Thematic Photographic 169 - Bricks and mortar

Old growth
London, ON, May 2011

I've been staring at buildings a lot lately (I'm odd that way), so I thought the stuff that makes them up - bricks and mortar - would make for a fun Thematic Photographic topic.

There's a certain charm in the way a brick building ages that concrete simply can't match. It's got a kind of texture that never fails to make me want to reach through the screen so I can feel it with my fingertips. I know I can't do that, of course, but that doesn't mean I can't head out again and find some new (old) buildings to shoot.

Your turn: Take a picture of anything with bricks in it. Or mortar. Or both. Post it to your blog (or, alternatively, find something you may have already shared online) and leave a comment here letting folks know where to find it. Visit other participants to share the Thematic joy. Repeat as often as you wish through the week. Click here for more background on how Thematic, our weekly photo-sharing activity, works.

Two garbage cans in a park

Emptiness
London, ON, July 2011

About this photo: I found these garbage cans in the park near my office and immediately thought they'd serve nicely to wrap up this week's metallica theme (click here for a last-minute addition. Or pop back tonight at 7:00 Eastern when we launch our next theme, bricks and mortar.)

After dragging my camera around for years on end and looking for new ways to look at the world, I've learned a number of truths about photography. One of them is this: Not every photo is heroic. They aren't all epic scenes destined for the front page. You're not always going to capture the penultimate moment - the goal, the shot heard round the world, the elusive something that couldn't be recreated even if you tried.

Some photos are simply quiet reflections of the world around us, humble slices of life that so often go unnoticed because we're too busy with too much other stuff. They don't claim to be anything more, and they don't beg for any kind of spotlight. They just are. And when you slow things down just a bit - sort of like getting off the highway and taking the back roads for a little while - you see things that might have otherwise been a blur in the rear-view mirror.

Sure, you get there a little later. But you have so much more to take with you from the journey.

Your turn: What is it about simplicity that appeals to you? How do you define "simplicity" in the first place?

Save me

Over my head
London, ON, August 2011

I've captured medical choppers before, but this is the first time I've pointed a lens at a Ornge (no, not a typo) bird since Ontario's air ambulance service began the transition from the Sikorsky S-76A to the new Augusta Westland AW139 helicopter. I'm just enough of an aero-geek that stuff like this excites me, as the Westland is kinda like the Porsche of the medium-lift chopper world.

Likely thanks to the funky composite rotors, they make a distinct sound, enough so that you just know something's up whenever you hear them. In fact, they're felt almost as much as they're heard, and living about 3 km as the crow flies from one of the helipad-equipped hospitals makes this a familiar sound in my neighborhood.

I hope I never need the services of one of these birds, but just knowing they're there brings me comfort. I stop whatever I'm doing whenever one flies over and I smile to myself.

Your turn: Things that bring you comfort. Please discuss. And for more metallica-themed goodness - either in the sky or at a somewhat less lofty altitude - click here.

Bird on a wire

Low level flight
St. Laurent, QC, October 2011

In the late-afternoon light in the parking lot of the Place Vertu mall, I found myself shooting seagulls because, well, I'm not entirely sure why. But here's the thing: There doesn't always need to be a reason. Sometimes, it's enough to pull the camera from its bag and shoot because having that delightfully hefty chunk of electronics and glass in your hand is exactly what you need at that moment. Because it feels absolutely right. Because you know as soon as you get everything dialed in, photographic moments will just happen.

The psychology of photography. Who woulda thought?

Your turn: Do you ever shoot - or write, or otherwise create - simply because it feels right? Do you necessarily need a reason? Why do you create in the first place?

One more thing: What does this have to do with metallica? I'm thinking that Hydro Quebec monstrosity in the background might qualify. Sneaky of me, huh? Head here to share your own.

From ashes to ashes...

...and dust to dust
Komoka, ON, September 2011

About this photo: It's Thematic's metallica week, and you're invited. Just go here. It won't hurt.

There's a cruel irony to anything new and shiny: With few exceptions, it begins to degrade the moment it's made. Sure, we do our best to keep it looking showroom-fresh, but the sad truth is that it'll never be as lovely as it is the day you first bring it home. It's all downhill from there.

My take? We buy stuff to use. The value isn't necessarily in the thing itself, but in the value it delivers through its use. For example, my camera has more than its share of dings and scratches. Some of its corners are almost ground down from years of being pulled in and out of its bag, exposed to some of the worst weather Canada can throw at it, and more than a few errant kids and distant relatives.

Still, it couldn't be lovelier to me, because it's helped me record years of my family's life, moments I otherwise wouldn't have been able to capture. I'm sure I could have stuck it in a big glass case on a big glass shelf, and I'm sure doing so would have kept some of the white labels from flecking off of the black body. But what would be the point of that?

