Words Pictures Music

I hung my first shingle on the Internet in 1997, when I started my freelance writing business. Since then, my work has expanded to include editing, photography, videography, website design and content, and, most recently, social media.

As well, photography, painting, and poetry consume much of my non-working time. In an effort to bring everything I do together, I started a personal website called My Name Is Paula a couple of years later. However, it did not take long for my work to be scattered all over the Internet on various different website.

Over the years my skills have developed, yet the two main websites I was using to promote myself and my work appeared almost stagnant. I would update the content of course, the but the designs were out of date and difficult to update. Changing times bring, well, changes. So, last week I decided to purchase a new domain and Wordpress my way to a brand new website combining everything still relevant. Behold: Words Pictures Music

Words, pictures, and music pretty well sum up who I am and what I do. Although I tend to loathe the term "branding" as it applies to a person (as opposed to a corporation), a rebranding was definitely in order. There is also a blog at the site, but it will only deal with work and creative projects. My social commentaries will remain here.

Absolute Zero

I am shrugging my shoulders and rolling my eyes like an unimpressed teenager, at my alma mater Ross Sheppard Composite High School.

The school has apparently adopted a "no zero" policy over the past few years. One teacher, Lynden Dorval, has chosen to continue giving zeros to students who do not complete or turn in assignments, and has been suspended as a result. Here is a link to the article at the Edmonton Journal concerning this situation.

According to the Edmonton Public School Board, the no zero policy varies from school to school and is not an official policy of the EPSB. On a post on its Facebook page, it also claims that the reason for Mr. Dorval's suspension had to do with a more serious disciplinary issue and could not comment further.

Perhaps something more serious is at issue here. I don't know Mr. Dorval personally, but I am gleaning from the media reports I am reading that if his violation of Shep's no zero policy is not the only reason he was suspended, it was a major one. It took a lot of courage for him to come out so publicly against a policy clearly against his principles as a teacher with 35 years' experience.

As I mentioned at the beginning of this post, I spent my high school years at Ross Sheppard. And, I am willing to admit, I got a zero on an assignment. It was a biology lab report that I failed to turn in on time because I misheard the teacher's instructions. Or maybe I was not paying close enough attention; I don't remember. However, I did not argue with him - I made a mistake, which proved costly to my final average, but it was my mistake. I took responsibility for it. I worked extra hard to try to compensate for it.

Advocates of the no zero policy claim that a zero is often a behavioural issue, not a knowledge one, and should be dealt with as such. I am pretty sure my lab report represented my understanding of the topic, and had I handed it in on time, I would have gotten a decent grade. Was my zero due to a behavioural issue? Maybe - maybe I was not paying enough attention. I was a teenager - it was possible. Whatever way I choose to analyze it, I lacked knowledge of the proper instructions. So it was both a behaviour and a knowledge issue. The consequence was a zero.

Learning to follow instructions is part of a well rounded education, regardless of the specific class subject matter. I did not follow the instructions. Learning to take responsibility for your actions is another part of getting an education. In my biology class, the lesson was learned. The fact I can remember as much of it as I do now means it made an important impact.

By the way, I went in to the University of Alberta and earned a Bachelor of Education a few years later. The idea of avoiding giving a student a zero never came up either in my classroom work or student teaching.

I will be watching with interest as the future of Mr. Dorval's teaching career is decided, as well as the future of this policy. If anything, Mr. Dorval has brought attention to a school policy that does not help students for the real world. And isn't that supposed to be one of the major functions of our educational system? If it isn't, it should be.

Cool Stuff in a Winter City

Cool Stuff, a photo by raise my voice on Flickr.

Winter is a part of life in Edmonton. In fact, as a born and bred Edmontonian, I can't really imagine life without it. We've had it easy this year (for the most part - as I write this, centimetre upon centimetre is falling from the sky at a very fast rate), but the winter of 2011 reminded me of the ones when I was a child: long, snowy, and COLD!

An exhibit in Enterprise Square until the end of March examines the area through the lens of winter. Cool Stuff features more than 350 items from the University of Alberta's 29 museums. Artwork, clothing, animal specimens, and other artefacts exemplify life in the northern winter, both now and throughout history. Some items that really stood out for me were items of Inuit dress, as well as the colourful artwork by Ted Harrison.

