6 May 2025 – Today our Prime Minister met with the President of that giant neighbour to the south, an event that gives us Canadians much material for reflection.
For example, we reflect upon the fact that our Prime Minister had to — yet again — explain that Canada is an independent and sovereign country.
Sigh.
Fortunately, this bright sunny day gives me other, happier, and less surreal, objects for reflection. In fact, the sunshine causes the reflection to be done for me. I don’t even have to think. All I have to do is look.
I am in an alley just west of Main Street, between 7th and 6th avenues, where the brightly painted west wall, a remnant of the 2017 Mural Festival…
with the help of adjacent buildings and some H-frame hydro poles, throws bright reflections into every glass surface opposite.
For example, wall plus next-door building…
wall plus neighbour plus an H-frame…
blocks of mini-reflections above a parkade entrance, with equally strong light reflections on the laneway below…
even the parkade door itself! and…
and even the corner of a decidedly uninspired building, having itself a dance with that bit of H-frame.
Cheered and amused, I walk on down to False Creek and a lunch date with friends.
Right here, in this one downtown alley in one city in one province in our independent, sovereign country.
27 April 2025 – A little time travel, my friends. Back to the first image in my previous (23 April) post, with its long view up the Quebec Street bioswale to Science World…
and my cryptic reference to the “mystery interview” I did there before setting off on the walk that became that post.
Here it is, the focus of my 23 April curiosity and topic for the interview: the tall, free-standing Tower of Bauble.
It encloses a whole world of action — a world that had been dismantled for a while; whose return I briefly celebrated with you in my 12 November 2024 post (Under the Threat of Rain), which moved me, in my 21 December 2024 post (The Tilt) to promise you I’d learn more, and report back.
Herewith my report.
The Tower is a 24-ft-tall audio-kinetic sculpture, designed by American painter, sculpture & origami master George Rhoads.
This tall!
A variety of balls (pool, bocce, snooker) are carried up in a variety of ways, for e.g. via this central column…
or for e.g. via this majestically slow-turning blue auger, over there in the back right.
Once up, the balls come tumbling down again in a variety of pathways, like these for e.g….
and land in a variety of receptacles, sometimes (cf. that blurred white ball, below) shooting off a path into a bare metal disc…
or maybe bouncing from one red disc to another.
All of which causes lots and lots of sound.
Balls go thunkkk, or smaaaack; they hit hanging tubes and other obstacles so that clangers claaanng, chimers chime and clappers clap.
Like this yellow clapper (on the left) about to strike that red hanging tube.
That’s all there is to it.
Balls go up, balls come down, noise ensues.
And we can’t get enough of it.
Which nicely demonstrates the importance of having the right object in the right place for the right reason. Because, back in its early life, this sculpture met so much resistance it had to be mothballed.
In 1985, a US shopping mall magnate bought 30 of Rhoads’ sculptures and placed them in 30 of his malls — including this sculpture, in the food court of his Kamloops BC property. Where the incessant sound effects threatened the sanity of food court staff. (Fine for passing patrons, but in your ear all day every day?) The Tower was put away.
In 1995, Vancouverite Derek Lee and his partner acquired the property, discovered the sculpture among its effects and soon afterwards donated it to Science World. (Lee’s parents were long-time patrons of Science World, and he grew up with that tradition.) Whether in its initial position by the main entrance, or its current position next to bike paths, it has always been outdoors — where the audience would be present by choice.
I sit for a while, prior to my interview appointment. I watch how repeatedly people choose to be part of that audience. I want to know more. Why makes the Tower right for Science World, and why it is so appealing?
I ask the right person: Brian Anderson. On staff since 1991, he brought with him a background in computer science, math/physics and theatre, and he is now the organization’s Director of Performance and Fun Times.
Most of those fun times are indoor events and activities, but Brian loves the Tower as well.
“It ignites wonder,” he says, “and that’s an important part of our core mission. My favourite thing is watching people look at it for a while, and see them start figuring out how they could build something like that for themselves, back at home.”
