SOTC 245/365

I have no shame in bribing birds with food to get them closer to my camera.

SOTC 212/365

SOTC 185/365

SOTC 151/365

SOTC 94/365

Umbrella Blue, a photo on Flickr by Gina Blank

The iPhone's Story

When my mobile phone contract was up for renewal back in 2012, the phone itself was pretty much expired as well, so I decided to upgrade my little flip phone to a smartphone. As the iPhone 5 had just been released, I was able to get an iPhone 4 for free with a three-year contract.

In this convenience-driven, everything-is-disposable society, I find myself part of the ever-shrinking minority of people who still use items until they are worn out or broken beyond repair, rather than just throwing them away at the first chance to 'upgrade.' At the time of acquiring my iPhone, its predecessor was being held together in spots with scotch tape.

My iPhone still has a year left on its contract before I can upgrade to something newer without penalty. In the last two years, my iPhone's screen cover and protective plastic housing have proven their worth several times over. I am fairly diligent about taking good care of my electronics--phone included. Still, that doesn't mean my phone hasn't seen its share of bumps and bruises. Really, given the appearance of many of my friends' and colleagues phones, it is a wonder that all the buttons still work properly and that my screen isn't cracked. The protective plastic case has taken on some scratches around the edges as it has sacrificed itself to protect the phone. The corners of the fabric back side have frayed. The screen protector no longer seals around its edges lining the speaker and home button. And on a recent trip to the States for work, the screen protector managed to acquire hefty scratch marks from being jostled around while sharing very close quarters with a sharp object.

As I first noticed this most recent scratch, I thought to myself, looks like I'll be shopping for a new screen protector when I get home. But as the day went on, I continued to use my phone without issue, hardly even noticing that the scratched section was there, except when I ran my finger over the newly abrasive spot. A decent screen cover runs about $20. With only a year left before I upgrade, if the functionality of the phone has not been compromised, I started to wonder, is a new screen protector really necessary?

And cost aside, this war wound tells a story. When someone sees it and asks what happened to my phone, I can tell them that I was walking along the white-sand shores of the Gulf of Mexico with a couple of colleagues when we noticed a school of sting rays swimming in the waves close to the shore. I can tell them how I took out my phone--screen still scratch free--and captured a short video of their graceful movements. I can tell my listener about how we then continued to track the sting rays along the shore. How they didn't seem to be in any hurry to move back out to sea. How I decided in that moment to get my real camera, which was still in my bag under a beach chair further up the beach. I can tell them how I stuffed my phone into my shorts pocket and made the sprint of my life through the soft sand* to the bag and back. How I snapped the shutter over and over, half galloping along the beach to keep just ahead of the gliding group, while simultaneously trying to capture the lead ray's fin when it would occasionally cut through the water's surface.

I can tell them how, when I was finally, truly out of breath, I stood on the shore for just a moment longer to take in some ocean air and watch them swim and disappear under a large wave. How we returned to our beach chairs and started packing up then, cameras and phones put bag into bags, while the excitement still lingered, and infused with a new peace as the sun started making its descent over the ocean. How I rinsed my feet and legs under the on-site shower, as much to wash away the sand as to cool myself off--still hot as I was after my impromptu run. How it was only when we approached the car in the parking lot that I pulled out my phone once again, and noticed that it was now heavily scratched in one spot. How I still cannot tell you if the scratch was acquired while it was in the pocket of my shorts as I ran, or in the pocket of my bag as we made our return to the car. How I only know that it came as a result of just fully being in the place where I was; taking in the sun, the sand, the warmth, the life--and forgetting everything else in that moment, including the phone. How sometimes an experience is worth a few scratches.

Yes, each mark on my phone tells a story--grand or otherwise. And while there would still be a story if I replaced the screen protector... somehow, without that scratch... It just wouldn't be the same.

 *which is delightful to sink your feet into but something else entirely to try and run through.

SOTC 45/365

SOTC 42/365

Sandcastles.
Snorkeling.
Sunshine.

362/365

356/365

Just because I'm in Alberta doesn't mean I can't enjoy some sand and sun!

I Wear Flip Flops* OR 346/365

I never wore flip flops growing up. I remember owning Jelly Shoes for a summer or two, but on the whole, I was much more of a sneakers person. I have clear memories of a purple pair of Velcro shoes circa first grade, canvas high tops circa third grade, and imitation Keds in the fifth and sixth grades (which got puff-painted to snazz them up when they started to look worn—c’mon, you know you did it, too!).

Enter junior high and the era of Doc Martens. No, I never had actual Doc Martens (though I DID have an actual Club Monaco sweatshirt, but let’s save that for another post, shall we?). But I had the look-alikes. Ooh, and faux-suede shoes. Man, those were comfy. And more imitation Keds.

But no flip flops.

No sandals, even.

Yep, I was the kid with the sock tan every summer.