Winter is something that has been on the City's mind for a while now. The WinterCity Strategy is part of an effort to encourage peopel to embrace the winter and present Edmonton as a world leader in celebrating our climate.

Winter has been celebrated in Edmonton through several festivals, such as Silver Skate (the longest-running winter festival in Edmonton), Ice on Whyte, the various efforts of the Edmonton Winter Light Society, and most recently, Metropolis.

Since staying inside is not going to make the snow and cold going away, activities that encourage people to get outside and take part in activities is quite important, even if it is just admiring sculptures of snow and ice. Offering some coverage to allow people to warm up is also important, but putting everything inside, even if it just within temporary structures (like with Metropolis) is counter-productive. If I want to go to an indoor activity, I would rather go see a band perform in a concert venue, a movie in a theatre, or a conference at a hotel.

That being said, having one-off events like the recent Parka Patio presented by Latitude 53 had a little bit of everything: food, music, and art in a setting modified to accommodate the weather and make sure everyone was comfortable.

I am a big fan of hyper-local, neighbourhood celebrations; ones that not only offer things to enjoy for local residents, but are actually a reason for people from other parts of the city to head over and experience life outside their immediate environment. I am thinking about Common Ground in McCauley, which was part of the Winter Light series of events. Music, storytelling, food, and outdoor installations were just part of this incredible event. Performances took part inside teepees heated by fire, while there was plenty outside to see and do. And those in attendance were not just from the inner city.

Keep it relevant, keep it multifaceted, and keep it focussed on local culture, food, and entertainment, and combine it with planning that takes into account the unpredictable fluctuations in weather that our winters are famous for, and that is a winning combination. No event or strategy will be all things to all people, so it is important to have a variety of options instead of pushing one major "winter festival."

Then, there are the practical details that should always be a priority for Edmonton's City Council, if we want the city to be truly safe and sustainable year round. More cycling lanes will ensure that those brave (or crazy!) enough to ride on two wheels in the winter will not have as much traffic with which to contend. Road maintenance and effective snow clearing and sanding are definitely important.

Finally, the activist in me has to get this in: the City needs effective, continuing strategies on dealing with homelessness and affordable housing. These are issues that increase in urgency when the weather gets colder. Since we have such a long winter season combined with a significant homeless population (as well as those at risk) and shelters that become overextended to the maximum, this needs to be a top priority. After all, to me at least, exactly how "world class" a city is directly relates to how well it takes care of those citizens who are most vulnerable.

We can embrace the climate in Edmonton as well as everyone who lives here. We have the minds, the talent, and the ability.

Postcrossing: World Peace Through Postcards

When I was a child, I was a major geek, except back then, "geek" meant something very different than it does now. It was not a compliment. What it meant was that I spent a lot of time alone, pouring into my various hobbies. Two of my favourites were collecting stamps and postcards. Indeed, it didn't get geekier than that.

As various other interests took over, my binders full of stamps and postcards were relegated to a shelf in my closet. I still enjoyed coming across an interesting piece of ephemera from time to time, but I stopped actively collecting.

recently, I was inspired to delve into stamps and postcards again. I discovered a website called Postcrossing You sign up and when you decide you want to send a card to someone, the system randomly assigns you an address. You write a code on the postcard, and when the other person receives it, they register the card at the site. The number of cards you are allowed to have on the go at once depends on how many of yours have been received. Once your card(s) are received, then your address will come up for some random person. Postcrossing is free to use, with the only financial investment being the purchasing of postcards and postage.

Thus far, I have sent postcards to Germany, Hong Kong, the Netherlands, Australia, China, Ukraine, Russia, and the Czech Republic. Postcrossing also lists the travel distances of the cards. This week, Postcrossing celebrated its ten millionth postcard being registered. That is a lot of kilometres of snail mail.

Yesterday, I was excited to receive my first postcard. It came from Clearwater Beach, Florida. Not as faraway or exotic a locale as some of the places I have sent them to, but it was great to actually hold a card in my hand that someone took the time and cost to send. As much as I love using email and social media, there are some sensory and tactile experiences technology cannot replace.

