After the Laughter

5 May 2026 – We meet in among the 14 bronze statues that comprise the A-Maze-ing Laughter art installation in Morton Park. The statues are all laughing…

and so is every visitor, which means the statues fulfill their objective: to spread joy.

Fun as they are, they are our rendezvous, not our destination.

We take ourselves a bit farther west & north, and join the Comox-Helmcken Greenway pretty well where it starts, at Chilco Street just outside Stanley Park. Seawall to the north (along Burrard Inlet), Seawall to the south (along English Bay / False Creek) — but what if you’re stubborn enough to want a city-street path across town?

You put your wheels, or your feet, onto the Greenway. That’s what.

It is well-developed between Stanley Park and Hornby Street, more concept than reality from Hornby to Pacific Blvd. at the False Creek end — but well worth the hoof when (ingrate that you are) you’re a little tired of all those sparkling waves.

Out here in the west end, the pedestrian/cyclist amenities are well-established:

e.g. bike lanes, freshly painted.

e.g. sidewalk art, almost freshly chalked (we comply, giggling).

e.g. bright new spring growth, glowing on every tree and shrub.

e.g. volunteer-tended corner gardens, part of the City’s Green Streets program.

e.g. murals on the walls of Lord Roberts Elementary School (this particular section, Dizzy Dancers, the work of the kids, who first threw their silhouettes on the wall, and artist Steve Hornung).

e.g. a multi-component art installation, Triumph of the Technocrat, punching up the grounds of a high-end rental building at Broughton, with a corner sculpture…

a flowing watercourse…

and even an Xs & Os table…

conceived by Reece Terris, and an equally flowing narrative poem all along the watercourse by Greg Snider.

e.g. alcoves with benches, chairs, greenscape & inventive hardscape — here bicycle wheels.

e.g. whimsy-artsy bird houses up above allotment gardens. (My companion sees a real, live bird fly into one of them.)

And then.

And then the Greenway changes.

We cross Hornby, we’re now on Helmcken, and we hit gritty Granville Street.

The Regal Hot (look beneath the traffic signal box) was impressive in its 1910 day, and still wears its heritage Art Deco architecture, but it is now better-known for its SRO (single-room occupancy) notoriety.

That said, things are changing — which makes this stretch of the cross-town walk as interesting, as valid, as the attractive part out west. SROs are being decommissioned, proposals for new projects are being presented. This is not a good-news story for everyone: if the SROs badly failed the marginal community they were meant to serve, fancy new developments won’t solve our housing crisis either. No, this is not necessarily good news, but it is all part of the city story.

Now solo, I carry on east past Granville, past that shape-shifting story; onward to a story of revival and glitter. I’m about to drop down the slope into Yaletown, with its boutiques and its artisan-everything and its cafés & restos and, yes…

its bright pink parasols at Hamilton Street.

Yet another block east, corner of Mainland, and I stare in amazement at one of the street’s mani-pedi establishments. My mind flips back to my friend’s comment, as we read the Triumph of the Technocrat text. “I understand every single word,” said this extremely well-educated person. “I just don’t understand what those words mean, all together.”

Same thing here. “Russian manicure?” I ask myself. “Authentic or otherwise?” I have no idea. This is so not the real me! In fact, anybody reading this who knows the Real Me is by now in fits of laughter.

As am I. The amusement carries me another few blocks, right down to Pacific Blvd., False Creek, and my route home. Laughter started the walk; laughter ends it.

,

Le 6 AM (& Other Discoveries)

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.)

  • WALKING… & SEEING

    "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"

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