Around the eleventh grade (late, I know), I finally got the memo that sock tans look stupid, and decided that I needed to branch out into some sort of sandal wear. Thing is, I’m very particular about my footwear. I want my shoes to look good, feel comfortable, and match with more than one outfit. But I was not convinced that I wanted flip flops. I find it hard to walk around in shoes without a support around the back of the heel, and I was also convinced that I would have nothing but blisters between my toes. That being said, Velcro strap sandals were trendy at the time, and looked like a viable option. So in the summer after Grade 11, in a tiny little hamlet in BC, I bought my first pair of sandals.

And I loved them.

So for the next seven years, I wore this style of sandal in the summer. I think I went through 2-3 pairs; not entirely sure. Oh, wait—there were a few summers in university where I also wore Birkenstock-esque sandals for when I needed “fancy” summer footwear. Those rocked, too.

Then, in 2004, in a mud-fight with the Grade 5-6 class at the out-of-school care I was working at, a kid stepped on my sandal as I was running, and the strap popped irreparably apart from the sole. Time for new sandals.

As I was still in the process of looking for the perfect pair of new sandals, my friend SK was visiting from Arizona—a blessed state where people can wear sockless footwear some 300 days a year. Somewhere along the way, the topic of flip flops came up, and she encouraged me to try them. She reassured me that I may get blisters on the first day, but nothing more than that. She also reassured me that—even though she wasn’t entirely sure how—flip flops don’t fall off. So, with all this in mind, and with a tourist-necessitated trip to West Edmonton Mall, I entered Old Navy and bought my first pair of flip flops. They were only $5, so I figured if I ended up not liking them, I was really only losing $5.

In the end, it was more like, “best $5 spent ever!”

I did get a couple blisters the first few days.

But no, they didn’t fall off.

And they were so comfortable.

And pretty much matched with everything I wore.

AND I could wear them through water.

These things were great!

The pair I am donning in today’s photo are my third pair of Old Navy flip flops. This will be their last summer, as the foam is getting thin.

This pair of flip flips has crossed through the likes of garden dirt, playground turf, grassy field, puddle, and sand. They have been to the Rocky Mountains, Haiti, Nova Scotia, Florida, and the Caribbean. Most recently, they stood at the Western edge of Vancouver Island, where the only thing separating them from Japan was the Pacific Ocean.

Flip-flops, you rock my summers.

* It's a bit like deja-vu, isn't it?

Irresistible OR 343/365

On a hot, sunny day at the beach with a camera, it is hard not to take a million pictures. I had taken pictures of the crabs, the horizon, the niece building in the sand, the nephew flying his kite, the friends walking out to sea.

In a moment when everyone was occupied in their own activities, I snuck away to focus on some other photos. A large (LARGE) piece of driftwood lay just down the beach a bit, and I had ideas.

Along with photos of the bleached, textured, driftwood, I was feeling particularly lovely in the summer dress I was wearing, and I thought the breeze might do nice things to it and my hair photographically as I stood on the log, looking out to sea.

After setting up about five or six shots, I heard a soft pitter-patter, pitter-patter in the sand. The sound of a child moving near by. I ignored it at first. I was in a photographer's zone. I did not want to risk making eye contact with some small person who wanted to explore the log. If I made eye contact, then I would see them waiting. And they would see that I could see them waiting. And then they would ask for a turn; if not verbally, then with their eyes. I've worked with children a long time; I know how this works. Selfishly, I set up for another shot, my back to the sound. I figured whoever else was interested in this log could wait just a few more minutes. But as the pitter-patter got closer, I eventually turned to the source of the sound. Fear that they would knock the camera off the log overtook worrying about having to give it up.

It was not just any small person.

"What are you doing, Aunty Gina?"


My heart melts and the selfishness dissolves. "I'm trying to take a picture of myself on this big piece of driftwood." He was intrigued by the fact that I was using a remote to take the picture without having to be behind the camera. "Want to try it?"

He nods.

Well, come on, then. Get up here with me.

"Do this, Aunty Gina," he says, arms out wide to catch the breeze.

How can I say no?

Fairness and Sameness

Traveling with a family with a child with special needs is a unique experience. My friends are veterans at modifying activities and schedules to accommodate each of their three children, including the eldest, eleven, who has a complex disability.

The language of special needs and inclusion is everyday in their household. The other two little ones (currently seven and four) have been able to pronounce their sister's five-syllable diagnosis since they were two.

Earlier this week, we visited Qualicum Falls as part of the day's activities. We discussed which adults would go with which children, because wheelchair accessibility only went so far down the trail.

I was one of the adults that went with my younger niece and nephew down the winding, stairs-and-hills trail to the falls. At one point, my nephew stated, "dis is not really uh-sess-ible* for P." We had a brief discussion about how it's really hard to make nature fully accessible because in nature, things just grow where they grow, and rocks and things just are where they are. At this point, the conversation ended for the 4-yr-old, but it still had me thinking a bit.

We try very hard where I work to encourage and implement universal design, so that communities, schools, playgrounds, and education are accessible for all individuals. Every stair case has a ramp or elevator near by; every book has a Braille or audio version available in the same library; every classroom is laid out and supplied to meet the unique learning styles of all its students.

Obviously, this is easier said than done sometimes. But on the whole, I generally think we're getting better.

And then there's nature.

