Crystal Visions II: Leather & Lace finally happened and it was everything I dreamed it would be. Our apartment was transformed into a sensual den of hanging crystals, doors of rose lace and fringe and flickering candles. Each attendee brought an amazing vibe until the entire place was filled with incredible energy. The din of many girls gossiping at once rose to a cacophonous level… and it was glorious. My co-hostesses, Laura and Alana, were at their foxiest, and mingled with guests from exotic locales such as Portland and Victoria. Best of all, a constant stream of records found their way onto the turntable, resulting in the night cresting with a bounding Fleetwood Mac-dance-and-sing-along explosion. Oh yeah, and there was some serious tambourine playing too.

As part of her participation in VCAM, Laura used the ladies of Crystal Visions as her inspiration for that evening’s video. She managed to corral most of the party goers before her lens for some serious disco filter glimma.

Kim was such a Vision that she got her own video:

Such a magical evening! Don’t worry, there is still plenty of glamour to come.

This wasn’t my first trip to Disneyland! I first went there in 1983 with my mom and dad.

A year or two ago I developed a severe nostalgic longing to visit Disneyland. Once my parents tricked me into thinking they had gone to Euro Disneyland (they took a photo of the castle on a pamphlet) and I freaked out with jealousy. I reluctantly passed it by on the road trip in August due to time constraints, so I was thrilled when my parents assured me that on our trip to California for a family wedding in November, we would be sure to fit in Disneyland. They kept their promise! And we went TWICE!

The first trip was a small group: myself, my parents, my brother and my cousin Brendan and his girlfriend. We went back the day after the wedding with all of my cousins, their partners, my aunt, great-aunt and grandma. Phew!

Disneyland was decked out in Christmas finery. It’s a pretty insane operation there. The amount of work and detail that go into running that park for one day boggle my mind. We certainly covered a lot of ground– the first day we were on our feet from 8:00am until 10:00pm that night. By the end of the day I developed severe pain in my life foot (note: Saltwater sandals, while comfortable, will cripple you if you walk on concrete in them for more than 8 hours) and I limped around the park for the next two hours. The next day my parents had to take me to the mall and push me around in a wheel chair to all the shoe stores so I could find some better walking shoes.

There was a super intense parade every night. The Princesses had an uncanny knack for making eye contact with and waving to every single little girl watching on the sides.

On the second day we went for a nice dinner at Ariel’s Grotto (it’s hard to take a restaurant seriously with a name like that, even though the food was pretty good), where we dined with a view of the giant Mickey ferris wheel in the California Adventures park and then enjoyed the insane water show.

Here’s some choice ride photos. I went on more roller coasters outside my comfort (wimpy) zone than usual. I went on one that went UPSIDE DOWN. We got soaked on Splash Mountain but not as badly as my cousin did on the Grizzly Rapids ride. Two giant waves washed over the side and over her head. My favourite rides were California Screamin’, Indiana Jones, Space Mountain and the Rachel and Jeremy narrated version of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. I knew I would hate Tower of Terror and I was right. See that look on my face? It’s the look of wretched acceptance. “I have done this to myself. I knew what I was in for. But goddamn do I hate this.”

Happy Birthday to my dear mother! Here are some of my favourite things about her, including (but not limited to):

• Her admirable drive and work ethic
• Her consistent academic excellence
• Her elegantly formed legs (seriously jealous of my mom’s legs)
• Her love of the mountains and hiking and glaciers and hiking and hiking and hiking (see: aforementioned legs)
• That being said, her limitless energy
• Her lovely voice– she doesn’t sing much anymore, but I will always remember pausing below the kitchen window to listen to her belt it out
• Her feminism (even if I’ve never heard her self-identify as one) and her determination as a woman to always be able to support herself
• Her raising me to always question the “beauty myth” (I could never read a teen magazine with much seriousness thanks to her)
• Her vast collection of fiction she wrote as a young woman, I’ve read every story and I treasure all of them
• Her sense of humour that is pretty much my sense of humour that usually leads to us laughing hysterically about dumb things all the time
• Her love of weird history that is pretty much my love of weird history, including cemeteries and catacombs and old movie stars and unusual social history
• Her musical taste in strong female vocalists that led me to Heart, and, in particular, Pat Benetar’s Wuthering Heights cover and this one Barbara Streisand song
• Her unwavering love and devotion as a mother, even though she was young when she had me and probably faced immense challenges and sacrifices I can’t even imagine
• Her total weakness in resisting laughter when I grab her arm and hiss “You are embarrassing me, if you don’t smarten up, you are going to sit in the car, young lady!!!” So predictable!

Have a great birthday, Mom! I know it will be great, because you’ll be spending it WITH ME!! One last year until both of us are over some sort of symbolic hill!

