Bloorp.

While cycling through my modest photo collection from Panama, it struck me that my former paparazza tendencies have changed.

I was a shutterbug in high school before digital cameras became ubiquitous — think back to the days when as soon as the flash went off, someone would cry out “Doubles!” to lay claim to a second copy once the film was developed.

It’d make more sense for the opposite to be true, wouldn’t it? That in the era of digital cameras where passable images can be instantly deleted, I’d feel more inclined to snap away freely.

But I’m more selective than ever with the moments I decide are worthy of my time to capture.

I am no photographer. I have no aspirations to be a photographer. It’s never my intention to snap a prize-winning photo and I leave those skills to professionals who know what they’re doing.

But I’ll admit it can fun to experiment with my little point-and-shoot — and when you’re on vacation, there’s an endless wealth of subjects to explore. Well, once you’re off the resort.

That’s really the best part. I’ve already made clear my feelings about resorts and ignorant resort people, so day trips helped take my mind off the scads of uneaten buffet food and plastic cups half-filled with locally brewed cervezas.

And of the few photos I took — compared to Matt’s forty zillion — this photo of a convent among the old city ruins in Panama City is probably my favourite.

I may not have many pictures from this trip. But the few I do have are ones I really like. That ought to count for something.

Jim Benton, a.k.a. creator of the hilariously blunt It’s Happy Bunny, recently pointed me to the latest piece he’d posted to Twitter.

There’s not much more to say other than the look on the father’s face in the last panel just made my day.

Oh, who am I kidding? The whole thing made my day.

It brings me back to a session he hosted at a recent KidScreen Summit in which he was creating stories and drawing on the spot based on audience suggestion — improv, if you will. Robot was the first suggestion, and he asked if it should be a boy or girl.

The robot ended up being both, split right down the middle: the female half sported a single high heel and carried a purse on one arm.

“Normally I’d ask for a conflict at this point,” Jim had said. “But I’d say in this case we already have one.”

What did he name the robot? Hermy, of course.

I remember this moment like it was yesterday. It’s one of my absolute favourite memories of Richard and I’m so, so thankful that my girl Christina was notorious for taking little nonsense videos on her point-and-shoot all those years ago.

The short and sweet clip you see above was one of them and for a fleeting second, I can almost make myself believe that Richie is back here with us where he belongs, smiling that little smile of his, as if nothing’s changed…

We were having a dinner party at my pal Justin’s, and our master chef Richie was teaching us how to flip pancakes.

He handed me that very pan and ran through the proper wrist flick that would send the flapjack spinning in the air, then landing smoothly on the non-stick surface. I took the pan reluctantly, afraid of dropping it or the pancake or that some general Emily Claire bumbling would inexplicably set the kitchen ablaze.

Richie, however, was firm and confident. So I went for it. There were some near misses but not long after came my first successful attempt — the pancake sailed gracefully in the air and landed snugly back in in the pan. I was so excited by this newly discovered skill that I had to fight the urge to flip every damn pancake within sight…and it was all thanks to Richie.

I miss him. I miss him so much that almost five years later, it still hurts. I don’t know if that will ever change, but memories like this help ease the pain and remind me that I once had a wonderful friend who made me a better person simply by having him in my life.

Merry Christmas, Richie.

I’ve lost count of the times that people my age — and younger — have already whined profusely about “getting so old.”

What is it about age that is so upsetting? Or maybe the more accurate question is, when did it become fashionable to complain about getting old? I know I’m not counting down the days until I can justifiably whine about counting down the days to my oh-so-fast-approaching old age.

Two months ago, I celebrated another year being tacked on to my life and I embraced every second. Matt took me to a cute French restaurant in one of the most unexpected areas of Toronto where we feasted on garlicky escargot, hearty cassoulet and to cap off the evening, a plate of a puffy profiteroles trio…

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Leave it to Pixar to make me think about my childhood toys.

I’m not just talking about Toy Story 3 — even though the film touched on just about every thought and feeling I have about growing up and how I never want to grow up, and it turned me into a teary mess by the end.

I had the pleasure of attending a master class this past weekend taught by Pixar animator Andrew Gordon and story artist Matthew Luhn. And somehow, Matt managed to single me out from the dozens of students, asking me to come to the front of the class with two others to talk about our favourite childhood toy.

I had a few preferred playthings, so to pick one on the spot was difficult. Or so I thought. Then the smiling face of an old plushy, Taffy Tiger, swam to mind…and I couldn’t think of anything else but Taffy.

Matt had described earlier that one simple thought will trigger others and sure enough, that’s exactly what happened next: a rush of wonderful, happy memories flooded my mind and I found myself telling a room of strangers about one of my most cherished stuffed animals.

Matt asked where he was now and without missing a beat, I knew. I was still thinking about Taffy when I was finally permitted to escape back to my seat so I decided then and there to go on a mission. With photos, no less.

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