Soggy Socks Easter Sunday

 

Choose a miserable enough day -- like Easter Sunday -- and you have the West Vancouver seawall almost all to yourself. Photos by John Denniston.

But here's the prize for walking the seawall: the Ferry Building art gallery is finally open after a  years-long renovation. Built in 1913, the one-time ferry terminal has been upgraded and raised to protect it from rising sea levels.

Outside the ferry building, flags wave and cherry trees bloom against a rain-filled sky.

Easter, once a joyous romp of egg-hunting and chocolate-overdosing, can look a little gray at this stage of life. Especially at 7 on a Sunday morning, in the midst of a "long duration rainfall event" expected to dump 20 to 50 mm of rain during the day.

So what did we do? Headed to ultra-rainy West Vancouver for a seawall walk.

Genius, it turned out.

The Stanley Park causeway and Lions Gate Bridge, where fast commutes go to die, were virtually empty. Ditto the seawall. What would have been shoulder-to-shoulder crowds on a sunny Easter Sunday was instead a few indefatigable joggers, and crows and seagulls posing on the rocks.

 Even our treats were available. The holiday hordes hadn’t yet cleared out the chocolate/coffee place where we fuel up for our seawall walks. And we were first in the door for our first look at the renovated Ferry Gallery, a favourite stopping-off point that’s been behind construction fences for three years.

Yes, we did get wet. The wind turned my umbrella inside-out. John’s pants and shoes were so saturated that he was reminded of a miserable motorcycle event he used to attend that was so wet and muddy it was called the Soggy Sock race. We decided this would be our Soggy Socks Easter Sunday.  

But we had our walk, our coffee, our treats, and a glimpse of art in a bright new space. And socks dry out.

Artwork in the newly renovated gallery -- a log with embedded seashells -- was spectacular against the cherry blossoms outside.

The art is by West Vancouver's four siblings, who all work in different mediums.

Hooked rugs depicting rocks and sea urchins are among the art pieces on display.

John's pants below the knees and shoes were saturated with water... 

...but he wasn't as miserable as the guy he photographed in the Soggy Sock motorcycle race in the Fraser Valley in 1986.

Peggy writes John

 

Margaret Atwood's "Burning Questions" book prompted John to write her a letter recalling an early encounter. She answered!

I admit to being a bit miffed that I, the writer in the family, am not the one who received a letter from world-famous Canadian novelist Margaret Atwood the other day.

No, it was my ex-newspaper photographer partner John Denniston whom Peggy (once you’re in correspondence, the nickname is quite in order) saw fit to address.

“Dear John,” she wrote in response to his Jan. 17 letter to her about a memorable encounter at the Edmonton Journal in 1969. In those fraught early-feminism days, the paper had decreed that every woman had to be identified as “Miss” or “Mrs.” – the new term “Ms” was verboten. After the photo session, John asked, and Margaret (definitely not Peggy in this situation), refused to say. The look she gave him was something he remembers to this day.

“How interesting to read this story after so many years,” Atwood's March 21 letter continued. “As your memory of our meeting suggests, choosing a female honorific was a touchy subject at the time – for those on both sides of the question. It was evidently also a matter of whose wrath would be worse. Your letter suggests mine, which is probably correct.

“Kind regards,

“Margaret Atwood.”

Here’s what John wrote to prompt this response:

Dear Margaret,

In your book “Burning Questions” there is a story that refers to your time at the University of Alberta when you were, as I remember it, the poet in residence. One of the perks of this position was that you had your photograph published in the Edmonton Journal newspaper.

The photograph was taken in the Journal’s photo department and I was the photographer assigned. After taking your picture I asked your name, which you gave me, and then I said, “Is that Miss or Mrs?” You said nothing. I repeated the question and again you said nothing. I started looking around for clues, a ring on your finger, then at your companion whose face indicated only, “don’t ask at me.” I asked the question again and was met again with silence but the look on your face had changed and your companion had started moving slowly away, out into the hallway, which I, not being completely clueless, realized was from his fear of harm being done to me and him not wanting to be collateral damage. At this point I gave up, said thanks for coming in and left the picture captioned as Margaret Atwood.

What you didn’t realize is that the day before you came in to have your picture taken, the editor-in-chief had declared, because of his opposition to the newly created title “Ms”, that every woman whose name appeared in the newspaper would be identified as “Miss” or “Mrs” without exception.

I had decided to take my chances with the wrath of the editor-in-chief rather than with you.

Regards,

John Denniston

 As this Sept. 27, 1969 Edmonton Journal photo and column indicate, Margaret Atwood had very definite positions from the start of her famous career.