As for world peace - well, maybe I was just exaggerating slightly. But seriously, the opportunity to make connections around the world in far-off lands can lead to new understandings and a global world view.

A Movie Lover's Lament

For a variety of reasons, I am going to remember 2011 as a year of loss and mourning.

This realization hit me as hard as ever last week when I strolled over to my local Second Cup to enjoy a cup of coffee and a book for a while. Before entering the cafe, I had a ritual - I would go next door to the Blockbuster and peruse the new releases, the foreign titles, and the special interest documentaries.

Blockbuster now sits closed and empty. I give it a fleeting glance as I enter Second Cup,the barristas greeting me by name.

Of course, I knew the writing was on the wall and I tried to give myself time to prepare. Blockbuster went into receivership in the United States some time ago. Still, there was hope for Canada. But then, a select number of Canadian Blockbusters closed down.

But not mine. No, it was still standing large and tall, filled with all kinds of movies I had yet to explore.

I felt ominous when my membership expired and I was not given the option to renew, being explained that the company was in receivership and as such the future was uncertain.

Then, the end came. It was announced that all Blockbusters in the city, and in Canada, would be closing. Closing out sales were held, and I purchased a few DVDs at rock-bottom prices. I felt choked up as I stood in line for the last time, looking around at the near-empty shelves, a film of some kind playing loudly on the large screen behind us.

How and why did this tragedy occur?

Internet killed the video store.

I contributed to this situation. The convenience and ease of renting movies on iTunes, as well as the low price and increasingly good selection of a Netflix membership all took their toll on how often I would physically go out and rent movies.

Still, there was just something about browsing through the aisles, making discoveries, and reading the covers. I would often leave with two or three - usually a new release or two as well as possibly something I had never heard of before, just to try something different.

One can browse online, but it doesn't feel the same. Lots of browsing online makes me dizzy in a way wandering around in a video store never did, even if I had no idea what I was looking for.

A generation will now be raised up not knowing what it is like to physically rent movies. And while this is definitely a first world problem, I will miss my pre-coffee ritual.

Of course, there is always the library.

Tape Recorders (for Robert Kroetsch)

Robert Kroetsch and Paula, a photo by raise my voice on Flickr.

I found out a few hours ago that legendary Alberta writer Robert Kroetsch was killed in a car accident at the age of 83. I have the privilege of interviewing Robert three times, corresponding with him via email, and occasionally seeing him at literary events. His wit, dry sense of humour, and profound way of looking at life are the things about him I will most remember - in addition to his literary works, of course. This poem came to me as I reflected upon our encounters and his life, which, while full, was taken too soon.

Tape Recorders (for Robert Kroetsch)

That day between classes in a café
where iced coffee sat between us as
you discussed poetry and hornbooks
as I transcribed conversation to paper
via a malfunctioning tape recorder only
springing to life through a booming voice
filled with history and humour.

My stories were many, or so you said;
there was a need for a good romance
or tales of the itinerant writer in the big city.
Encouragement for my short verse and to
extend the length of my thoughts were remembered,
but short is my style and long is your wisdom.

You saw the dark corners you said
upon which I shed light, although I
think at times the batteries were weaker than
they should have been, just like in that old tape
recorder that memorialized your stream of
post-modern wit and broke once and for all
a few years later.

The new one works in a similar fashion but
never met you in a coffee shop alongside
your talkative host from whom you feigned sleep
as she ferried you to your next engagement,
a full schedule requiring extra energy.

If those stories come to life which you suggested,
I can only hope they will have meaning,
but forgive the brevity of my verses;
they could never rise to the standards
of my aspirations.

(c) 2011 Paula E. Kirman

Finding Shalom - An Artistic Journey

My grandmother wanted to go to college, or so the story goes. I have never asked her myself. Of course, since women did not do that back then, she held her dreams inside and desired my mother to attend post-secondary education.

Which she did, but not the kind of which my grandma hoped. My mother trained as a legal secretary, in hopes of snagging a nice, rich, Jewish lawyer. She got my father instead. He was an elementary teacher in a ghetto school who was pursuing his doctoral studies in the evening.

For the first six years of their marriage, they lived in my mother’s parents’ duplex. Then, when he earned the right to put ‘Dr.’ in front of his name, my father found the position that moved him and my mom from their close community of Brooklyn, New York, to the wilds of Edmonton, Alberta.