Oh-so-handsome, oh-so-funny, he always knows how to make me laugh and when to give me straight up advice. He can hunt a deer (his freezer is always stocked with game) and knows the words to all the good Rhianna songs. Never turns down a dance party or a chance to get into the great outdoors. He knows every invertebrate on the coast and can make an apartment feel like home in under 24 hours. He’ll row you in a boat in Spain or Louisiana (or let you row him, he’s an equal opportunity kind of guy). He was the first boy to take a chance on me and even though that didn’t exactly work out, we’re gonna be rowdies for life.

Happy Birthday Kevin! Keep on bein’ ROWDY!

Over May long weekend I attended the annual USCC Union of Youth Festival– more casually known as “Doukhobor Festival”– in Castlegar. This was my fifth year performing at Festival with the Vancouver Island Doukhobor Choir (VIDCA).

I have a hard time explaining Doukhobors to people. Although there are Doukhobors spread out over Canada, Russia and all over the world, Doukhobors in British Columbia are a particularly hard topic to tackle. Their history is tragic, spanning arson and bombings, the internment of children by the government, the assassination of their leader in a still-unsolved train explosion, the fear they felt of both government interference in their lives and of their own kin via the radical Sons of Freedom, and the discrimination experienced as a result. Their history is beautiful too. A tightly knit community, preaching love, brotherhood and pacifism, so determined to survive as immigrants in the brutal prairies of turn-of-the-century Canada that the women yoked themselves to the plow to work the fields, a people tied closely to agriculture and the land, that cherished life so much they were traditionally vegetarians, caring for friends and family through communal living.

I did not grow up involved in the Doukhobor community. At some point in my teenage years, it occurred to me that I had an amazing culture in my own family to explore and I became interested in Doukhobors. The essence of growing up a Doukhobor was particularly felt when I spent time with my Baba. She grew up in a communal village, and although she was not an active member of the community later in life, the mark it left on her was indelible. The food she made, the Russian she spoke, even her mannerisms, it was all Doukhobor. When I joined VIDCA in 2007, it was almost eerie seeing Baba’s mannerisms reflected in many of the choir members, as though we had all come from some giant disjointed family.

The choir did become a family, in a sense. In particular I became good friends with Stephanie and her mother, Virginia (or “Tyot” as we call her). Stenya and I were surprised to discover we had our own family connections– my grandparents worked for hers in Trail and our Babas, both named Polly, were friends, just like us. We even ended up being related, albeit through marriage.

Bread, salt and water represents the basic staff of life, as well as being a traditional peace offering amongst the Slavic people.

Singing brought us together. Doukhobors have an incredibly vast catalog of original music, usually sung at communal gatherings, in church, at weddings, funerals and whenever the deadly trifecta of liquor, a guitar and campfire come together. I can’t proclaim myself any kind of expert on Doukhobor music, but generally songs are sung a Capella, performed without direction or conducting and with unusual harmonies (often compared to medieval singing or monk chanting). Instruments are popular in the more traditional folk songs from Russia.

Doukhobor music connects my love of singing and the presence of my Baba. I miss her a lot and this music brings to me a little part of her that I never could have known. A young woman, wearing a platok, living in a village on the banks of the Columbia River, working hard even when she’s very young. It’s not strange to imagine meeting your grandparents when they were your age — I mean, look at the Back to the Future series — and singing those songs ties that part of her young life to mine.

For more information on Doukhobors, here are some resources:

Doukhobors on Wikipedia (has a good general history)

Online Exhibits at the Doukhobor Village Museum

Vancouver Island Doukhobor Choir

Doukhobor Music Site (I love the crazy warbling of some of those old Babushkas)

Iskra (Annual Doukhobor publication)

Union of Spiritual Communities of Christ (the “official organization of Canadian Orthodox Doukhobors”)

Koozma Tarasoff has written extensively on the Doukhobors. Doukhobor Daze by Hazel O’Neil and Terror in the Name of God: The Story of the Sons of Freedom by Simma Holt represent critical views of the Doukhobors in the 1920s to 1960s. My favourite fiction about Doukhobors is the lovely and touching Head Cook at Weddings and Funerals by Vi Plotnikoff — I feel like I learned more about Doukhobors in this book than anything else. Svoboda by Bill Stenson is some more recent fiction as well.

The island of Chincoteague has come up twice in recent conversations and it reminded me of some of my favourite childhood books by Marguerite Henry. I was a little horse maniac and loved these books to death. My library had the oversized hardcovers, each with beautiful illustrations by Wesley Dennis. I would love to have some of the covers and colour illustrations blown up– I’d hang Sea Star in a cute little eggshell blue room.

I was also spoiled rotten by my Grandma, who sent me a new Breyer horse model every year, many of which were based on the horses in Henry’s books. I still have the horses back in Kamloops. I wonder if my roommate would appreciate a dozen model horses strewn about the apartment?

Pictures from here and here.