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Last May I returned to Paris. It had been ten years, and I had a few days to wander around and reacquaint myself. Despite a fair bit of rain, I spent most of the time browsing flea markets, sitting in cafés, and eating butter-laden baked goods. What else is one to do in France?

I had read about a fantastic bakery and made note of it some time before I left, figuring I would wander off and find it as my first-day-in-Paris journey—it’s always fun to have a mission. I knew it was out of the way a little, so I was looking forward to poking around some of the neighbourhood streets of less-than-central Paris. I was staying in the 12th in a lovely little hotel just steps from a metro stop, and as my flight was late getting in, I just made my way straight to my oh-so-inviting bed. In the morning I looked up the address of the bakery, figuring I would be good and ready for a pain d’amandes by the time I found it. To my delight, it was not only in the same arrondissement, but on the same boulevard as my hotel. I was right at the edge of the 12th and I knew I may still have a fair bit of walking to do, so I jotted down the name and set off. I walked down the lovely, creaking wooden staircase and out onto the sidewalk, and as I looked up, there—directly across the street—was the very bakery I had planned to visit. It was all of about 17 steps away. Needless to say there wasn’t much adventure to report in finding the place, but there WAS a piping hot pain d’amandes, to be sure.

When I was returning home I had an early afternoon flight, and so I zipped across the street and bought a huge bag of fresh croissants, pain au chocolat, palmiers and viennoise, and fit them into the one empty spot in my suitcase. I breezed through customs without incident, and about an hour after I returned from the airport several friends and family members came by for (nearly) fresh French pastries. It was heavenly—a highly recommended tradition to start after your next trip…

I decided to play with the watercolours a bit tonight, and since the Illustration Friday theme for the week is ‘homage’, I decided to pay respect to my namesake. It’s funny, my name is sometimes tedious, always a conversation piece, and never forgotten—but for the first time ever it’s actually coming in handy. The article in last week’s Courier did mention the URL to this site but it’s buried in the copy, so a lot of people are missing it. But they all remember my name, so lots of them are finding their way here by googling ‘Bambi’ and ‘Kingsway’ or even just ‘Bambi’ and ‘illustration’. If my name were more common it may be much tougher to find me, but I’m actually feeling quite thankful for its aberrance these days…

I’m telling you, this project is netting all kinds of unforeseen results.

First: I am featured today on PensEyeView.com, check it out!

So, I figured it was high time for an addition to the collective nouns series. This one has been in my mind for a long time, and the word is so perfect, isn’t it? I mean, who doesn’t want to clutch baby chicks?

(a warning: if you’re squeamish, best stop reading right here, just skip to the next entry…)

Of course, I feel a little different about yellow fuzzy chicks after spending time at the endangered species conservation centre my dad worked at—they got boxes full of chicks from local egg-producing farms, as they would regularly hatch eggs to replenish their chicken brood, but the males were useless to them. So, they sent the day-old chicks to the farm, which is great, as this particular conservation centre has many large cats, who heartily endorse the idea of baby chicks for breakfast. One year on the Easter long weekend my sister and I got to go spend some time with one of the handlers there—she drove us through the cat enclosures, and it was so surreal, stopping next to a cheetah, and throwing a huge side of some sort of animal carcass over the fence, along with a handful of yellow chicks from a bucket. It sounds cruel but really, it’s far more natural than any alternative. Still, an odd sight at Easter, I must say.

As an interesting side note, a newly born chick still has yolk inside it. Seems strange, no?

Legendary plunderers, master swordsmen, and possessors of that sixth sense about when to leave a sinking ship, the pirats were poised to take over the Caribbean at one point—and they could have really reigned terror on the high seas, too, if they hadn’t been so distracted by petty arguments. These two, for instance, are bickering about which one ate the last pickle from the barrel on the poop deck, meanwhile their ship is being sacked by a team of rogue pelicans.

Let this be a lesson: squabbling can really get in the way of a good pillage.

Last week I spent some quality time wandering around the nooks and crannies of old New Westminster, and hopped a fence at the river’s edge for the opportunity to snap a photo of this fantastic wee tug idling there. I was with a friend whose father manned tugboats for many years, so this one is for him.

And yes, the teeth painted on the hull are akin to the teeth painted on fighter planes, but they remind me of the muppet Animal’s mouth. Sort of softens the intended effect, doesn’t it?

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Today I anxiously awaited delivery of the local Vancouver paper, The Courier, as it featured an article about me and my drawing project. I was excited to take a look, and so I watched and waited, and waited, and waited. The day came and went, as did the early evening, and none of the houses on my block had a paper on the doorstep. When it was nearly dark I went out for a walk and managed to find the paper in my travels, but as I wandered home I saw movement in the shadows, and I’m pretty sure I know what happened to my copy.

Last month I drew a rather risquée scene on the front street, but at the time I didn’t notice that the female raccoon was missing the telltale diamond shape in the middle of her mask that proves she is indeed the mate of the tailless wonder. The act I witnessed was illicit, and the hussy involved decided she had better rid the neighbourhood of the newspapers bearing links to my website, lest the diamond-bearer get her hands on a copy. Cunning move. It also explains why the south end of Trout Lake looked a little pulpy this evening…

Despite the chillier-than-normal weather lately, we can take heart in a few sure signs that spring is indeed coming: the birds are chirping, the sun is shining, and the squirrels have taken their scooters out of storage.

A reminder: if you live in Vancouver, watch the Courier today for an article about my Kingsway project…

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It’s impossible to talk about Kingsway and not mention the Purdy’s Chocolates factory. They offer tours, which I have never partaken in but think I would enjoy, what with my love of industrial kitchen machinery and my recently obtained antique chocolate molds. I have, however, visited the factory store, which in addition to regular Purdy’s fare sells rejects in large bags. I always hope to find a bag of assorted mangled bunny parts, but unfortunately the broken shapes are usually far less interesting. Their peanut butter bars, however, in any form, are nothing short of divine.

It seems an odd location for a chocolate factory, and it remains to be seen if Purdy’s will stay on indefinitely or move off of Kingsway to a more industrial location as the strip becomes a little more settled. It would be a shame to see it go, and mainly because it would mean the loss of the best fountain in the city, which sits outside the factory doors and is made from used candy machines. Trés Willy Wonka.

By the way, if you live in Vancouver, watch the Courier tomorrow for an article about my Kingsway project…

The Illustration Friday theme for this week is “pet peeves”.

You can’t very well have Easter without a bunny now, can you? And of course the goose must be present, and when it’s the year of the rat, it’s only fair to dedicate a cookie to that cause as well. I think all the bases are covered now, and I’m feeling a wee bit sick from snacking on rejects.

May you all fare well in the egg hunt, and may chocolate abound.

By the way, has anyone else ever heard of a kingover contest as an Easter tradition?