Creator George Rhoads said the sculpture illustrated “the art of music and rhythm.” Brian points out the serious scientific principles behind all that music and rhythm: gravity, Newtonian physics (“balance, momentum, kinetic and potential energy”), probability and combinatorics (“calculating how many paths and how often balls take each path”).
Still and all, the Tower is a playful demonstration of serious science, and its various components have suitably playful names. “This,” says Brian, pointing to a red ledge overhead…
is the Clumper-Upper.” Of course it is. It clumps up six balls with perfect balance — and then a seventh comes along to send things flying, the six balls one way and itself another. Key to their travels are two Flip-Floppers, which direct balls down assorted further pathways.
Theatre buff (and parttime actor) Brian loves the cheeky titles and sheer busy fun of the sculpture; math/science Brian later sends me his chart, illustrating what goes where. (My abbreviations: L & R = left & right; FF = Flipper-Flopper; Sp. Path = Spinner Path)
Path
% of Balls
Sp. path 1
12.50%
Sp. path 2
12.50%
Sp. path 3
12.50%
Sp. path 4
12.50%
R at 1st FF
L at 2nd FF
6-ball clumper
Sp. path 1
5.36%
Sp. path 2
5.36%
Sp. path 3
5.36%
Sp. path 4
5.36%
1-ball clumper
Trampoline
3.57%
R at 2nd FF
Sp. path 1
6.25%
Sp. path 2
6.25%
Sp. path 3
6.25%
Sp. path 4
6.25%
Total
100.00%
You see? It is all beautifully calculated.
Ahhh, but there are also what Brian calls “moments of chaos.”
Partly because this sculpture was designed to be indoors, not outside where heat/cold would cause metal to expand/contract and play merry hell with the calculations. Partly because time passes and things wear down. Both these facts led to the 2023 renovations, supported by the Rob Macdonald and Lee Families and led by Vancouver kinetic artist David Dumbrell, which included further fine-tuning of formulae and calculations.
“But, acknowledges Brian, “it’s on-going.” As in, Stuff Happens.
Balls come flying off their tracks, land thunkkk on the floor. Brian twice interrupts our conversation to rescue a ball, the second time…
folding himself into the depths of moving parts, a momentary human addition to all those wonders.
For they are wonders, we agree, and they both illustrate and provoke wonder.
Not in spite of the imperfections, but — at least in part — because of them. I tell Brian the title of the documentary about the life and work of renowned Canadian architect Raymond Moriyama: Magical Imperfection. Brian nods.
One last look at all that magic in action, an entire school class forsaking their phones to, instead, cluster around the Tower…
one last look at the Tower itself, over my shoulder and across Science World’s outdoor garden…
and away I go.
To have my feet ignore my mind and send me on quite a different walk than I had planned.
23 April 2025 – My mind has created a very clear plan for the morning.
Follow the Quebec Street bioswale — not a ditch! a rainwater gathering/purifying system! — to Science World, down there at False Creek…
do the interview; walk my usual “Cambie Loop” to and over the bridge; and then zigzag eastward back home.
I do the interview. (The Mystery Interview. Be patient, a post will follow.) I start walking west along the False Creek Seawall.
All according to plan.
Suddenly, where Carrall St. butts into the Seawall, my feet execute a sharp right-turn. They don’t even inform my mind, let alone ask permission. They just take mind (and the rest of me) hostage, and execute their own plan.
Away we go. I find myself walking north on Carrall.
I decide not to argue: this could be interesting! The route offers a tidy cross-town slice past Andy Livingstone Park, through Chinatown, on into the Downtown East Side (DTES) and Gastown, all the way to Water Street with Burrard Inlet just beyond.
Poignant, powerful street art at West Pender, by the impressive street artist and DTES resident/advocate, Smokey D.
“It’s by Smokey D,” I hear two street kids say to each other, their voices full of respect. The City agrees. In tribute to his concern for others and use of his skills to inform and empower others, in 2023 Vancouver proclaimed March 11 — his birthday — to be Smokey D Day.
