Keira-anne.com

Perhaps I’m an anomaly, but I am one of the few who actually embrace getting older. In fact, 30 doesn’t scare me; I look forward to it. You may find this strange of me, but it is, in fact, the truth. My reasoning behind this is simple.

Something I have come to notice about myself in the last year or two is that, as I have grown older, I have grown wiser. That is not, however, to say that I’ve reached any sort of particular milestone, but I firmly believe that worldly wisdom is an important objective to aim for.

What is becoming abundantly clear to me is the reality of human nature. There is beauty there, and there is also ugliness. Sometimes neither is avoidable, and so a perspective grounded in reality is crucial to emotional survival.

In my humble opinion, one of the most unsightly sides to human nature is the way in which people treat each other. Let me preface this by saying that I in no way purport to exclude myself. Mud slinging, talking smack and insults seem, unfortunately, to be a part of almost anyone’s past. The trials and tribulations of adolescence and high school practically dictate the necessity of these tools. It’s something we all learn from a very early age.

Whether it’s to feel as though one is accepted or as a defence mechanism, I believe it all comes down to the self-esteem factor. The beauty in aging, growing older, experiencing life and gaining wisdom should theoretically have a direct impact in this arena.

With age can come cynicism; with experience can come hard lessons in reality. There will always be someone who has what we want, there are people who live on sidewalks, children who go hungry, politicians that lie, family and friends who let us down. What is important to realize is the simple fact that no one is perfect. And with that insight, hopefully we are able to rise above what is ultimately minute, what causes us insecurity and allows us to live lives that are fruitful rather than rotten.

While I could find some comfort in sitting here, lamenting over what tries to tear me down or make me feel less about myself than I should or am entitled to is a wasted effort. I know what is solid and real in my life. I know who Keira-Anne really is (and she’s turning out to be a pretty terrific woman, if I do say so myself), I know why my family is so invaluable, I have unyielding trust in the precious few friendships in my life and for the first time ever, feel as though I have the ability to rise above what is fleeting.

My precious little girl, Charley, is becoming quite the explorer. She’s developed a sense of adventure and lost much of her unwarranted fear. Other dogs don’t phase her, unfamiliar places are no longer frightening and the ocean is becoming her second home. She is, in fact, becoming quite well acquainted and comfortable with the Georgia Strait.

My mom and aunt brought her to Seal Bay Forest Nature Park yesterday, and my mom on her own headed for Miracle Beach Provincial Park with the little wiggle bum this afternoon. A few adventure shots of the cutest little girl ever…

Normally Charley will steer clear of the ocean, but being that July has brought hot temperatures, she felt quite comfortable plunking herself right down in the water!

…AND THE FEELING’S RIGHT

Yesterday was Friday, and it was a Friday that four women had been particularly looking forward to. It was Ladies’ Night, and Rebecca and I were headed for Boneta in Gastown with our respective moms. It was an awesome time for the mother-daughter teams, rich in memories of cocktails, silly photo-taking lessons, tasty meals, tenderly sweet desserts, laughter and, of course, lots of pictures!

In mere moments, we’re headed to Radha in Chinatown for some early morning Hidden Language yoga, followed by a scrumptious Gastown brunch and an afternoon chasing after screaming 6-year-olds hopped up on sugar at Lilah’s 6th birthday party. Can anyone say “Gong Show?” More pictures to come, quite obviously…

The fabulous West Coast has been blessed with amazing sunshine over the last three days, and I couldn’t be more in love with it. I don’t think I’ve worn anything with sleeves since Friday morning on my way to work. Island times have been very good (which goes without saying when I’m with my family and Charley). Yesterday I spent the majority of my time with my aunt and managed to pick up a few things I needed - like a fully stocked first aid kit!

This morning I woke to find the sun pouring directly onto my face through the window, which was much appreciated being that I had plans to visit Kitty Coleman’s Woodland Gardens today for their annual Art & Bloom festival.

Of course I had to bring my little Wiggle Bum with me for the adventure. The sights, sounds, smells and herds of other dogs proved to be a bit overwhelming for her, but I know she had a lot of fun.

