Finding Kelowna
Casting coins
It is one of the coldest days of the year. I station my car by Kerry Park, and skirt the lake toward The Sails where I will champion the urban poor. When I...
People of the Cart
My hand, chapped from protective washing, holds my wife’s hand on our journey down Bernard to the theatre. It’s her birthday, and she wants to see a...
Anatomy of a neighbourhood
Beneath the burning trees of autumn my wife and I walk arm in arm through the exit of our community. The broken gateway pretends to keep us secure and releases...
The wisdom of generations
I walk with the crowd toward the giant apple at the center of Orchard Park Mall. Around the bronze monolith we are a storm swirling, unmindful of the morphing...
The mystery of the rose
I emerge from the RCA building to spritzes of rain that mist the railings, the benches and the yawning waste bins. Droplets hang on the underbelly of giant,...
Confessions of a street photographer
I meet a friend at our favourite coffee shop on Water Street. He is writing a book about Foncie Pulice, Vancouver street photographer, an iconic 45-year veteran...
In praise of summer's umbrellas
The sheltering sky is the blue umbrella of God, and far below this celestial dome summer is a riot of emblazoned parasols. From Bernard Street to City Park, and...
The priest was right
My cat is sitting on my lap; I type, he snoozes. He is fourteen, and like the immortal he believes himself to be, he boasts many names like Garfield, Radar and...
Men without chests
It is Father’s Day. And my pastor speaks with sadness about the dishonour in which men are held. Reflexively, I reply YES, and images of Bart Simpson,...
Running man
Neurons fire adrenaline to receptive brothers: “Arise!” They say, “He’s in a hurry.” I grab my smart-phone, apply an anxious foot...
Brains leaking
The doctor’s office is a sardine can of suffering humanity stacked side-by-side in pinched discomfort. I am waiting for the receptionist. Her head is an...
The Age of Oakley
Dr. Oakley's baggy eyes looked directly at me as he searched my chest with the cold, round instrument. Rubber hoses flowed from each end into his hairy...
Kissed by spiders
Sister Mary Albert was a tall black bird with a white throat. Her habit floated behind her gaunt exterior like a little black tail as she clicked down the...
Like a serpent in the belly
Memory… Angelo's Roman nose is a monument on an otherwise slim, narrow face. In the third grade he defends it against the taunts I hurl by pushing...
A pettiness to expiate
Memory… In profile she is an African fertility goddess: belly and behind protruding in opposite directions. She is presenting a workshop to which...
In praise of older women
Memory… The powder of snow around Brandt’s Creek path has melted. And leafy remains, black and pressed into the soggy lane, prepare for next...
Fonzie
Because of his ‘50s rock-star haircut, I like to think of him as Fonzie. He is tall, slightly stooped, head inclined to the pavement as if searching for...
On the road to find out
My fingers type the title: In the Age of Tattooed Girls (a previous column). But at the time I do not realize that girls is not the feminine parallel I am...
In the age of tattooed women
Foreword This is the age of tattooed women with pit bulls at their side. This is the age of females tongue-kissing females on global television. This is the...
Kelowna Right to Life: Part 3 of 3
For Kelowna Right to Life: Part 1, click here. For Kelowna Right to Life: Part 2, click here. “We’ve become a culture...