In Alberta, Canada, the Airdrie Voice & Vision project involves the collaboration of fourteen writers and fourteen visual artists. The project started In April 2023 with writers sharing their writing and artists presenting their art. In an anonymous draw, the two were randomly paired together, where artists and writers exchanged their first pieces with their partners. From April to July, each person created a response piece based on their partner's submission.
I was fortunate to take part in this collaboration and am proud to have my writing included in the Voice & Vision 2023 publication produced in September. I wrote The Popcorn Man based on a childhood memory and shared this with my artist partner, Alesha Buczny. She created a most impressive piece of art in response titled Joy, a watercolour 16” x 12” (in the picture below, the flowers are pink popcorn). We also shared a second piece, which I’ll post shortly. For making this project possible, thank you to the Airdrie Public Library, The Government of Alberta, and the Airdrie Writers Group (offering editorial feedback). Enjoy.
The Popcorn Man
I sit on the porch beside Wilma, my best friend. Our legs swing back and forth on a hot, sunny afternoon. Two eight-year-olds pass the day in boredom until the smell of fresh popped kernels fills the air. I yank Wilma up, and we bound down the lane.
Mr. Han sees us as he pushes his popcorn wagon. He calls out, “Hot Popcorn! Get your fresh popcorn!”
We both giggle and give him a dime. With a happy gleam in his eye, he hands us each a brown paper bag filled to the brim with popcorn. His eyebrows wiggle as he retrieves a long-necked tin can warming inside the wagon. We smile at his toothy grin when he makes a show of pouring melted butter all over the top of our treat.
Mr. Han’s heavy Chinese accent and limited English are never a barrier as people line up, and his popcorn soon disappears. After he parks his wagon, we accept his invitation to come for tea and cookies. In his tiny one-room apartment, Wilma and I sit side by side, knees squashed together on a gold cushioned footstool. Mr. Han boils water on a small hot plate, which sits on top of a deep reddish brown writing desk. He pulls a package of cookies from a compartment and opens it, pressing us to take one.
We drink green tea and munch away, gazing around the room. A map of Mr. Han’s home country, China, hangs on the wall. He points to a blue vase filled with thin branches of pink silk blossoms. Hanging from them are miniature red paper lanterns with tassels. As he pulls on the strands of his grey moustache, growing in long lengths down each side of his mouth to his neck, he explains the lanterns bring good fortune and joy. His gentle gestures and smile help us feel comfortable. He enjoys our visit, and I wonder if he might be lonely. I grin when I think that could be why he gives us free bags of popcorn from time to time.
Simple pleasures of being a kid during the 1960s brings fond memories of the popcorn man, Mr. Han. Wilma and I had the freedom to follow him around town, and we often ate our fair share of popped kernels, wiping greasy fingers down our clothes and being too full for dinner. These sweet memories followed me into adulthood, and, to this day, popcorn is one of my favourite snacks.
Authors Note: I love that I was born during a time where I had the freedom to roam my neighborhood, meet new friends, and learn about different cultures without feeling any fear.
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