN the place yet.  But we were warmly invited to make a second backup offer if we wanted!  Thanks.  For wasting our time.

I figure the stream of eager-beaver-first-time-home-buyers has to dry up eventually, and when it does, it might be our turn.  We refuse to get too excited or emotional, and certainly WILL NOT play any bidding-war games.  Not in this economic climate.  Until then, it seems I’ll just have more material to write about.

Eating Out: Rodents in a Restaurant

Recently a friend and I decided to go somewhere quiet for a drink and some good conversation.  The place we'd originally intended on was closed, so after a quick discussion, plan B became the upstairs at Ferris Oyster Bar.  I'd heard good things about it from friends.  We figured since the downstairs of Ferris was generally great, the upstairs, considered to be superior, would exceed our expectations.

We stood next to the Please Wait to be Seated sign for about 10 minutes, watching restaurant staff wander past us between the bar and tables.  Finally a middle-aged man approached us with a perturbed expression on his face.  "Have you been helped?"  He asked.  He was tall, lean and peevish looking.  He wore a pink and black checkered sweater-vest that oozed sexual confusion. (Nothing against sweater-vests, but this one WAS particularly bad.)

"No!"  I said smiling.  "Actually we HAVEN'T been helped."  He looked around the restaurant uneasily, eying a few empty tables and said, "It will just take a moment to get your table ready." He pointed to a recently vacated spot.  Aparently he wanted to clean one for us, instead of seating us at a pre-arranged table.

And so we waited some more.  He flitted off to the kitchen, and came back to agitatedly tell us again that our table was still being made ready.  I looked at the table he'd pointed to.  Nothing had happened to it, so "duh".  I looked around at the other empty tables, made eye contact with my friend and shrugged.  Finally the guy got around to wiping it clean, and then we sat down.

My friend and I started chatting, and suddenly I interrupted her and said "What time it is?  Has a waitress come by yet?"  A good 15-20 minutes had passed, and we hadn't seen a single sign of a server.  I looked around, and amazingly a waitress saw me.  She came over.  We ordered drinks.  My friend ordered a dessert.

"Oh that is such a good choice, I'll bring two spoons."  The server smiled.
"That's okay, I don't feel like dessert."  I said.
"When you see this you will.  I'm bringing two spoons."
"Thanks for offering me a piece of someone else's cake!"  She trotted off.  "Looks like you have to share, and you weren't given a choice." We chuckled.  But seriously.  What if this had been a business meeting?  Not appropriate.

We prattled the hours away, and finally the lights were turned on, and the music turned off.  We were the last people there, except for a couple curled up on a couch in the corner.

"Oh my GOD." My friend said, pointing.  I turned around and followed her finger. Something scurried across the floor and under a table.  We looked at each other in shock.  The place had mice! Crazy.

Within a minute the mouse was out in the open again, scrambling around tables for a morsel of food.  He came within 5 feet of us, and as I pointed, he lurched backwards, and ducked for cover under a chair.  He watched us, while chewing on something he'd found.

The restaurant staff were busy amusing themselves with clenaup, and had seemingly forgotten we were still there.  "Excuse me,"  I said.  "You have a mouse!"  No one responded.  They were chatting with each other.  "Excuse me!"

Someone drying dishes behind the bar looked up.  "Pardon?"  He said.

"You have a mouse!" I said.  "There's a mouse running around."  To my amazement, he laughed.
"We know."  He said.
"Is he doing a little jig?"  Our waitress asked, without looking up from the cash she was counting.

I am not at all afraid of mice.  If anything, I find them pretty cute.  But I do know that having a mouse in a food-serving establishment is NOT okay.  Especially since some people are really afraid of them.  I wonder what the health inspector would say, especially since the entire staff seem to know of its existence.  Ferris' advertises their upstairs lounge as being a step above the one beneath it, and their prices certainly reflect that.  I'm wondering exactly what that means, since the upstairs seems to have a little problem. ("Little", get it?)

We got up and left.  No one said good bye to us.  

"Probably in there." my fiancé said, pointing towards a closet door.  I opened it, and the smell of mold was SO bad that I took a few steps backwards.  I could feel my lungs rotting.

As we were (rapidly) leaving, we commented on the fact that the place needed nothing more than to be torn down.  But before it did, I thought someone should film a scene from a horror movie here; they seriously wouldn't have to change a thing.

For the sake of the sellers, I'm not going to post any photos.  But check out MLS because they've posted their own photos there, and I doubt they'll be getting an offer anytime soon.

-----

On Mother's Day my fiancé and I went to Butchart Gardens with his Mother.  There were about a billion tulips in bloom, and it was stunning as always.

This month we travelled up to Cowichan Bay, Honeymoon Bay and Youbou for a day, and drove around stopping to take photos.  I was actually surprised by how depressing I found the area to be, although part of that could have been the dreary weather.  Cowichan Bay used to be a logging town, and although some of that still goes on, I was left wondering what the rest of the community was doing.  To me it seemed like a retirement home for people who couldn't aford to live in quaint Qualicum Beach.

The satellite dishes sit high up on a hill outside of Cowichan Bay and belong to a company called "Tata Communications".

This month we traveled to Tofino for four days. The weather was beautiful once we got up there, but the drive was treacherous and wet. Part of the new highway had washed out! I had forgotten that November is salmon-spawning season, but we were told by the locals that it was a must-see. A very fat black bear made an appearance while we were at the river, and I had the chance to photograph him. In my excitement to get the right shot, he got way too close to me, and only later on did I realize what had happened. The bear came right out of the river and onto the trail in front of me. He may have been fat, but he wasn't slow. He wasn't scared of people either!

This month I've also started working in a studio setting. Up until now I've relied on the great outdoors to provide me with a backdrop and light source, but I've been lucky enough to gain access to some basic studio equipment, and I'm enjoying it a lot. My degree in theatre included classes in lighting design for stage, and I've found lighting for photography isn't much different.  Model: Laura Mitic. Makeup: Emmy Beaton.