Another downtown symbol at Water and Cambie streets, this one much happier in mood: Raymond Saunders’ 1977 Steam Clock, still puffing steam and, in another 10 minutes, due to mark 12-noon with the opening bars of O Canada.
By now my mind fully supports what my feet set in motion: this is a promising route! I even manage to rediscover the Silvestre café and reacquaint myself with its Peruvian menu — another mug of Chicha Morada (purple corn drink) but this time, a Chicharron sandwich (pork belly) rather than an Alfajor dessert.
At Richards Street, my feet graciously allow my mind some say in what happens next. Continue west another block or two? Or turn south right here? Right here, says my mind, and my feet pivot accordingly.
Yet more patriotic fervour in the Macleod’s window at Richards & West Pender…
and appropriately vintage in style, as befits this rare, used and antiquarian bookstore.
I cross Dunsmuir, where signage informs me that this next stretch of Richards is part of the City’s “blue-green rainwater system.”
The last panel of the sign is an illustration of the pavers involved in the system. The caption asks, “Do they remind you of water flowing towards the tree?”
I step out into the street, check the pavers.
Yes, they do.
Another happy rediscovery, a place I can never find on purpose. I just have to, literally, walk into it…
the joyous, multi-level Rainbow Park at Richards & Smithe.
Getting closer to False Creek with every step!
On past Emery Barnes Park at Davie, and then across Pacific Blvd., right to the tumbling fountains of George Wainborn Park, which slopes down to the Creek.
Eastward along the False Creek Seawall, past a swimming dog (and ball-tossing owner)…
and then I’m beneath the towering girders at the David Lam ferry dock. Each girder base is incised with a different story of time & place.
This one commemorates the Great Fire of 1886…
when, on June 17, an authorized clearing fire on CPR property blazed out of control and destroyed the infant city, whose wooden structures were no match for the wind and flames. In the words of one survivor: “The city did not burn, it simply melted before the fiery blast.”
And then I walk some more, on past the Cambie Bridge, on along to Coopers Mews, with its symbolic barrels on high. At this point, mind, feet and the rest of me all agree on our course of action.
We follow the Mews to Pacific Blvd., and catch a bus for home.
21 April 2025 – Otherwise occupied Friday-Saturday-Sunday, so today is my last chance to vote in the four days of advance polls for our up-coming (28 April) Federal Election.
I walk the two blocks to my designated advance polling station, a local shopping mall.
I’m a good 15 minutes ahead of the 9 am opening, but I expect a line-up even so.
Friday set a new record for advance-poll turnout (2 million), and though numbers are not yet released for subsequent days, I’d heard enough anecdotal evidence to suggest participation has remained strong.
I enter the mall. Oh yes, there is a line-up.
This is just one bit of it, snaking its way past shops and café also in the process of opening up.
Later, as I walk away, my eyes suddenly sting with tears of gratitude for what I have just seen, felt, and done. This is the ritual of democracy. So precious, so fragile — and so easily taken for granted.
But not this time.
There we all were. Despite the wait; despite the fact that — with five parties running candidates in my riding — we had among us an invisible range of political views along with our visible range of demographics; despite all that, the mood was relaxed, friendly and excited.
That’s the word! Excited. There was a kind of happy excitement humming in the air. People were bright-eyed. I’m doing something that matters!
I remember the heavily tatttoo’ed young man (with an impressively patient toddler by the hand) who explained his attitude to the guy next to him: “Yeah, well, y’know? You got to vote. You don’t vote, you got no right to bitch.”
Later, as the day warms and brightens, I walk along the False Creek Seawall.
Where, once again, all those human demographics are present. And, once again, the mood is friendly.
14 April 2025 – It’s spring time, full-tilt — but even so, twists of last fall and winter are still woven into the offering.
We’re once again at the VanDusen Botanical Garden. We’re eager for spring and, at first, that’s all we see.
