Monday, November 30, 2009

Time to go a' gathering!


Tonight is a bright night with a nearly full moon (Wednesday). Tonight I have cancelled my Gaelic class and Mari and I will go out and gather branches of evergreens! I hope my Gaelic teacher doesn't have my blog address because "last minute school work" is technically correct, as some of the wreaths will go into the school, and certainly this is last minute. I have to question my commitment to the language if I abandon it because it is a beautiful night and the school is in want of the smell of the outside brought inside... I will console myself that the same spirit which brings out to the trees leads me to Gaelic.


Speaking of Gaelic reminds me of Scotland. Ok, so I said I liked Manitoba, and of course I do... but then, today, in class, I saw a picture of mountains. I realized that I really miss the mountains. Why couldn't there just be a big mountain in the middle of the prairies? I know there are pimples, but how about a mountain? So it looks like a visit to the nearest mountains is in my ...snif* snif* way too far away future.

Friday, November 27, 2009

The quality of live-ness

A fellow blogger commented a week ago,

"I am starting to gain a whole new appreciation for live music... we assume the show just comes naturally for the performers, but in reality there are months of rhearsals and technical details that have to be worked out... we often forget recorded music has only been around for the past 120 years. Before that, music was always live"

When I first read this I felt a bit scolded. I enjoy walking through the woods listening to music, I often think the woods are well illustrated by music. I appreciate though this is not the common ipod experience. Nevertheless, my initial thinking was one of skepticism. Is live music really better?

But then, silly me, I had a performance. Wow, countless hours to character, lines, blocking etc. for just 1.5hrs. If that was not enough I then attended PTE's Bordertown Cafe on Tuesday. Live theatre is something special I allow. I hate watching filmed theatre.

So I appreciate theatre live, but music? Ah, but then on Wednesday in chapel I was surprised to find that we had a Children's choir coming to perform.

wow.

I was profoundly moved by their music. Yes, within seconds of their voices thrown into the air I was in tears. I got a cd from them. And I must admit: there is no comparison. Now, part of my reaction I am sure comes from the relevance of their presence here. After a semester of studying voluntary simplicity in the context of North American consumption at the expense of the Global south I heard their voices and stories very differently than I would have. Their stories were sad, I am used to tragedy from my work in the shelter. But there was also a whole new level to the narrative. It is my own involvement in the narrative. I am a North American consumer. I participate and daily engage a system which exploits these people. Chocolate, coffee, and rice are only some basic things. There is also systematic denial of opportunity, racism, aids, and many more. The children in that choir told us how their parents could not support them. I know that this inability is directly and indirectly linked to our, my, pattern of existence. They sang that night in spite of me, in spite of us. I felt like saying, "I am so sorry for what we have done to you." They told us that humans need to tell their stories, the horrors we have faced. They teach the children that healing is found in telling your stories. I think part of my story is confession. Perhaps the path towards justice is confession.

Anyway, without their presence I would not have been so humbled to listen to them. There is certainly something about face to face interaction that I can appreciate. Dancing while no one is watching is very different than dancing for people. Less vulnerable, necessary for practice, but it is not art, as Val says, until there is an audience. Do the numberless consumers of recorded music, dance, theatre and moves count as an audience? Are you reader, an audience? Or should I be saying this to your face? Perhaps that was the loss mourned (I assume it was mourned) when we transitioned from an oral society to a literate one. And again, we are transferring from a literate society to a media one.

Of course by last night I had conceded that live music was indeed better than recorded. And in that spirit I went to the performance put on my our own music students. Brilliant. Of course I expect to like the classical stuff. The jazz band was last. Jazz always was everything that was evil with men (Apart from Dave Brubeck). I suppose that was residue from Granddaddy Don. But then, their first piece was something about Little Liza or someone. And they were clapping, stomping, singing and playing and I was utterly delighted. I thought the conductor was joking when he suggested we dance if the occasion called for it.

The occasion definitely called.

(but I didn't dance.)