I’ve long wished to be a collector of pottery, but for some reason, was always deterred by sticker shock. However, today I found this really beautiful piece to kick off my collection, crafted by a Qualicum Beach-area potter by the name of Darrel Hancock. His claywork is exactly the kind I want to accumulate: simple designs, smooth lines and finishes in the blue and sand colours of the beach. Another plus - his pieces are totally affordable.

After some downtime, my mom and I met up with my aunt at The Timber Room, one of the two dining rooms at Crown Isle Resort and Golf Community.

The view was to die for, the warm air was scrumptious on my skin, my cold water shrimp and coconut curry Kohoku rice bowl tasted oh-so-good (and was wonderfully paired with my first glass of chardonnay of the summer season) and the desserts speak for themselves.

The service, on the other hand, left something to be desired.

I’ll let you decide what’s richer: the strawberry-doused New York cheesecake or the gold fire hydrants.

It’s up and at ‘em early tomorrow for your humble narrator. Vancouver is awaiting my return, as are two wonderful puppies. My mom will be joining me for a few days in the city this week, so though my posting will probably be less consistent, expect a log jam of photos from yours truly.

Another Friday, another potential for adventure. In less than an hour, I’ll be bound for Horseshoe Bay to hop a ferry home for the weekend. I’m excited for time shopping with my mom and aunt, Juno, Chinese take-out from Quality Foods (yes, it’s a grocery store and yes, it’s the best Chinese take-out in the Comox Valley), cuddles and playtime with Charley, fresh air, relaxation, photo opportunities and whatever else the weekend brings my way. Two nights always seems to go too fast but at least it’s better than nothing.

Last night our Star Wars marathon officially came to an end with the destruction of the Death Star in Return of the Jedi. As a child, it was my favourite installment of the trilogy. As an adult, it’s clearly the worst. The Ewoks aren’t nearly as cute as I remembered them to be, and the movie as a whole was more than obviously made with mass marketing in mind. The magic of A New Hope was long gone. Return of the Jedi wasn’t even directed by George Lucas, so enough said.

While I’m soaking in the Island goodness, here are some things to keep your time occupied until we meet again:

Have a super Friday, everyone!

“Keep it together in the family
They’re a reminder of your history
Brothers and sisters they hold the key
To your heart and your soul
Don’t forget that your family is gold”
- Madonna Ciccone

In 1980, my mom and dad had a kid. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was rather that Eric Forman and Donna Pinciotti had a kid.

I was my daddy’s little princess; his pride and joy.

This is my favourite photo of him and I.

Several years later, they had my brother, Trevor. It’s funny how, the older I get, the more difficult it is to remember such times. When I look at old pictures, the reminiscing comes easily. I can recall the games we used to play, the chocolate cakes that would be smushed on our faces at birthdays, the big paper maps we used to draw for his race cars and endless hours of building Lego houses while arguing whose structure was more deserving of the better pieces.

For some reason, I never could convince him to play Barbie with me.

We were, essentially, the nuclear family. By today’s standards, a family doesn’t consist of “mom, dad, two kids and a pet.” In my own standards, family doesn’t even mean people to whom you’re related by blood.

Throughout my teens, I lost a good portion of my blood-related family, including my Oma, Opa, paternal grandparents and my father. I’ve always had a few members of family on my father’s side, but truth be told, there was never a time in which any of us have been close with them, and it’s been well over a decade since contact was made.

As it stands today, my blood family is myself, my mom, my brother (who once was my little bro but is now most definitely my big brother) and my aunt. And in truth, my aunt is more of a surrogate mother herself than simply my mom’s sister.

Fortunately for all of us, the beauty doesn’t stop there. As I mentioned earlier, it isn’t relation by blood that defines someone as your family. Since long before I was in my mother’s womb, I was blessed with two phenomenal people who were not only my parents’ best friends, but as of December 2, 1980, also became two of my biggest cheerleaders. Jim, Dianne and their daughters have been more of a family to all of us than I could even ask for.

When I asked my mom for a blog post idea, she suggested I look at photos and perhaps an idea will spring up. With one quick look at my family set on Flickr, I decided to share with all of you what my family is. They aren’t necessarily the people who share my blood. They are the people who give love, support, encourage, forgive, understand, stand by and who allow me to return it all to them.