Western skunk cabbages are once again a-glow in the boggy creek that feeds into Livingstone Lake…
and trilliums, Ontario’s provincial flower, are in their seasonal glory on a slope in the VanDusen’s Eastern North America garden.
Then we begin to notice the overlaps, the twists in time.
Glossy two-tone Southern Magnolia leaves are always with us…
but all around the R. Roy Forster Cypress Pond, those same two tones tell a more complex story. Here the green of new ferns begins to rise above the year-round ochre of cypress “knees.”
Just off the north end of the pond, the shadow fork of a still-bare deciduous tree frames the spring blossoms of this burst of Snake’s Head…
while over at the north end of Heron Lake, this Japanese Maple doesn’t yet obscure the long view down the lake. (But just wait another few weeks! Those leaves are about to unfurl.)
Face to face with the spring blossoms of this Sargent’s Magnolia, we’re also face to face with fall and winter. Petals already litter the ground — where they lie atop the desiccated leaves that fell last year. Visible also, there in the lower left quadrant of the photo, another reminder of last year: rusty skeletons of Mophead Hydrangea.
In the Fern Dell, the Tasmanian Tree Fern is — I think — putting out new spring fronds. (A hemispheric twist in time: from the Down-Under cycle of seasons, to our own, here in the Up-Over.)
There are things that don’t change, such as the deep-textured bark of a mighty Douglas Fir..
and things that do, such as the intricate spring coils of the Hedge Fern.
An old Emperor Oak leaf is caught in the glossy leaves of an Autumn Camellia (which saves its blooms, thank you very much, for fall)…
and this season’s cherry blossoms are already flying through the air like confetti…
as if they know that the Sakura Days Japanese Fair has now ended.
No, I take that back.
Yes, the Fair has ended, and yes, petals are flying — but these Daybreak Cherry trees are still laden with blossoms.
How fitting that the marble sculpture they shelter, titled Woman, is by Japanese artist Kiyoshi Takahashi.
6 April 2025 – Three images from the last two days, and the subsequent discovery that all three dance to the letter “W.”
Water…
and Wood…
and Wall.
This one embodies a more complicated bit of alphabet than its companions. At the time, any designation would have been “S-for-shadow.” Because… well, look at it. Look how that boring wire-mesh fence throws filigree shadow on the rusted corrugated metal.
Even if we boot “S” to the sidelines, we can still applaud this image as a triple-W, all by itself.
Wall, check.
Also, Warehouse, check. The rusty metal covers a ramshackle old warehouse on False Creek South, one I’ve eyed with fascination for the last seven years, wondering whether entropy or the bulldozer would finally bring it down.
Turns out: bulldozer. The cheerful young City employee padlocking a bit of the security fence told us that yes, the building is about to be razed — but the wood will be saved.
W for wood!
“Inside this metal crap, it’s all old-growth timber. Old growth! Still in good shape. We’ll be taking it apart piece by piece, because the City plans to reassemble it as part of an industrial-heritage display.”
No, he didn’t know how soon, or where. We then grimaced our mutual recognition of the best-laid plans of mice, men and civic authorities.
31 March 2025 – Neither Zen nor any kind of dog is in my mind, as I step out the door into the fresh morning air.
My mind is perfectly happy with just the beginnings of a plan: walk to False Creek; take a ferry from Olympic Village to Granville Island; walk on west along the Seawall at least to Vanier Park, then head south into town, and then… Oh, never mind. Events will take over. As they do.
I’ll see what I see.
Vehicular back-chat in an alley, for starters…
followed by back-chat on a literal human back, as I near the Olympic Village dock on False Creek.
When I tell the cheerful young couple that I admire the image, the story gets even better. As he poses for my camera, he prompts her to take credit and explain. Turns out this is a line of jackets rightly called SwapWear, since — thanks to zippers and Velcro — you can swap out that back panel for additional choices. A changeable art gallery, right there on your back.
I walk off, much amused, to catch my ferry.
I’d’ve been even more amused had I known that — along with a Thoughtful Dog — more cat’s ears and more fish would become part of this walk as well.
