Life is like a box of chocolates

Chocoholic's dream
London, Ontario, December 2006 [Click to embiggen]

The calendar tells us that we're about to hit another one of those once-a-year milestones that'll prompt predictable reflections on the year that's past as well as resolutions for the year to come. Before long, all of this wll be forgotten as we dig back into the routine of everyday life.

And when I feel I'm falling back into that relentlessly gray routine, I'll think back to this picture, to the moment when I took it, and the reason why colorful images like this can spark the imagination in ways that can't be predicted.

Over the past year, I've evolved this blog from one that's been primarily focused on writing to one that peers more deeply into my evolving passions of photography, journalism, and technology analysis. My camera has become an everyday companion - and a day on my blog isn't complete without a new picture to share.

On the work front, I ratcheted up the media thing - getting onto the CBS Evening News last summer and being in the middle of the exploding laptop battery controversy was a serious highlight for me - and left a whole lot of career doors open for myself.

I wrote, I captured, I enjoyed the journey. And I got to share it all here and, in the process, I met some genuinely kind, intelligent, good folks. If you're reading this, thank you for sharing in my crazy husband's/dad's/writer's/photographer's/cyclist's world. I'd do this anyway even if I didn't have an audience. But a party is always more fun when the room is full, and I very much appreciate your making this such a rich experience for me.

As in past years, I'm making no new years resolutions. I'm a daily-resolution kind of person, and as this day ticks into the next, I resolve to seize tomorrow just as I seized today and yesterday.

The journey isn't always comfortable or safe, but it's unique to me, and I'd change nothing if I had to go through it again. I'm blessed beyond description - a beautiful wife, three healthy, smart and squabbling kids, a comfortable home, a challenging and rewarding career, and a strong sense of control over where our life goes from here. I'm not filthy rich (yet) but I suspect that few financially rich folks are as pleased with their lot in life as I am with mine.

I hope that in 2007, my wife and I get to grow everything we've managed to build thus far. And I hope you'll continue to share in the journey by reading my blog and leaving your thoughts along the way. May 2007 be a blessing to you and everyone who matters to you.

Your turn: What's going through your mind as 2006 segues into 2007?

Final gear

Dead on the sidewalk
London, Ontario, December 2006

When you're walking to work with a camera slung over your shoulder, you tend to view the world differently because you have the means and the ability to capture it. Of course, when you find something interesting to shoot, you stare at your watch and quickly calculate whether or not you have enough time to grab the picture and still make it to the office on time.

Time. Who needs it? But I digress...

I came across this sad sight on a very busy corner - Oxford and Adelaide - and thought it was almost too coincidental. As a cyclist, this struck me as a poignant image of a road now ended, an inglorious end to a life of travel. Or maybe something less glorious...whatever, I felt the need to take the picture.

To get the low-angle image, I carefully lay down on the sidewalk. I know, I'm weird that way. London motorists apparently agree, as more than a few of them slowed down to watch the crazy guy in the grey trench coat play drunk on a cold city sidewalk.

Your turn: This image speaks of sadness and loss. What else does?

Update from the future: On October 6, 2013, on a rainy, gloomy Sunday morning, an accident between a police car and a civilian vehicle sent one of the cars careening into the building on the very corner where this photo was taken. As I stared at the picture in the CTV report from the scene, I realized the car came to rest virtually exactly where I had gotten down on the sidewalk to take this shot. Sigh...we live in a dangerous world.

Leaves, left

Traces on Dufferin Road
London, Ontario, December 2006

Everywhere I walk in the historic neighborhood near my office, I come across imprints of leaves that months ago fell to the ground before disappearing for good. Correction, the leaves may have disappeared, but their traces live on in the ghostly acid-washed sidewalk images left behind by a warm, wet autumn.

It's enough to remind me that history has a way of keeping us honest, for just because something no longer exists doesn't mean that it can't impact your life in some small way.

Your turn: Do you believe that the ghosts of the past can influence our present and future? Does history matter to you?

Icy squared

The Covent Garden Market in downtown London has been a fixture since 1845. They rebuilt it in 1999, and it has served as the anchor of the city's often-sputtering plans for the rejuvenation of the core district.

The square out front hosts a farmer's market when the weather is warm, and a smallish skating rink when it gets cold. On this day, it was too warm to skate, but I thought the ice would still be able to tell a story.