And then there's this rusted-out combine. It looks derelict now, but how much corn did it harvest over its lifetime? How critical was it to the family that owned it, that relied on it to keep the farm profitable? How many of us did it feed?

The metal may be returning to the form from which it came, but I'd argue it's more beautiful now than it's ever been.

Your turn: Things that get lovelier as they age. Please discuss.

On dogs and fools

"The great pleasure of a dog is that you may make a fool of yourself with him and not only will he not scold you, but he will make a fool of himself too."
Samuel Butler

Now, why can't people be more like dogs?

Dead fish on ice

I'm not above having a little borderline-tasteless fun with the fish display at the local grocery store. The fish don't seem to know the difference, and the legions of catatonic shoppers seeking deals on store-brand bread and imported artichoke hearts couldn't be bothered long enough to even notice what I'm up to.

Mind you, by the time I had set up this scene, my wife and daughter had already scurried away, hoping a little distance would prevent anyone from connecting them with the weird guy waving the smartphone around.

The things we must do for our art. Or whatever passes for it.

Your turn: Fishie needs a name. What should it be?

One more thing: What does this scene have to do with metallica? Silvery fish scales, indeed! Follow your mouse here for more metallic goodness.

A photo contest...with a twist

If you live in or around London on Windsor, this could be for you. CTV News is asking viewers to stalk them. No, this is not a joke...it's a real contest.

If you're out and about and see them covering a story, take their picture and send it in. You can win one of ten 50 gift certificates to Henry's - a major photo store - or one of five $1,000 gift certificates. Which will, of course, help you raise your paparazzi-cred even further.

I like the concept of a contest-with-a-difference, and I like the store that's sponsoring it: Henry's is where I've bought all my gear since time immemorial. The folks who work there are also photographers, and going in to shoot the photographic breeze reminds me of how all stores might have been run in a more customer service-driven age oh so long ago. (And no, this isn't a sponsored entry...I just like them.)

Contest link is here:
http://ctvnewslondon.ca/Contests/CTVSnapshots/

Your turn: If you're a southern Ontarian, please help spread the word by reposting, linking, Tweeting or Facebooking this. $1,000 would buy some lovely gear.

Almost legal

Growing up
Laval, QC, July 2011

Seventeen years ago today, a tiny little man battled his way into the world and in the process turned me and my wife into parents. As you can see from the picture above, Zach is no longer a tiny little man. He's an almost-man. A man-child. He's now taller than I am. He shaves. His voice is probably - ok, definitely - a little deeper, and his world view, once limited to the bassinet over which we hovered like the deer-in-the-headlights new parents we were, now extends over an ever-growing life.

Zach moved away to London with us when he was two, and later became a big brother to Dahlia and Noah. He's evolved a wickedly sharp sense of humour and a kindness that touches everyone he meets. He can still torment the little sibs with ruthless efficiency, of course, but he's always there for them when they need him most.

He recently finished shooting his first movie for one of his classes, and watching him on-screen was kinda like watching myself. The voice, the mannerisms and the tone...it all reinforced just how neat this whole circle-of-life thing can be, and how glad we are that he's our kid.

A year from now, he'll be allowed to vote, to drink (in the land of his birth, anyway) and to get into R-rated films without our permission. He'll be able to legally sign contracts and get picked for jury duty. He'll probably be able to pilot an experimental Czech-designed aerobatic plane, too. But for now, he'll still be our lovable, delightful, ever-entertaining kid. Bigger than we are, but still our kid.

Happy birthday, not-so-little man. May we have countless more happies to share, and may your future be as bright as the candles on the cake we just ate.

Your turn: Your birthday wish for Zach is...?

You've all got mail

Vault-like
Laval, QC, October 2011

About this photo: It's Thematic's metallica week. Just click here to get involved.

The U.S. Postal Service has been making all sorts of noise that it's at risk of shutting down if it doesn't stop bleeding money. I get it, as most of its former business of delivering letters to pen pals and mail ordered Garden Weasels to octagenarian gardeners has been hoovered by the Intertubes.

Still, it's more than a little sad to see yet another physical business fall victim to the creeping expansion of virtualized infrastructure. Email may make it to your brain infinitely faster than snail mail, but the Internet lacks a friendly mail carrier who knows your kids' names and checks up on you on his daily rounds.

All of which makes me wonder whether scenes like this one - this is the wall-of-mailboxes at my in-laws'/mother's condo building* - will even exist in a few years.

Your turn: Is actual mail destined to disappear? Do we lose something if it does?

* Yes, they all live in the same building. Rather convenient when we come to town, as it cuts down on the driving. And it gives the kids another excuse to ride the creepy elevators.