The conversation with my nephew made me consider the idea that universal design and Universal Design might not necessarily be the same thing. The magnificent Creator--the Universal Designer--has blessed us with mountains, valleys, white sands, rocky beaches, a myriad of life on land and in the waters. Tall trees and low-lying shrubs. Calm winding creeks and rushing waterfalls. He has created it all for His glory. And yet, clearly, not everyone can access even such simple things as waterfalls and hiking trails

Would He really create a world that was not accessible to everyone who passed by?!

I stand at the edge of the trail, atop the gorge where, at the opposite end, a waterfall crashes. It's not a very big waterfall, but it is still mesmerizing to watch and oddly soothing to listen to. My niece in her wheelchair is maybe 500m away, down a 'lesser' trail, unable to take in any of it. And she's not the only one, I'm sure.

How is that fair?!

And then something my mother used to say to my brother and I echoed in my head:

"'Fair' does not always mean 'the same.'"

Sorry?

"'Fair' does not always mean 'the same.'"

My mother used to remind us of this when one of us would exhibit envy over the other's invitation to a birthday party, or one-on-one time with a parent, or something like that. We were two very different people, and so we engaged in different activities and were shown love and care in different ways sometimes.

And in effect, universal design operates similarly. It's fair, but not necessarily the same. A child with a visual impairment may need to listen to a book on CD, while the other has a hard copy with pictures. And yet, I would never say that the audio version is the 'lesser' book (in fact, if it is well narrated, it may have an advantage over a book that a child reads inside his/her head). Fair does not always mean the same.

So why did it bug me in regards to the waterfalls?

Because I don't see the same outcome.

The child who listens to an audio book and the child who reads her own copy both still end up experiencing the same story. By the end, they both know that the Hungry Caterpillar ate a lot of food one week and turned into a butterfly. They both know that Harry gets the Philosopher's Stone before Voldemort does. They both know that Romeo and Juliet kill themselves to be together.

But P doesn't know the waterfall that I know. So she didn't see the falls--OK. But she couldn't even really hear them from where she was. Totally not the same outcome.

But fair does not always mean the same.


Not the same means, but certainly it should mean the same end?


Fair does not always mean the same.


I don't understand.


She should be able to see the falls. She should be able to hold the starfish at the beach. These are relatively simple, yet meaningful, things.


Meaningful to her or to you?


Well, there's that. But certainly there is someone, somewhere, in a wheelchair, who can't see the falls and wanted to.


...Fair does not always mean the same.

I still don't understand. I don't understand why You would paint a glorious sunset that not everyone passing by the beach that evening would be able to see. I don't understand why you would reveal the knotted roots of a massive fallen tree that not everyone walking by could leave the trail to touch.

But I do have peace knowing that, while experiences of God's creation may not be the same, they are fair.

That is good enough for now.

*accessible

My Year in Pictures OR 1/365

I have spent a lot of time this summer honing my photography skills--in the field, in the literature, and through a wide array of photography websites. I stumbled upon something called Project 365 last week. Back in 2004, some guy took his picture every day for a year to chronicle life's happenings, and the idea became a hit. I like the idea, too.

As someone who takes photos on a regular basis anyway, one may wonder what attracted me to engaging in this specific creative activity. Well, as every shutterbug knows, the one taking all the pictures is rarely the one in the pictures. This will get me a year's worth of current portraits, if nothing else.

Also, while I shoot regularly, I don't necessarily shoot every day. I am generally shooting specific events or locations. And when I am shooting people "in the everyday", it's rarely my "every day." So this will encourage me to think of some creative ways to get my portrait captured each day.

So. Today is Day 1. Why not wait til the New Year? you ask. Makes sense to begin something at the beginning of the year. That being said, I don't want to wait that long. Also, starting in August is me already starting to think creatively. It would be predictable to start January 1. There's more of a story behind August 1. And the story is this:

August 1 marks the half way point of summer. There is a subtle transition in the way one engages with summer between July and August, I feel. As we move through summer, it seems the harvest has begun, both literally and figuratively. After a crazy, often wearisome winter, I have noticed that I am well-rested and pretty much fully refreshed. I needed the break, and am thankful for it. I am experiencing harvest in regards to my time, my relationships, and my experiences. As August has approached, I look forward to what my work and social life has in store come the fall.

More literally speaking, I have started pulling vegetables from the garden, and picking berries before they drop from trees. It has been such an exciting experience! I'm not quite sure what will happen when I do go back to work next week and don't have nearly as much time to weed, pick, wash, bake, freeze, etc., but I have been taking advantage of the time I have currently, and I am enjoying every step!

August 1 to August 1. Harvest to Harvest. After a very emptying winter, and even spring, I feel that's a positive way to track the year ahead.

Today, my mom took me to the Rochon Sands beach. It was plus-twenty-something celsius, and not a cloud in the sky. And by Alberta standards, the water was warm (although clearly, from the picture, still a bit 'refreshing' with that first dip!). A blanket, a book, a picnic lunch, our favourite hobbies (photography for me, knitting for her), a dip in the water, and sunshine. Rest. Peace. Harvest.