But I don’t know that. And my Aquabus ride is quite enough to keep me up-energy and happy with the day.
Last time I was on Granville Island was February 20, when my post title summarized the experience: Off-Season Drizzle. Now the site is all warmth! and people! and signs everywhere that a new season has arrived.
Dragon boats are already in the water, with trainee crews digging in furiously as their trainers just as furiously shout instructions. Much more peacefully, racing sculls and kayaks are piled in colourful stacks at water’s edge.
I walk on, per my sort-of plan.
But not for very long.
I’m barely at the public fish market when detour signs send me inland. I had forgotten the mammoth construction project down there at water’s edge. Oops. Time to channel, yet again, the wisdom of a dear Toronto friend and co-founder of our two-woman Tuesday Walking Society. Every time we miscalculated and had to backtrack, she’d shrug. “We’re out for a walk,” she’d remind me. “It’s all walking.”
So I behave myself, navigate boring stretches that are nonetheless All Walking, and keep heading west, as close to the water as possible.
I am rewarded for all that good behaviour at the corner of West 1st and Burrard — just across the street from the point where (I’m pretty sure) I’ll be able to work my way down to the Seawall again. As I wait for the lights to change, I notice a little girl and her parents, also waiting.
I compliment her on her cat’s ears headband; we agree Cats Are The Best. She raises her hand, to show me the bouquet of flowers she has just picked. We further agree that Dandelions Are The Best. Red light turns green, and she scampers ahead toward Seaforth Peace Park, calling back as she goes: “Mummy! Look! More flowers!”
Her mum reminds her to pick only three, “and leave the rest for the bees and the birds.”
All this causes me to notice the chamomile blossoms scattered through the grass…
and also the craggy rock sculpture rising up from the grass. It is message-heavy.
First I read the plaque, describing this tribute by the Latin American community to the courage of their first wave of immigration (talk about the entangled nature of darkness and light)…
and then I read the incised recipe for Sopa Sur, “enjoyed all over Latin America.”
Iconic seafood soup, something I might not have discovered, but for a little girl with cat’s ears on her head.
(Is Sopa Sur part of your life? Have you comments, or a recipe to share? I’d love to hear.)
And then, yes, I do make my way back to the Seawall, and yes there are people and dogs and benches and blossoms and crows and gulls all around. And chamomile blossoms in the grass.
And, as I round the curve to the west end of Vanier Park, there is also the Blue Cabin…
the floating artist residency program, now moored in Heritage Harbour alongside the Vancouver Maritime Museum. On April 1st, it will welcome its first resident artist of the new season.
On round the next curve, on to Kitsilano Beach Park, where nobody is waiting for April first.
Dogs are in the water, or furiously chasing sticks. Humans are on the beach proper, though still well bundled up. The day may be warm, as early spring goes, but the temperature is only about 10C.
Then I see the one exception to all this prudent behaviour: a woman stripped to her bathing suit, explaining herself to a clearly amazed, and very fully clothed, passer-by.
Enough chat. Putting her body where her mouth was, she runs into the water and starts swimming.
I admire her, but I’m glad to be up here on the path. Where I also admire the beach volleyball net being slung into position.
It’s the last to go up, the other seven courts are already in full swing. (Full swing? I didn’t plan the pun, but let’s all enjoy it.)
Time for city sidewalks, I decide. I leave the park at its Cornwall St. border to head south on Yew. Smack on the corner, a combination I was not expecting.
It seems to work. I don’t know how many eyeglasses they’re selling, but the café end of things is doing a brisk trade.
Another unexpected combination, a few blocks farther south.
I finally meet the Thoughtful Dog!
Oh all right, Zen and dog are not woven into one package, not like the eyewear/espresso duo — but they are visually if not commercially paired, and that’s quite enough for me.
More city blocks, a break for lunch (avo-chicken sandwich plus butternut squash soup, yum), and after a while I’m on West 10th.