‘Culture shock’ probably did not begin to describe the change. Being an Orthodox Jew, my father soon realized he was no longer in walking distance of the nearest synagogue. There were two kosher butchers, each purveying their own brand of inedible delights. My mother, who enjoyed television, was dismayed to discover only four channels at her disposal – one of them in French.

Moving back home after my father amassed enough of a C.V. to get a position at another university, preferably one in the East, was definitely a consideration. However, the digestive disturbances which plagued my mother en route to their new home turned out to be more than food poisoning or a touch of the flu. It was my older brother.

The 1960’s turned into the 1970’s, and a few years later I was born. The family was settled. My mother, forever doting and over-protective, was concerned about problems back home and decided it was best to stay put.

For a variety of complicated reasons, my brother and I never attended the local Jewish day school. I was the mystery of my elementary classes; the girl who always got to miss school to celebrate exotic holidays. The one who could never go out on Friday night; the one who had to turn down invitations to birthday parties because she could not eat the food being served. Still, I never resented who I was until the kids from the Talmud Torah, which only went up to grade six in those days, joined us in junior high and treated me as an outcast. On top of that, I was daily being stalked, verbally harassed, and beaten by a Lithuanian Jewish boy who came up to my shoulders.

Things were not much better with my non-Jewish classmates, even though it felt easier and more gratifying to use my experiences as a source of rebellion with my parents, who had done their best to raise my brother and I with their customs and traditions. I could no longer relate to the meanings that were behind all that we did as part of our heritage.

I turned to my few friends, my painting, my writing, my music. I wrote songs almost every day, and swirled colours of tempera on paper. My father gave me an old camera of his, and I started combing the neighbourhood, looking for subjects to photograph. The trees and the birds and the flowers became my best friends.

Eventually, junior high came to an end. A bad case of chicken pox made me miss my graduation. To this day, the group photo of the grade nine class of 1988 hangs on the wall in the school, without me. But I still have most of those photographs, those paintings and songs, and the scars from which my art flows.

Modern Proverbs

Written by me during a bout of great cynicism.

Mothers don’t know everything;
Teachers know even less.

Poems do not have to rhyme,
Though if they do it’s not a crime.

Rabbis, pastors, priests, and preachers
Are not God, nor may they speak for Him.

The pain of loneliness stings less
Than the trauma of heartbreak.

Play hard to get,
And get nothing.

If I can’t miss what I don’t have
Why do I still long for it?

Only thank God for things you really
Think He would want the credit.

Music is in all things, all sounds,
All vibrations of voice, earth, air.

Books have the safest covers
To be between.

That said, life is meant to be lived,
Not only read about.

Trust is earned;
So is respect.

Own your mistakes;
Don’t blame others for your failings.

We may grow older and wiser
But discover there is more we don’t know.

Many long to travel abroad,
But how many have explored every nook of their own city?

When You're Strange - A View from the Inside

Several of my friends on Twitter have committed to a monthly blogging schedule based on a specific theme. January's theme is racism and/or discrimination. At first I felt this was a topic to which I could add no real insight. After all, I am not a member of a visible minority, and as such have never encountered racism. I am Jewish, but have been fortunate enough not to have had to deal with anti-Semitism, at least not overtly.

This got me thinking that when racism or discrimination is the topic on the table, we often think of it in terms of what members of one group does to another. There is always some sort of cultural, religious, or racism differentiation. However, my own experiences have shown that discrimination can happen within the same ethnic group.

I grew up in a fairly traditional Orthodox Jewish home. As a result, it was always assumed that when my brother and I became of school age, we would attend the local Talmud Torah day school. As my older brother approached the time to register for grade one, it became evident this would not be the case. In those days, there was no transportation provided for children who needed a ride, despite my parents being told otherwise. My father, a professor at the University of Alberta, taught 8 a.m. classes and would not have been able to drive my brother to school every day. My parents desperately tried to work out car-pooling and ride share agreements with other Jewish families in our area, but to no avail.