Up top, I went close in to capture the traces of long-gone skaters in the corner. Down below, I looked long for a somewhat more reflective view of a place that, no matter the weather, always offers a comfortable place for city dwellers to stop and hang out for a bit.


Your turn: Why do public squares matter as much as they do?

Kids' candy - leaded or unleaded?

News just in from the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) that it will be tightening the amount of lead allowed in children's candy.

[Carmi pauses to shake his head and bemusedly mutter a three-word obscenity starting with "what the..." There, I'm over it. I'll continue.]

I simply want to know who allowed lead in kids' candy in the first place? What other noxious stuff is going into their - and our - food?

Please let me know if I'm the only one who finds this somewhat - OK, extremely - disturbing.

Waffley goodness

And in the morning, I'm making waffles...
December 2006

My aunt makes waffles that make you wish every meal could be breakfast. Before I tucked in this morning, I wanted to grab a picture of it so that I'd remember the moment. Doesn't this make you want one of your very own?

Your turn: If you could meet my waffle-wizard aunt, what would you tell her?

Pierced darkness

Exit door
December 2006

Walking back to the car, I caught a glimpse of light out of the corner of my eye. I hadn't noticed that steel door at the top of the stairwell when I first arrived a few hours before. It was still daylight then, and the door kind of faded into the background.

Now, bathed in an ethereal white security light, I found myself staring at it, fascinated by the way the oblique rays lit the door and the adjacent concrete wall. It almost reminds me of a bad gangster movie.

I didn't have my tripod with me, so I hand-held the shot, taking a few extra images just to be sure. I've been taking a lot of images in darkness of late. Long ago, night-time was off-limits to captivating photography. I always worried that the images would be dull. I'm starting to change my mind.

Your turn: Should I keep heading out at night?

Lonely light

Courtyard from a sixth-floor balcony
Laval, QC, December 2006

This is another one of those images that haunts me. I love the way the light paints the stark, artificially-conceived landscape before it drops off toward the edges. I love the lines of the lamp standard. This is an image that sticks in my mind, and I hope it sticks in your mind, too.

Your turn: I believe any given photo has a message. With that in mind, does this image say anything to you?

Facade shields the darkness

Mother Corp, lit up
December 2006 [Embiggening will result from a mouse click. And "embiggen" will be a dictionary word someday if I have my druthers.]

Yesterday marked ten years since we first pulled our snow-covered car into London. I relocated my family from Montreal so that I could work in the place pictured above. A little under seven years after our almost-Christmas-Eve arrival, I came to my senses and quit. Seven year itch? Quite possibly. But I'd been itching for some time.

Every stereotype you can imagine about the soulless, bureaucratic corporation would likely apply here. I've got at least one book in my head, and likely more. Dilbert has nothing on some of the folks who work within these walls.

Yet it's a part of my history, and as such I don't regret having worked there. Our coming to this town opened up doors that I likely would never have even known existed had we stayed put. And as boneheaded as some of my colleagues - mostly supervisors/leaders - were, I also had the privilege of working with some of the smartest folks I've ever met. Good and bad: no different than any other company, job, or life event.

Still, every time they turn on the lovely lights in the leadup to Christmas, I think of how a beautiful facade can be used to mask the darkness inside. Strange, isn't it?

Your turn: Got any big-company-job horror stories?

Technical update: I'm spending somewhat more time disconnected this weekend than I usually do. No worries: all is well. I'm just enjoying some much-needed quiet time with the folks who matter most. Comments are, as always, on moderation. So if you post a comment and it takes the better part of a day for it to appear on the site, please don't be alarmed. I'll do my best to approve submitted comments at least daily.

Reflective river

Christmas lights on water [Click to embiggen]

It's late on a clear night. I'm heading home, but I find myself staring across the river at a brightly-lit condominium building. I had seen it earlier in the evening and made a mental note to return. I'm here now, but I'm wondering how smart it is to be out alone on a cold night in a dark, strange place. I pull my trench coat tighter to ward off the damp chill as I set the camera up on its tripod and meter the scene. I take a few images of the building, but am uninspired by the results.

I stare closely at the surface of the water exiting from the bridge to my immediate left. It spins and ripples in an endless series of eddies. The gentle reflections of the building's colorful lights make a compelling scene, but there's no way to capture them as is. There isn't enough light for a fast enough shutter speed. So I go the other way, figuring a long exposure might result in something worthwhile. I set the camera for a 30-second exposure, then wait - careful not to breathe lest I fog the lens with condensation.