Yes, they are my mom, my aunt and my brother; however, they are also my friends and the people who have stood by me through all life has brought me. And what’s better, they are the people who will continue to stand by me through all that life has to bring.

On Friday I told you that I live for weekends, and the last two days are exemplary proof of that. Saturday’s sunrise walk and yoga practice were the perfect way to begin my day, and everything only got better from there (including the Skinny Peaches from Jugo Juice that Jennifer and I grabbed on the way home).

Saturday

After cleaning up and showering, I headed out to meet up with Amy, Peanut, Casey and Benji before heading to Crab Park. I can’t think of a better way in which we could have enjoyed the warm sun rays.

Amy made me pose.

Casey had a blast chasing his favourite rubber bone. He even managed to sucker a lady into throwing the bone for him for a solid half hour.

Original Photo: Amelia Burrows on Flickr

Classic pose, everytime.

Photo: Amelia Burrows on Flickr

One of my favourite reasons for going to Crab Park is meeting interesting people. We came across a backpacker from the east coast and his dog, Cuddles. Apparently she’s a very unfriendly 13-year-old pup, but she seemed to take to Peanut like a fish to water.

Original Photo: Amelia Burrows on Flickr

Since they spend most of their time cooped up in an apartment, I love seeing how thrilled Benji and Casey become when they’ve got endless green turf to run around on while they play and laugh in their special doggy laughs. Also, being that he’s not terribly fond of other dogs, it’s a rare occurrence that Benji actually likes Peanut, so Amy and I are encouraging as many playdates as possible.

Video: Amelia Burrows on Flickr

After the park, Amy and I went to one of my favourite little gems in Gastown, Farfalla, on East Cordova. Each of the tea tables was adorned with a little lilac blossom and the scent was heavenly.

Following a hearty meal from McDonald’s, I spent Saturday evening watching ‘The Kite Runner,’ a beautiful film based on a popular, best-selling book. The story chronicles two young boys and best friends in Afghanistan in the late 1970s, one from privilege and the other being the son of a servant. As the Russians invade, the privileged boy and his father flee to Pakistan and eventually the United States. Twenty-two years later he receives an unnerving call from his childhood friend and subsequently embarks on a journey back to his homeland. All I can do is encourage you to see this film.

Sunday

On Sunday morning I woke early to pillage the shelves at Urban Fare in preparation of a birthday feast. Being that Sequoyah was the birthday boy, I told him he could have whatever he wanted for dinner. His request was simply: “lasagna, extra cheesy…and a chocolate football cake!”

I set out making the cake first.

Any chance I get to bust out my pink measuring cups and cocoa is not one I’ll pass up.

The football cake in all its candle-lit glory.

I found what was supposed to be a fantastic lasagna recipe that uses three different cheeses (in order to fulfill the birthday boy’s request). It got a big thumbs up…

Cooking in layers is a fun experience.

The ricotta cheese wasn’t suppose to contain spinach, but what fun is cooking if you can’t deviate from the recipe a little bit?

Lilah called it “scrumptious!” I’m pretty sure I haven’t heard that word, or a variation thereof, since the last time I watched ‘Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.’

Sequoyah wasn’t the only one celebrating a birthday this weekend. The Bee turned four yesterday!

It was Sequoyah’s lasagna, so he got the honour of cutting it.

After all the birthday festivities, the littlest pup was all tuckered out and fell asleep nicely on my knee.

Today brings another work week and I’m already in the thick of things but have so much more fun to look forward to (like ‘Juno’ on DVD, Army & Navy’s shoe sale and Tequila Kitchen with friends).

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been burning through all six seasons of HBO’s ‘Oz.’ In a nutshell, the program follows a large group of inmates in a fictional maximum security correctional facility in an unnamed U.S. state. Within the Oswald State Correctional Facility - or “Oz” as it’s known on the street - exists a place called “Emerald City” (aka “Em City”).