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

A strange Tuesday

It is one o'clock on a Tuesday and I am sipping hot chocolate in the library able to relax enough to generate a blog post. This is most unusual. The routine for Tuesdays for the past two months has been looking over my script with trepidation as the performance date looms in for a kill. But the performance has past, and it went better than I could have hoped for! Not only is my schedule free, (for the most part), I have a good memory of the whole production now. Very important. Below are some pictures from the dress rehearsal.
"How could you do such a thing! At your age? Ten years old? You should know better!"
"Ma, I didn't do it on purpose--"
"You threw I chunk of ice at a moving car! Don't tell me you didn't do it on purpose!"



"But she got all nervous--you know how she is--and she forgot to stop turning the handle with her right hand. So the phone keeps on ringing, and she keeps on turning, and before you know it, she's cranked her whole arm through the ringer!"



"When poor Blanch however-you-say-it had to give birth to her baby in a dungeon because she had been locked up there for the past six months by her two brothers-in-law, the heartless creeps..."



"When actors are rehearsing their plays, where do they do it? In a studio? And do they always wear their costumes? And how do they do it? How does it all work? I never thought about all that before, you understand?"



"When I was carrying you kids it hurt there too, in the same spot, the exact same spot. That's what makes me the saddest. It's like I'm carrying my death, like I am preparing to give birth to me death... you can't.... imagine what it's like, knowing that you're carrying your own death inside of you..."

"I don't know if I am headed for heaven, but, oh my God, I'm having a good time."



Sunday, November 15, 2009

Ode to my Apartment

How I love you, little rooms mine,
How I love you.
Don't be so worried
Your square feet are perfect
(I am not myself expansive)
And as for your layout,
Blame the cold war functionalists
and color on hippies.
You are my nest, my roosting spot.
A gracious space for sash-i-facts
(cat-i-facts, some say)
(art-i-facts, others)
Home to my books, leaves, and dance shoes,
My fishy, and candles
(Which, Stephanie, I never light, of course).
I like your familiar rusts, stains, and scratches,
Evidence of life, activity, and contexts.
Have others liked you so well? I doubt it.

When I fail, as I am prone to do,
to return at a reasonable hour,
It is not the paint, but the irony that
In order to stay, I must not be there.
And if this makes you sad,
Please don't forget,
The longer the day, and colder the night,
The happier I return to you.

Tuesday, November 03, 2009

At last! My brain has returned

I didn't know how much space memorization took up. The past week has been like a soaked sponge and with every bit of information I took in some other one would leak back out. I must say though, it is amazing what over 6 hours of sleep will do.
I cleared out my living room. It is now a unit of production rather than consumption. That simply means I have a space now devoted to making. Crafts, art, bills--whatever. A big table. And I have a tv. There is only one channel. But I can work on my missing socialization. Criminal minds is on every Wed at 9pm. And House is on at some point.
Oh, and it has snowed. Big fluffy stuff. I think it is all gone. But it will be back to stay.

Sunday, November 01, 2009

Happy November 1st


This is my sacred day. It is during this time of the year I think of the hills of Scotland and feel the strong pull of yearning to be there. I am a transplant, and like the tree in Digory's backyard, I sometimes move when there is no wind here. This is the time of year in Scotland where the trees are calling and I am moved towards them. Well, by trees I mean all the land and cultural heritage.
I no longer pierced by the pain anymore. I am a content transplant. My roots have grown deep and I am learning to thrive in this odd flat land. I am something proud about this. It is not a land that is associated with anything particularly great. As one of my sister's friends once said "It is the part of Canada I fly over." I have grown comfortable with this. Perhaps that is part of my draw and reason for being here. There is no presumption attached to it, dah-ling. I was free to what it would make itself in me, and I was free to love what it made, and find that I do.
So there, happy November first. I love Scotland yet, but I do not feel the wound, perhaps it is healed? Perhaps there was enough soil in Manitoba to satisfy my thirsty roots starved for land and Scotland is now free to be whatever it is, and I am free to be wherever I am. Now perhaps that I am a rooted person I can begin to actually love Scotland, having learned to love another place first.