Finally, it was time to register my brother for school. My parents enrolled him in the public school a couple of blocks away, and that is where he and then I attended for our elementary and junior high years. I was the only Jewish child in my class for the first six years of my school career, and I never felt strange. I knew I had customs and traditions that were different from the other kids, but it did not bother me at that time. My father often came to my classroom to make presentations about the Jewish holidays and share some ethnic food treats. At the same time, I enjoyed taking part in Christmas decorating and concerts. Yes, there were a few things I had to skip, like birthday parties on Saturdays (the Sabbath) and the annual hamburger barbecue (I ate no non-kosher meat at that time), but to put it in the vernacular, it was all good.

Then came junior high.

The Talmud Torah only went up to grade six back then. It was a feeder school for the school I attended, so when junior high came around so did a lot of Jewish kids. I was very excited that for the first time I would get to hang out with other people of my tribe. I would finally have Jewish friends! Or so I thought.

It broke my heart when the other Jewish kids would not accept me because I did not go to their school. They would not even believe that I was really Jewish. The irony is that I was still religiously observant at that time, while they obviously weren't given their dietary and weekend habits. I was severely taunted verbally by many of them, and physically by one in particular. I was an outsider in my own cultural group.

To this day, I still feel somewhat like an outsider in the Jewish community. I do have some Jewish friends and am involved in a few community activities, but I don't really consider the Jewish community to be mine. The community is very small and homogeneous, and when you are someone who has views that don't fit with the mainstream, you really stick out. It is almost as if one's Jewish identity is determined by outside forces like what school you went to, what family you're from, how much money you have, and your political beliefs.

While I still bear some of the scars of my youth, I have come to terms with myself and my identity. Developing the courage to stand up in the face of adversity I believe is one reason I became a social activist. It is why I cringe when I see others (either here or abroad) mistreated by a system, a nation, or a paradigm of thought. This has led me down some interesting and unusual paths both as a Jew and in general. Pressure and heat, when applied correctly, can create newness and beauty. If faced with a choice of an easy route or a struggle, I choose the struggle.


Related Posts:
Blog Group Topic #1: Racism/Discrimination/Stereotypes by @lindork
Discrimination and Helplessness by @JenBanksYEG
The Double Meaning by @TamaraStecyk
Racism, would it cease to exist without...? by @sirthinks
It's Not Me, It's You by @Joanna_Farley

Stones (or, The Way Things Fit Together)

A stranger handed me two polished stones today. One was in the shape of an arrow; the other, a heart.

When I was a child I used to collect rocks. I would walk in the river valley and local parks and pick up rocks that looked colourful or had an interesting shape. Sometimes I would rub a small stone or two against sandpaper to smooth it out. These mementos of my childhood are somewhere in a rusting tin can in the garage.

Today was like any other day. I had to go take some photos for work and grab something to eat, then ended up spending time with several different groups of friends along the way while visiting some river valley parks. At the last minute, I remembered I needed to grab a few things at a drugstore. I told my friend who was driving which store I wanted. Instead of going to the one closer to our homes, we went to a different one about halfway between the park we were coming from and our neighbourhood.

I picked out the items I wanted and followed my friend into the magazine aisle. Let me add that I rarely check the books and magazines in this particular store, but today I decided I wanted to buy a copy of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, and this was where I was going to get it.

While I was browsing, and older gentleman asked me about the sticks I had dangling from my backpack. I explained that they were juggling sticks, how they are used, and how I entertain kids with them at parks and parties. Seeming amused by my juggling exploits, he reached into his pocket and pulled out several polished stones. He invited me and my friend to pick one each. I picked a limestone and quartz composite that is white with black flecks, and is in a shape resembling an arrow.

The man went into detail about how he collects stones and showed us other specimens from his pockets and around his neck, both from the river valley and beyond, in other parts of Canada. Some were actual semi-precious gemstones like amethyst and jade. He gave us tips where to find some good rocks when the river gets lower.

I commented that some of his stones looked like worry stones, and he said that was how he used them at times. I told him how I broke a worry stone once (and it was true - my anxiety-ridden self rubbed that poor stone until it was translucent and snapped). He gave me another stone that he said won't do that. Flat on one side, rounded on the other, when I took a closer look at it later I noticed it looks like a heart.