Em City is an experimental unit within the prison where inmates are allowed to wear their own clothes, interact with each other and work at jobs within the prison on the conditions that they attend classes and rehabilitation counselling, to name a few particulars. What’s most interesting about the cell block is that Aryans, Spanish, Irish, Muslims and a number of other ethnic groups attempt to co-exist together. Beyond that, I’ll not say anything because there are several people I know who have recently been turned on to the show and I would hate to ruin anything for any of them.

Photo: Ughman on Flickr

Yes, I do realize that this show is a work of fiction. At the end of each day, I’m sure the characters each washed off their “tattoos” before going home to their wives and children to prepare for another day’s work. However, it is the raw reality of humanity that this program touched on through actors (who are incredibly symbolic of you, me and the people before and behind you) that moved me in my core. And while none of it is true, the show is based on truth - human truth. The dialogue and the events quite literally force one to re-examine what we hold tight to through watching others experience similar circumstances.

“There are some confessions you can’t even make to yourself. Yearnings, desires, that you admitted to having you’d had to stop being who you are. And the facade you build so carefully will crumble, exposing to those around you, what really makes you tick.”

Last night I watched the very final episodes, and what I came to realize in those last few hours was, simply put, devastating. In one of the final episodes, tensions arose over the fate of a prisoner who was being held on death row and whether or not it was “ethical” to execute him as had been ordered by the State.

As the clock ticked down and straps were fastened, I found myself suddenly in a pool of my own tears as I sat there on my living room floor. I cried. I cried harder than I have in months, my body heaving in sobs.

Photo: Prof. Jas. Mundie on Flickr

That humanity I spoke of - the raw reality of it - it’s something that is too quickly defined without any true consideration. As I sat watching that particular scene, what struck me opened up a floodgate that brought out the heavy grief. Different values are placed on different lives, and each time, the basis for that evaluation is unique.

Let’s say one man takes another man’s life and so it’s considered by some as justifiable to strap him to a chair and thrust electric currents through his body or pump his arm full of venomous toxins. It’s a sense of redemption to the family of the man who was killed. But what about the executed man’s family? Are they not left with the same void?

And while I know the death penalty isn’t a method of punishment used in Canada, it’s wide-spread in many areas of the United States and many, many countries around the world. However, my point here is not about whether or not it’s okay to sentence someone to die. My point is that what matters most is to look behind the moral wrongdoing and look at the person. This very idea is what watching ‘Oz’ has prompted me to do.

Photo: Hotel Lyric [35] on Flickr

While it’s true that prisons are packed full of murderers, arsonists, rapists and the like, at the heart of the matter, they are all still people whether men or women. Behind the moral wrongdoings are sons and daughters, people with heart and true emotions. Somewhere along the way, their moral compasses became scrambled - even if only for a moment - and has changed their lives completely.

“So, what have we learned? What’s the lesson for today? For all the never-ending days and restless nights in Oz? That morality is transient? That virtue cannot exist without violence? That to be honest is to be flawed? That the giving and taking of love both debases and elevates us? That God or Allah or Yahweh has answers to questions we dare not even ask? The story is simple: a man lives in prison and dies. How he dies? That’s easy. The who and the why is the complex part. The human part. The only part worth knowing…”

It is so easy and quick to judge and label these “criminals and scumbags,” but are those of us on the outside really that much better than these people? Who of us has not lied to our loved ones, stolen, cheated, raged or delighted in our own dances with malice?

If there were laws against such trespasses of the heart, we would all be guilty.

It’s somewhat intriguing that I live in a high-rise apartment building in downtown Vancouver. Each day I put on sparkly jewellery and high heels beforing clicking my way down the sidewalk to yet another high rise. There, I sit in a swivelling chair while my manicured nails clack away on a keyboard for eight hours. At that point, I then click my way back home and curl up in my 505 square feet nest and rest up to do it all over again the following day.

Photo: lapideo on Flickr

Why is that intriguing, you ask?

It’s a complete false front. My life, and what I do day-in and day-out, is scarcely a reflection of what I really want each day of my life to be. My dreams are where the truth lies. Each one of us, at one point or another, has let our imaginations go wild with the thoughts of a lottery winning. “Life would be perfect…” is often the sentiment. Naturally I’d take a few trips, buy a pricey handbag or two and partake in a small number of indulgences, but my ideal life involves nothing but idyllic simplicity.