Here, near Hemlock, a fresh new camellia blossom showing all those buds how it’s done…
and here, at Birch, a lot of weary old skateboard tips,,,
that still provide, despite their age, a crisp, good-humoured edge to the volunteer-tended traffic circle and sidewalk gardens.
29 March 2025 – I’m still pursuing light, as a resource for coping with darkness. This time, not physical light, but emotional — small things I notice along the way that encourage, impress or just plain amuse me.
Truly small, truly everyday. That’s what I like most about them.
For example, the City’s network of bike lanes…
this one veering past a corner cafe’s turquoise “tiny free library” over there by the flower bed.
I check it out. At the top, the slogan “freely take, freely give, for the joy of sharing”; at the bottom, a bin marked “free dog toys/balls.” I do take a book (one of Reginald Hill’s old Dalziel & Pascoe series), knowing I’l be dropping it off again, one of these days.
Next corner over, a young woman with skis on her shoulder.
Still ski season at altitude — and available by public transit, all the way from downtown Vancouver. She’s not dressed for skiing today, but she could do it, if she wanted to.
Meanwhile, here at sea level…
the forsythia is in full bloom.
Skis and spring blossoms, all at the same time!
Two more blocks, and I’m startled to a full stop by this front gate notice.
Arguably this speaks to darkness, not light, in that it’s about bullying. On the other hand, it’s also all about defiance, and I like the thought of Old Wrinklies speaking up. (Being one myself.)
Another block or so, and a passing teenage girl, noticing my fixed attention, tracks my gaze with her own. We then wag heads at each other in mutual admiration…
for the preening window-framed cat. Feline living art.
More frames, more art, down by Cambie Street, where the fence around subway project construction is a display of an elementary school project.
Here’s my favourite, this child’s joke about the station due to be built at this very corner.
Across Broadway, north toward the water, under the Cambie Bridge ramps as I make my way to the False Creek Seawall. It’s mostly bleak under here, yes it is… but there’s always something.
This invitation, for example.
“Le 6 am club”? “Communauté de course”? Later, I look it up. In both official languages, the website invites early risers to get together once a week, at a given location, for a group run.
I am not about to join them but I am delighted the club exists.
As I am to see — even if only in peripheral remnants — the splendid 2014 mural painted by Emily Gray plus 100 volunteers all over the Spyglass Place ferry dock.
Murals fade, other pleasures endure. Sitting on a log just off Hinge Park, for example, and letting the world go by.
A small act of public kindness, down by the Olympic Village dock. Someone lost track of her pretty straw hat…
and someone else has hung it high, to increase the chance its owner can find it again.
Turning south from the water back towards city streets, I’m cheered by the energy of a pair of junior skateboarders, even more so since one of them is a kick-ass little girl.
And I’m even more, even-more cheered to see them screech to a halt, joined by a slightly older girl on her own two legs.
What stops them? A sign. It blares, “What’s This?”, and they’ve decided to find out. Little boy reads it aloud, older girl hugs younger girl.
Having educated themselves, they zoom off. I promptly move in, to see for myself.
The sign tells me, and I tell you: this is not a ditch. “This bioswale collects and cleans one-third of the rainwater that falls on streets, plazas and other public land in Olympic Village.” All part of Vancouver’s rain city strategy.
One last small delight.
Right in front of me, as I wait for traffic lights to change, just a block from home.
Happy socks!
I am not tra-la-la. My clenched belly shivers with the darkness, all around. But neuroscience tells us that darkness is not the whole story, and noticing the whole story will help. “When you tilt toward the good, you’re not denying or resisting the bad. You’re acknowledging the whole truth, all the mosaic tiles of life…” (Rick Hanson, PhD, Buddha’s Brain.)
"Traveller, there is no path. Paths are made by walking" -- Antonio Machado (1875-1939)
"The voyage of discovery is not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes" -- Marcel Proust (1871-1922)
"A city is a language, a repository of possibilities, and walking is the act of speaking that language, of selecting from those possibilities" -- Rebecca Solnit, "Wanderlust: A History of Walking"
WALKING WOMAN 