An arrow and a heart, slightly misshapen, given to me by someone who would only reluctantly tell me his first name. As I held those stones, I was taken back to those more innocent days of collecting rocks when I was a kid. And I ponder how these shapes and textures and the objects they represent reflect my life now. Finally, I look back at the day and how every event and every choice that was made, directly or indirectly put me in the path of this unexpected gift - a profound moment in my life that has left me with something tangible to ponder.

Spread The Words

The Edmonton Public Library recently rebranded with a new logo and slogan: Spread the Words. To help grow public recognition of the new brand, EPL launched a sticker photography contest. Low adhesive stickers were distributed to anyone who asked for them at any library branch. The stickers were in several different colours from the new logo and featured different sayings. The contest was to place the stickers anywhere around Edmonton (legally, of course) and take a picture of them. The pictures were uploaded to the EPL's website, where the public could vote for them on a scale of one to five (five being the highest). The top ten photos went on to the final round, where the public could vote once for their favourite photo. The top three photos with the largest number of votes would be the winners.

I submitted several photos to the first round, and of the almost 200 photos submitted, two of them made it to round two. I was very excited to learn last week that one of my photos made it into the top three! I won a Sony eReader - an ideal prize for someone who loves books, but has limited space to continue buying lots of hard copies. I Have already been reading eBooks on my iPod Touch using Kindle software - I am happy I have something with a larger screen!

My winning photo was taken outside of Giovanni Caboto Park. I placed the red sticker with the saying "We're Bigger Than Our Buildings" on a rail on the outside gate of the park. You can see my photo and the other two winning photos here.

Defining Community

I got into an interesting debate this morning with one of my more colourful Twitter correspondents. I stated that I considered myself part of a certain community. He at first interpreted this to mean that I was saying I lived there and pointed out to me (and the rest of Twitter) that I actually live in a different neighbourhood. I clarified that I am indeed part of this community even though I do not happen to reside there. I work there, in a leadership position of a community-based, non-profit organization. I am involved in community events. I am a member of the community league. I spend more time there than I do where I actually live. For these reasons, I consider McCauley to be my community.

This afternoon, I brought up this conversation with a friend of mine who is in the process of studying for her Masters in Library Science. She mentioned that this exact topic was discussed in one of her classes - the question of what exactly defines community. She said the outcome of that discussion was the conclusion that community is actually quite fluid. We can be a part of one or many communities depending on our life circumstances. We can consider our neighbourhoods, work, ethnic groups, and social activities to be communities in which we are involved.

I completely agree. I am a member of one community by virtue of the fact I live there. I am part of another because of my work and passion for the area. As an organizer and participant, I am part of the activist community. Through my activity on Twitter and attendance at several in-person meetups, I am part of Edmonton's Twitter community. My work as a writer and editor makes me part of that professional community. Even though I am not as active as I could be, I am part of a faith community.

Community defines who we are. We, in turn, define and identify the communities of which we are a part. Incidently, I am writing this blog post from my desk in my office in Little Italy. My co-worker, who is also with the McCauley Community League, has arrived and now I am talking to her about this issue. "We have adopted Paula. She *is* a member of this community," she says with a smile.

I love being a member of different communities. I hope I can make a positive impact in all of them. And I look forward to becoming parts of other communities as my life unfolds.

The Making of Milestones

From the July 2006 issue of the street newspaper Our Voice.

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How we define success for ourselves, personally and professionally, often determines our direction in life. Our careers, attitudes towards material wealth, and general priorities all revolve around the goals we set.

When it comes to goal setting and reaching, it’s really easy to just think of major events like graduation or landing a good job. While either of these examples of admirable, they are merely the end result of a bunch of sequential actions and accomplishments which led to them. The difference is that this forward motion – “baby steps” one might say – is often ignored on the way to the big prize.

Most people who can ride a bike remember when the training wheels came off for the first time. Likely, this move towards independence was celebrated with kudos from relatives. Maybe a picture or two were snapped as you rode down the street on two wheels for the first time. Something so important in our growth, but also a common experience amongst children. Yet much hoopla surrounds it.

And then as we get older, things change. We’re no longer cute little kids looking up to the adults in our lives with our tooth-missing smiles. The little triumphs we experience start to become less of a big deal. So we start to eye loftier goals, in the hopes of winning the almighty approval from our parents, peer groups, and ultimately from society. Sorts trophies, getting into university, and eventually making it in the corporate world become the end goals of a competitive world.