Before anything else, I’d leave Vancouver completely. Rather obviously, I am nothing but an Island Girl, and I’d be on the first boat headed to Vancouver Island. I would like a house, a home. This home would be set on a widespread yard; lush and fresh with green grass, lavender plants, a rainbow of blossoms everywhere and copious turf for an entire brood of pooches. The beach would be a short walk away.

Photo: DNiall on Flickr

The house itself would be older, completely saturated with a combination of character, history and beauty. A porch would wrap entirely around most of it with plenty of room for both over-sized wooden chairs and a chest full of fluffy blankets for cold mornings drinking herbal teas in the fresh Island air.

At the heart of the dwelling lies the kitchen. Truth be told, I don’t care where I live when I “grow up,” but an amazing kitchen is crucial. Bamboo countertops, pots, pans, a stainless steel Kitchenaid mixer, cookie sheets, spices, flour, sugar and enough utensils to make Martha Stewart green with envy. Wide and tall windows would be perfectly set to filter endless hours of sunlight into the kitchen. On the windowsills would be enough space to grow basil, rosemary and thyme while still making room for my fruit-filled pies to cool. I’d spend hours in there each day cooking, concocting and creating.

Original Photo: melisdramatic on Flickr

I’m a woman; of course I want children one day. My home would be a home for family. It would be a space to inspire and create. Being that I have such an affinity for coastal First Nations art, a Haida sun inlaid with abalone shell would be focal. There’d be rooms for painting, writing, relaxing, reading and thinking. Every space would be filled with comfort, sun and light.

Who knows if I’ll ever live that life in such a home. It’s hard not to think about baking pies on sunny days while sitting at a desk with my fingertips clacking away on that keyboard. Perhaps it’s the dreams we hold in our soul-hearts that give us what we need to get through “A” so we can move on to and appreciate “B” for all that it is and will be.

What are your dreams?

For anyone who uses Flickr on a regular basis, you know how fantastic it is. It’s quite possibly one of the best sites on the web, making photo sharing and lurking a snap. Did I just make a pun? Since joining Flickr in 2006, I’ve upgraded to ‘Pro’ status and have added nearly 2,000 photos to my account. Not surprisingly, three out of my top five photos that have been “favourited” by Flickr folks are of my body and a bikini.

However, what has long been my most “favourited” photo has been bumped into the second spot in less than a week. What is surprising is that the bikini shot’s successor contains no skin, strings or sexiness. It has been surpassed by this photo:

Click the photo to view it in detail.

Since posting this photo on Flickr just four days ago, it has received a “Favourite” denotation 10 different times.

On Easter Sunday, I took the three dogs out into the yard after the feast was devoured and the rain clouds cleared. After a bit of time playing, I made my way back inside and noticed rays of sunshine pouring through the trees. Instantly, I grabbed my camera and shot a series of photos. Everything was so lush and fresh after the rain, causing the greens and yellows to be saturated. I got down low, put my camera on the ground and hoped for “a neat shot.” The above photo is what was captured.

I called the photo ‘We Are All Here’ because I feel that there’s a lot of magic to be found in my moment in the sun. Each and every single drop of rain is being completely filled with and illuminated by the light of the sun. Some drops are big, some are smaller. Some are bright and exuberant, while others simply blend into the background. What’s important is that each and every drop of rain serves a purpose and has a destiny to nourish.

More often than not, it is so simple to feel useless and overlooked – not only by others by also by our own selves. Fortunately, it isn’t true in the slightest. All of us serve a purpose in our lives, in our families, in our social circles and in our communities. While some of us are meant to shine, sparkle and be a beacon of light for others, some of us are crucial to subtly satiate the lives of others in less obvious but equally important means – life buffers, if you will.

I am by no means a professional photographer, and any occasion on which I happen to capture a beautiful photo is purely by accident. However, I really wanted to share this picture with all of you for the simple reason that sometimes we all need reminders that none of us are accidental, but instead vital.