Here's the result. Long exposure turns the water's surface into a glassy mirage. The branches provide a fragile-looking frame. The image I thought I wanted ended up being something completely different. Happy with the result, I pack up the camera and head to my warm car, and home.

Your turn: Should I bring home more abstracts like this?

Pause for technical malfunction: I inadvertently clicked on the option to turn comments OFF when I first posted this entry. It was late (or early, depending on your perspective), and in my fatigue, I likely should not have been wielding a mouse. My apologies for the confusion. I've re-enabled comments on this entry. All other entries seem to be functioning normally, my ineptitude notwithstanding.

Carmi + Television = 1 cool day

I headed out to CKCO, the CTV television network affiliate in Kitchener, earlier yesterday afternoon to do a live interview on Research In Motion. This is the company that makes the BlackBerry mobile device, and I've been researching the firm and the mobile space as part of my day job.

It aired on Report on Business Television (ROBTv) and the link to the video stream can be found here. Pat Bolland and Lisa Oake were the interviewers, and as always, it was an incredible experience.

Your turn: When a guy who takes pictures, blogs, and plays with his kids ends up ruminating on mobile messaging and application platforms on national television, wouldn't you say that's coolly surreal? Sometimes, I swear I lead the life of Brian.

Taking pictures with my dad

Ghostly reflection
Havre des Iles, Laval, Quebec, December 2006 [Click to embiggen]

On a cold, clear night, I stand alone on my parents' high-rise balcony and stare out over a quiet landscape. I hover over my tripod-mounted camera, scanning wordlessly and hoping something will soon catch my eye. My father steps outside and pulls on his jacket. He immediately begins pointing out scenes of interest. I nod my head dismissively as he rattles them off: Houses with Christmas trees? Check. The highway in the distance? Got it. The hydro towers? Sure.

The photographer in me takes note of his suggestions. Truthfully, none of them would have occurred to me to begin with. They strike me as standard, cliche-type images, and at first I don't much see the point.

But as we continue to toss ideas back and forth across the tiny balcony, it dawns on me that this isn't about photography at all. Sure, I'm taking pictures, but I'm having a moment with my father that, frankly, I have never had. Suddenly, the pictures no longer matter as much as the fact that I'm able to share something I love to do with him.

So I begin to work my way through his suggestions, composing each one carefully, metering it, then stepping aside so he can take a look through the viewfinder before I trip the shutter. Afterward, we review each one on the camera's screen, then I adjust the settings for subsequent exposures. As I work the controls, I explain what I'm doing, why I'm doing it, and what I hope the outcome will be.

After I finish capturing the last of his suggestions - a series of lights beside the water - I notice a tree immediately to the right of that spot. It's almost imperceptibly lit by a security light across the water. I can barely see it, and it's anything but spectacular. But my eye likes the way it reflects out over the water, and the way it covers an abandoned dock. My gut tells me I can get the shot. I share my thoughts with my father.

Dad: No way you'll ever get that picture. It's too dark.
Me: Wanna bet?
Dad: [Smiles]

I set up for a 30-second exposure, and the result appears above. The invisible became visible. The impossible became possible. And I came home with far more than a mere picture. Looks like I'll be going back to my parents' balcony soon.

Your turn: Photography is usually a solitary activity. But do you shoot with others? What's it like?

Flashed fountain

Water caught in midair
December 2006, Montreal, QC [Click to embiggen]

I hover closely over our kids whenever they use water fountains. I worry about them slipping and falling face-first into hard metal. I also worry about them - horrors - touching the faucet with anything but their hands. After 12 years as a parent, this is one of the few things that can still make me squirm.

So while attending a family gathering, I followed our munchkin into the hall and stayed close as he got a drink. Bear in mind that six-year-olds take their sweet time. As he slurped and slurped, I watched his face and wondered how I would be able to record the moment.

The layout of the wall made a well-composed picture an almost impossible task. There just wasn't enough room for me to get it all in. So I did the next best thing and asked him to keep the fountain running while I shot from in front and below.

The result stunned me. I have no idea where the little flame-like thing at the top came from. But I won't complain. This is a perfect example of the virtues of direct flash. I usually prefer to bounce it, but that'll have to wait until Hannukah Harry delivers me an external flash unit. For now, I'm using the built-in flash on the D80. And while conventional flash doesn't always make for effective macro images, I thought it might do the trick to freeze the fast-moving stream.