Here is where a level of marginalization occurs. There are many who have challenges making it difficult for one to attain a higher education, great job, nice home, and all the trappings that come with middle class life. In other words, people who are already marginalized due to social class, mental and physical challenges, and economic circumstances, at some point come to the realization that they cannot keep up with what they perceive is expected of them. These are people with a lot to offer, but it is too often overlooked.

On the flip side, sometimes people walk away from a comfortable life to pursue what they consider to be more important goals. These are the ones who go into humanitarian work, social activism, or even just living a scaled-back lifestyle at a slower pace for enjoyment and health, rather than the pursuit of money and power. Unfortunately, growing one’s own food, organizing an anti-war demonstration, or working for a charitable organization just isn’t held in as high esteem as being the CEO of a corporation and living in a luxury condo.

Milestones don’t have to equal money or achievement. They can be simple things, like making someone else smile. They can be personal – one does not always advertise that they have made it for a month without taking a drink. Or, they can be moments shared with important people in our lives. Birthdays and anniversaries don’t really matter to anyone outside of one’s immediate social circle anyways.

It isn’t wrong to want to “make it,” whatever making it means to you. Celebrate everything that life has to offer. Make a journal of your journey, so you can at least record your daily steps to read back at a later time in order to judge your progress. Sure, there will be big moments to share. But don’t ignore everything that happens along the way. Our “training wheels” will have to come off at many points in life, under various circumstances. Celebrate these moments and milestones.

Paula E. Kirman learned how to ride a bicycle as a teenager. You can reach her at: starvingwriter@hotmail.com.

A Civilian Weekend

I ran into a friend of mine outside the Commercial on Saturday. Camera in hand, I was strolling the avenue checking out the Art Walk (link leads to my photo set). He said he had never seen me before as a "civilian" and could even sense a different aura around me. That got me to thinking, that I spent the weekend pretty much apart from activist goings on, at least in public.

My weekend pretty much started on Friday, when I headed to Fort Edmonton for the third time this summer. On this visit, the train was not working (first time I ever remember that happening) but I checked out a few buildings I have not been in for quite some time, such as St. Anthony's Church and School and the Masonic Hall (the top part, not the food concession). Here is my ever-growing photo set.

Earlier last week I went to the Alberta Aviation Museum for the first time ever. I don't know how many times I have passed the museum, since it is not far from McCauley where I work. This has to be one of the most overlooked attractions in the city. I was blown away by the number of full-sized aircrafts, numerous cabinet displays, and other nooks and crannies filled with airplane and military memorabilia - although I have to admit the Third Reich stuff sort of creeped me out. You can even go into the area where they restore the aircrafts. I was literally blown away when I went outside to look at a few of the aircrafts too large to fit inside the museum (it was a very windy day), including a full-sized Boeing 747. Check out my photo set here.

On Sunday I briefly passed through the final afternoon of the Street Performers, then walked to Little Italy for a celebration of the young soccer players in the community. After that I enjoyed a potluck supper with a friend and his family. Good times all around.

It wasn't good times when the heavy rains last week resulted in my office flooding. Fortunately, I happened to be down there at the time and everything was able to be moved before it got damaged. I had the opportunity to go through a few boxes of archival materials, and am going to try to have to hook up one of my old zip disk readers to see what is on a bunch of old disks I found.

Speaking of discoveries, I have finally started to tackle the last ten year's or so worth of spring cleaning. I have found old diaries, journals, and notebooks containing early attempts at poetry and songs. I have found books, photos, toys - all kinds of junk and treasure. In particular, I went through some old sketchbooks of mine and scanned some of the better stuff. I posted it at my online portfolio at DeviantArt.

The "Lights Down, Stars Up" photo exhibit at City Hall may be over, but a slideshow of the photos in the exhibit is online here.

Finally, two of my songs are now available for download on iTunes: "Walls" and "Falling." "Walls" is a song I often sing at peace rallies, while "Falling" is a very early song I wrote about life. Both downloads are 99 cents and can be found by searching on my last name. For some reason, when you use my full name "Walls" does not appear in the search results.