On love and imperfection

"We come to love not by seeing a perfect person, but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly."
Sam Keen

Thematic Photographic 168 - Metallica

More bars, please
Laval, QC, July 2011

Do you ever stare at something and mentally calculate all the materials that went into its production or construction? Right now, for example, as I type this on my laptop I'm wondering if the screen is made of plastic or glass, and the not knowing part is kinda bugging me.

Wandering around the burg where I grew up, I came across this cell phone tower and thought it would make for a neat picture. And as I walked around it looking for the right angle that wouldn't blind me for life, I realized just how much metal had gone into this thing. Aside from the plastic boxes holding the communications equipment, it's pretty much all steel.

So for the coming week, I'd like us to explore metallica...basically, if it's made of metal, please take a picture of it and share it. That's it. Seems simple on the surface, but I know you'll all have some serious fun with it.

Your turn: Take a picture of something made of metal - or find an already-posted pic online - and leave a comment here letting folks know where to find it. Visit other participants and feel free to share multiple metallic-themed pics through the week. For more info on how Thematic Photographic, our weekly photo-sharing extravaganza, works, please click here.

It's more than just green Jello to him

Little man's treat
Laval, QC, October 2011

About this photo: Today's the big day when we wrap up our week-long edible fest. It's been a great week, and you can still share your own by clicking here. Otherwise, our new Thematic theme, metallica (if it's made of metal, we want to see it), launches tonight at exactly 7:00 Eastern.

Jello is one of those foods that seems to have no purpose. It has no nutritional value. It's full of sugar - okay, it essentially is sugar. And it's quite possibly the most highly processed food you can find at the grocery store.

Yet our youngest son loves green Jello. And not just any green Jello: His bubby has to make it for him. I'm not quite sure how this all began - indeed, it doesn't really matter how a grandchild's connections begin...we're just privileged to have them at all - but it's become a must-have every time we visit. From the first moment he squirts through the door and hugs them hello, he's asking my mother-in-law if she's already made it, and if not, when she'll be doing so. He times how long it'll take to prepare, and makes sure he's around as she gets it ready.

Anyone else could easily make green Jello, but somehow it's not the same for him if it doesn't come from his bubby. Which is as appropriate a way as any to end this week's theme, as food is far more than something we simply eat. It's a touchstone of life that sticks with us long after the dishes have been cleared.

Your turn: Do you have a special food? Or a special food connection with a special someone?

On chaos and change

"All great changes are preceded by chaos."
Deepak Chopra

As I scan the headlines screaming about debt crisis in Greece and the rest of the EU, revolution in Libya and the ongoing season of the Arab Spring, this quote seems to strike home. I wonder if everyone involved appreciates where all this could be taking us, and how much change awaits us in the process.

No one ever said life had to be easy. I guess that's what makes the eventual rewards so sweet. I guess that makes me a bit of an optimist.

Your turn: Do today's headlines frighten or encourage you? Why?

Your goose is cooked

Friendly fowl
London, ON, June 2011

These lovely Canadian Geese aren't quite dinner in this pic, but I'm guessing that at some point they could be.

I try to avoid such thoughts whenever I chow down on a chicken wing. Or a burger. Or anything else that was once a living thing. I like the occasional steak way too much to ever want to give it up and become a vegetarian. But sometimes, I still wonder...

Your turn: Are you a carnivore or herbivore? Are you a vegetarian or have you ever been one? Why/why not?

One more thing: Please click here for more edible craziness. We're still sharing edible-themed pics, and you're invited to play along. New theme launches tomorrow.

Return to the Dirty Bakery

Breaded Bliss
Laval, QC, October 2011

About these photos: We're celebrating edible week as part of our latest Thematic theme. Please click here to share your own.

We've been here before. Indeed, my wife and I practically grew up here, as this is the bakery in the middle of the neighborhood, a place known as Chomedey, where we both grew up.

My parents used to give me money on Sunday mornings, and I'd walk the few blocks to this once-upon-a-time-residential-duplex and buy bagels, salt sticks, and other core components of our family brunch. The place was always packed, and the combination of little, quiet me and a boisterous crowd of hungry customers often meant a long wait until some kind-hearted staffer took pity on me. Eventually, they put in a number-ticket-queuing system, but I still got lost in the bagel-seeking mosh pit.

Quebec being what it was back then, there was no Sunday shopping. So the stretch of Samson Boulevard, normally so busy during the week that I'd never be allowed to walk there alone, was virtually empty. As I gathered my bags of baked goodies in my arms and headed for home, I remember feeling how warm everything was as I tried to resist the urge to grab a bite before I got home. Resistance was usually futile, and I'm sure my parents often wondered why the baker's dozen was often 11 when I did the shopping.