I also learned the virtues of a great assistant. I could have never shot this alone, and I hope I can involve our kids in future shoots as well. Looks like we'll all be hanging around water fountains again.

Your turn: Are you liking this image? Should I keep playing with water with my kids?

Very berry

Berries and snow
Waterloo Street, London, Ontario
December, 2006 [Click to embiggen]

Long after the last of the season's leaves have fallen, brilliant color continues to call out from the bare branches. You miss stuff like this if you drive a car or ride a bike. But when you're walking, as I was on this brilliantly sunny afternoon, scenes like this just jump out at you and beg to be pondered.

As you can see, I heeded the call. I'm glad I did: mere minutes after I snapped this and continued on my way, the largest snowstorm in years moved into the region and shut everything down. I made it back to the office just as the worst winds and blowing snow descended on me. The weather never ceases to amaze.

Your turn: What thoughts does this image bring to mind?

Little man at rest

There's something about a sleeping child that makes a parent stop and wonder about the magic that makes little folks possible. I could sit and stare at his face forever because he reminds me of so many things: innocence, happiness, and a mirror of my wife's features when I look at him just so in the shadows of the bathroom light that spills into his room and gently lights his bed.

When Noah is awake, he moves at the speed of light. He doesn't walk anywhere: he runs, usually on the balls of his feet. Just before he falls asleep, he often becomes so full of beans that it's impossible to imagine him ever falling asleep. But after a few minutes of quiet, his huge eyes close and silence descends for the night. Sometimes he'll even snore - like someone else we know - but in his case, it's cute.

I often wonder what he's dreaming about. Then the morning comes soon enough, and he once again wakes up happy, ready to absorb and attack the next day as enthusiastically as he did the day before. I'm certain his dreams were sweet. As were mine, as I drifted off and wondered what ever I did to deserve any of this.

Your turn: Thankfulness. Please discuss.

Busted by the grocery police

In the Not-Wal-Mart dairy case
Somewhere in Ontario, December 2006

Remember the old saying that folks buy SLR-type cameras and then watch them gather dust at home because they're too large to conveniently cart along? I humbly beg to differ.

Since first bringing the new wonder machine home a couple of months back, I've taken to slinging my beaten-up old Tamrac camera bag over my shoulder whenever I head out of the house. It could be for something as routine as dropping the kids off for a playdate, going to fill the tank with gas or, in this case, getting some milk from the grocery section of the newly-expanded Super Evil Empire Retailer in an unnamed burg somewhere within the Province of Ontario. Wherever I'm headed, the bag is ideal for carrying the camera and the rest of my collection of electronic tools (yes, I'm a geek...it only gets worse with time.)

I've ofen fretted about getting caught with said camera in a store. Well, I need fret no more. The eagle-eyed sentries who guard the hundreds of security cameras hanging down from the ceilings of a certain unnamed Evil Empire Retailer are very clearly earning their keep, as they saw fit to dispatch not one, nor two, but three nattily-dressed managers to intercept me in the dairy section.

I could hear them coming from a half-mile away - Head Manager #1 (HM1) was wearing the kind of clip-cloppety heels that bring back bad memories of school marms on power trips. Her two assistants (HM2 and HM3) looked very stern as HM1 initiated her interrogation:

HM1: "Can you please explain what you're doing with your camera?"
Me: [Pause to bite lip before I say something really caustic]. "Why, yes, ma'am. I'm taking pictures of your lovely milk cartons."
HM1: "You're not allowed to do that. Our rules explicitly state that you are not allowed to take pictures inside the store."
Me: "I'm so sorry. I was not aware of your rules. Are they available on your web site?"
HM2 & HM3: [Nod] [Frown]
HM1: "Yes they are. I suggest you read them. No cameras are allowed in the store. There are no exceptions."
Me: "OK. It won't happen again."
HM2 & HM3: [Simultaneously furrow their brows]
Me: [Walk away really slowly, watching out for burly men. They never arrive.]

What I wanted to say instead of the "won't happen again" part was something akin to a smarmy, "And what do you want my wife and I to do with the basket laden with hundreds of dollars of fine slave labor-produced goods that we had intended to purchase from your store?"

But I resisted this, of course, because visions of minimum-wage-paid hands grabbing the memory card out of my camera danced in my head. And I really wanted to get these pictures home so I could share at least one on my blog.

