Graffiti in the City: Gold

In My Community: Davie Day

I’m a little late with this post, but the photo popped up and I just couldn’t let it get away. 

Davie Street shut down again on September 11th to celebrate the 6th annual Davie Day.  Once I came upon this scene I was struck by the excitement of this little girl in her white dress being able to paint with abandon, and a parent letting her go for it.  I don’t know who was having more fun, her or me, but I was more than happy to let her and her red cheeks do all the work while I did all the photography.

Beyond adorable little girls covered in paint, what are some of the best things about public festivals?

Sophisticated eyewear

 

Food for the sophisticated palate

 

Environmentally friendly transportation

 

And, of course, what’s a festival without Pocahontas making balloon animals?

In My Community: Spontaneous Live Music

Because a key part of ABCD is taking an inventory of the assets in your community, I thought I might start a new series highlighting some of the assets in mine.  Granted, I could shout from the rooftops how much I love my community, but I’ll keep it on the down-low (or at least the mid-range) for the sake of avoiding the my-community-is-better-than-yours gloat (which is bound to happen anyway, but I don’t want it to be so obvious).

Today was a good day, filled with all the strange and unexpected happenings that make Vancouver’s West End the place I most wanted to live when that nesting instinct kicked in.  After 36 years and at least as many residences, it struck me as an active, diverse, soulful community within an urban setting – not the easiest find.

I’ve now been here three years, paying a scandalous rent to an unconscionable bandit landlord who continues to raise it every year regardless of the economy or the fact that there’s no heat or hot water for weeks at a time or there are sometimes workers walking in to my apartment unannounced or it takes 6 months to get anything repaired. 

Why?

Well allow me to assault you with another run-on sentence, it’s just that good: Neighbours that I know, the Celebration of Light and Davie Day,  the West Valley Market and the Nelson Street Dog Park and Stepho’s, the community garden with a yarn bombed fence, Pride, did I mention Stepho’s, and the seawall, the beach and Stanley Park and all the beautiful men who are not interested in me in the least – and it’s all steps from my door.  Now that’s a community!

The day started well

In the morning I walk my dogs.  Today I was stopped by a woman who apparently watches us walk every day from her balcony.  She wanted to tell me what good dogs they are.  Well thank you, slightly-unusual-neighbour, I appreciate that.  On my way home my little pup Sophie (who at 14 is maybe not as much of a pup as I wish she were) got sick, and a guy in the early stages of shooting up gave me napkins to clean her little face, and offered clucks of sympathy for her uncomfortable situation.  Well thank you, almost-high guy, I appreciate that too.

The afternoon was one part monty python

As I’m working I hear what I think is the sound of a marauding gang of flamenco dancers walking up Bute Street which, considering the neighbourhood, wouldn’t be unusual in and of itself, but upon closer investigation it turned out to be three female RCMP officers on horseback.  Three!  They were one Mr. Ed and a hi-ho Silver away from a Musical Ride, for pete’s sake…

But this evening took the cake

My bedroom faces onto the alley which makes for great acoustics that bounce off of the highrises in the immediate area, and it has provided some great concerts over the years.  I’ve been treated to opera, blues, the collective yelps of “YES!” and “NOOOO!!” during playoff season, and the homeless guy who likes to serenade with ”If you’ve got the money honey, I’ve got the time”

Tonight, however, I was subjected to the inevitable squawk of some dear soul learning scales on a clarinet.  Or, so I thought.  Within about 10 minutes it had turned in to a full concert of wind instruments – and they were good!

I took the dogs to investigate.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They had papered Hydro poles, which was thoughtful.  Turned out it was part of the Vancouver Concert Band.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 …and they played everything from classical to modern jazz to Barry Manilow (oh yes, you heard me…)

 

 

 

 

And that, my friends, is what I call a good day in the West End.

An Open Letter To My Car

Dear Car,

It has been less than a year since we’ve been together.  I looked at you today, your first ding showing on the dust-covered door, bird poop mapping its way across your roof like a rorschach test, remnants of dog biscuits mashed into the stitching of your seats – and I realized that the honeymoon is over.  You are now a member of the family, lovely and comfortable, providing the incredible gift of freedom like nothing else can.

We courted for awhile online before finally meeting in person.  When you pulled around, it was love at first great-gas-mileage-compact-with-heated-seats-and-moonroof sight.  Those funny dealership guys took a bet that if they offered me a white version of you I’d take it.  They lost.

I asked for tinted windows so you would help keep the girls cool and safe.  It meant I had to wait for 3 days until we’d be able to take to the open road together Thelma & Louise style.  Only, you know, without Louise.  When the day came I was sick with excitement.  It could’ve been that I was now officially ScotiaBank’s bitch lendee or maybe it was the day-old mushu, but I’d like to think it was because I couldn’t stop thinking of all the adventures we were about to embark upon. 

We got you insured, they took our picture, and I almost drove you into the bushes as we left the showroom.  It was a good day.

I took you to the mall, because that’s what girls do, and because you needed some serious femming up.  A fuzzy black wheel cover with little pink hearts did the trick.  Remember when I parked so far away from other cars so you wouldn’t get scratched, that I lost you?  It was the perfect opportunity to hear the obnoxious, yet glorious ”BLART BLART” of the panic alarm calling to me from the far corner, causing much jealousy from all the other “cars” (and I use that term losely) in the parkade that night.  It was the voice I never had, and I knew then that we were a true match.

We headed home, you purring like a very purry thing, and me bragging to mom on the Fido about how fab we are.  That’s right.  One hand on wheel.  I’m crazy like that.  We did the inaugural crawl drive across Lion’s Gate, and our life has never been the same.

Car, you took me and the girls the 1400 kilometers to be with family when we needed them most.  You’ve allowed me the freedom and independence that can only come from a zippy little hatchback with attitude.  You made sure we got to the vet in time after work to take care of little Sophie and her tummy.

I’m not going to lie.  There are days, little car, although not many, when I wonder why we’re together, if it’s really even working out for us.  But then Saturday roles around and Kijiji beckons me like an e-siren advertising garage sale treasures that must be seen and what if I miss the perfect garage sale like an estate sale in West Van that sells an Emily Carr because it looks like a charcoal sketch by a 12 year old and hey, they’re just grandkids anyway, what do they know from art, and clearly my very existence depends upon my getting over there to save a national treasure from being tacked onto someone else’s wall or chucked into the garbage all together the horror  …and there you are.  Sitting in the alley waiting to transport me to coffee, to blow off some of that dust, and let you do what you do best.  Drive baby, drive.

Thank you, Car.  I know I don’t show you the love often enough.  I don’t drive you as much as you’d like, and I don’t keep you as clean as I should.  But you’re a ballsy chick with a rocking wheel cover, and you’ve made me cooler and faster.  And that, my friend, is no small feat.

Love,
me

In My Community: Davie Village Community Garden

This morning I grabbed my coffee from Melriches, the dogs, and got a little camera happy. 

I still can’t quite believe how quickly this all came together, especially considering it’s on the corner of Burrard & Davie.  Yet another example of the tenacity of West End folks – give me some dirt and a composter, and I’m good to go.

Some folks have all flowers, other use their plots for food.  And a few… well, I’ll just let the photos speak for themselves.

 

(Yes, it is a knitted fence.  No, I don’t know why)