The place is officially known as Boulangerie Premiere Qualite, or Best Quality Bakery, but no one ever called it that. It always was, and likely always will be "The Dirty Bakery", which the current owners proudly echo in the corner of the sign. My in-laws and mother still live nearby, so whenever we visit, it's a must-stop spot for us after we leave them and turn the car toward home. We'll load up on bagels, danish and anything else we can think of and sneak a few bites in before we buckle in and hit the highway.

The kids always come inside with us, and we always step back a bit as they walk the same dusty linoleum floor that we walked - and waited on - so long ago. Back in London, a place where "bakery" doesn't grab the psyche of the community to the same degree that it does here, they get their bread from the baked goods aisle of the supermarket. They don't know what it's like to have time-worn businesses like the Dirty Bakery a short walk from the house. They don't get to walk through the doors and go back in time, to a place where the same oldish ladies clucked over the little ones after finally picking them out of the crowd, where every fixture seemed to be as old as time, where everyone in the place - customers and staff alike - seemed perfectly content that nothing ever really changed.

I'm sorry that my kids don't have access to the same experiences that we did. That they don't get to walk nearly-empty streets while the world took a much-needed one-day breather. That they didn't get to nibble surreptitiously on the warm end of a sesame-seed salt stick before turning back into the cold for the lonely, quiet walk home. As we finally pack our overstuffed bags of bagels into the hatch and leave this unassuming yet pivotal piece of our shared history in the rear-view mirror, I wonder what experiences our own kids will eventually try to share with their own children. I wonder what other Dirty Bakeries they'll get to hang onto - and pass along - as they become the parents that we are now.

Looking back, I wonder if my own parents ever had similar thoughts as they carefully prepared the package of money and instructions for my weekly trips to this place. I hope I was able to bring back everything they expected.

Your turn: Do you have an important place like the Dirty Bakery in your own history?

On dreaming like Superman

"At first dreams seem impossible, then improbable, then inevitable."
Christopher Reeve

The most famous character that Mr. Reeve played flew with the help of well hidden wires and pulleys. Yet later in life, he managed to fly in ways no camera could ever record. As the week draws to a close, his words are bouncing around my head a little more energetically than usual.

Something's up, I think. I can't quite put my finger on it, but an inflection point seems to be looming. Time to dream a little harder.

Your turn: What are you dreaming of?

Buns of steel

Breaded
London, ON, July 2011

About this photo: If it's edible, we want you to share it. We call it Thematic, and the fun starts right here.

There's something about the texture of a hamburger bun that gets me every time. It's not that these things taste particularly good. Nor are they remotely nutritious: They're simply vessels that keep the messy stuff from your burger from getting on your hands. But that's all irrelevant as far as aesthetics are concerned. Yes, I am indeed that shallow.

Looking at this bunch of buns awaiting their fate at a summer BBQ, I had to resist the urge to poke them in the middle, Pillsbury Doughboy-style. So I took this picture, instead. It'll have to do for now.

Your turn: What ever happened to the Pillsbury Doughboy? Got a favorite television ad character floating around your memory?

On change

"Your life does not get better by chance, it gets better by change."
Jim Rohn

I'm thinking change is good for the soul. You?

Fast food in farm country

I'm lovin' it
Exeter, ON, August 2011

Your turn: Thematic. Edible. Here.

It had been a grand day at the beach. We took our kids and our daughter's friend to Grand Bend not because we had any kind of plan, but because we had an unscheduled day and this seemed like the ideal way to spend it.

I spent most of the day hovering over the kids - partly my old lifeguard legacy kicking in, and partly because watching them reminds me that the things that really matter to a kid should matter to me, too. They played so well together, the two older girls seamlessly accepting our youngest son into their day, that I found myself wishing I could somehow stuff the day into a bottle. It might come in handy on a cold, sad winter's day, I thought.

Soon enough, the shadows on the footprinted sand grew longer and it was time to head home. We reluctantly packed our gear up and walked over to the boardwalk, little wisps of sand stubbornly sticking to our feet as we stepped onto the wood and slowly meandered back to the car.

We drove through the spectacular agricultural hinterland between the lakeside resort town of Grand Bend and London, the car quiet with the kind of contentment I wish we could experience more often. As we approached a small town called Exeter, the golden arches loomed in the distance. I'm hardly a fan of fast food, and am counting the days until our kids are old enough to leave this nasty excuse for food behind. But at that moment, it seemed like the right thing to pull in and grab something to eat.

We took our time eating, enjoying the spectacle of this icon of urban existence planted right next to farmer's fields and a line of tractors. On the surface, I think we were all a little bit hungry. A little deeper down, I think we all wanted to prolong the day just a little bit.

Your turn: What does a perfect day look like to you?