I learned a lesson on this day, and it has nothing to do with power-tripping store employees taking down a sarcastic, camera-wielding journalist in the dairy case. It has everything to do with a little word my mother taught me when I played hide-and-go-seek in the dairy case of a much smaller and friendlier grocery store in my neighborhood: please.

Your turn: Does this mean the end of my storebound photographic adventures? Any advice on what I should have done - or what I should do next time I go shopping - would be most welcome.

In related news: I came across this piece, The Right to Bear SLRs, on Wired.com. Kinda timely, I think.

Quick program note: I'm scheduled to participate in Report on Business Television's look-back at 2006 tonight (Monday) at around 8:37 p.m. The actual show runs from 8 to 9 p.m. Eastern time, and will feature a bunch of experts and related folks speaking about the companies that made headlines this year. I'm part of a three-person panel discussing Research In Motion (RIM, the BlackBerry folks). If you're in Canada and subscribe to cable or satellite service, you can watch it live on TV. Otherwise, I'll post the link to the show once it's posted on their web site. Should be fun!

Little boy, shorter hair

Our kids have two personas: the at-home one, and the in-public one. When we're home, they can fight like cats and dogs and prompt us to wonder why we ever decided to become parents. When we're out and about, however, they are, in my totally-biased father's opinion, the best-behaved people on the planet. So much so that friends and strangers alike will stop us and rave about how polite and kind our kids are.

Which answers the why-we-had-them-in-the-first-place question quite nicely, I think. They pick their spots and come through when they need to.

Such as at the hairdresser. Ours has converted her living room into a studio. It overlooks a lovely porch in a quiet neighborhood of the city. Often, her dog will meander in and say hello to the kids. It's the kind of place where I feel comfortable pulling out the camera and capturing some of the festivities. Here, it's Noah's turn. Interestingly enough, he wasn't upset in this image. He was his typical happy self, and had simply scrunched his eyes shut as the scissors worked their usual magic.

It's a moment in his life that I like to remember: not because it was spectacular or massive, but because it was a real experience in his life. I hope he chooses to add stuff like this to the growing list of memories that he's building in that agile and perceptive brain of his.

Your turn: A supposedly minor moment from your childhood. What was it, and how do you remember it today?

Lens meets mirror

Nikon D80 gazes upon itself for the first time
Westminster, Colorado, November 2006 [Click to zoom in]

I've often written about what I like to do in hotel rooms (I know, this sounds bad. Bear with me, as I'm not being a perv.) The silence of these places can often be deafening. And as much as I enjoy the peace and quiet as a buffer against the unsettling feeling of being far from home and on my own, I feel the need to fill the space with familiarity. Lately, the camera has been just that

While I was in Colorado last month, I found myself with about 2 minutes to spare one morning. This was my new camera's first big trip, and I wanted to capture it in a self-portrait. Using an improvised tripod - the inverted cover allows fairly precise adjustment for better composition - I played with the mirrored door in the bathroom until I had the composition I wanted.

I know. Most folks see this and think it's time I find a real hobby.

Your turn: Do you turn your camera on itself?

Shaken, not stirred

Well-run conferences recognize that attendees need to snack and rest at various points through the day. Simple, wholesome foods work best, and are most welcome when you're zipping from one session to another. While in Colorado last month, our hosts set up large tables in the middle of the hall near the event site. As we came out, smoothies awaited us - a lovely little touchpoint, in my view.

I wasn't content to simply drink mine. No, that would mean I'm conventional. And by now you likely know that I'm not: This blog is littered with examples of my photographic restlessness. Pretty much anything I see, touch or encounter is fair game for a picture.

So when I saw the covered-up piano off to the side, I thought the angles and sunbeams would make a nice backdrop to my smoothie. It tells no story beyond the fact that I felt compelled to remember that moment. Sometimes, that's a good enough reason to take the camera out and have some fun.

Your turn: Is this making you hungry or thirsty? Come on, be honest!

Barrier to entry

Chain link fence
Lyle Street, London, ON, December 11, 2006
[Click to embiggen]

Fences like this are everywhere, especially in run-down areas where business owners and homeowners alike try, usually unsuccessfully, to keep the riff-raff out. The building inside this compound was dead silent in the middle of the day, likely another victim of time. The fence stood silently, keeping watch over an uncertain future. I thought that was rather poignant, so I focused on the perimeter instead of the building itself.

Your turn: What comes to mind when you come across a fenced-in, dead-silent old building?