Category Archives: Weather, Seasons, & Celebrations

Imbolc Interview

We must be coming up to a major Neo-Pagan festival – I’m on the radio again.

Yep. Going in to the CBC tomorrow to tape an interview about Imbolc, or Candlemas, or Chandeleur, or Brighnassadh, or Feast of Saint Brighid, or whatever you want to call it.

Now, it’s been a year since I’ve done an interview about my spiritual practices. You can actually dig back through the archives and read my rant about the disrespect shown to me by the last jerk who interviewed me. I did plenty of pre-interview work with the producer this time, and at one point I must have hesitated a bit too long, because she asked about my comfort level using certain words. I admitted to her that my last interview experience regarding the general topic had taught me a severe lesson and made me a bit interview-shy, and she’s assured me that nothing of the sort will happen this time. She was quite horrified at the level of immaturity displayed by the man who put me through that mockery of an interview last February and offered her sympathy, although she didn’t sound surprised. Sensational journalism attracts listeners, after all, the same way sensational journalism sells newspapers. In general, though, I have a very good feeling about this interview tomorrow morning. Mind you, forty-five minutes of the producer doing pre-interview research did a lot to put my mind at ease, and I’ve never had a bad interview with the CBC, in all the years I’ve interviewed with them. I’m always treated courteously and with respect. Mind you, I thought the same about CJAD up until last year too.

No, this will be fine. Besides, this time I know to terminate the interview if it goes in a bad direction. We’re taping, after all.

Barring major disasters, it looks like it will air Sunday morning on CBC Radio 1, which in Montreal is 88.5 FM.

The Two Towers, Panto, And Relaxing

So I saw The Two Towers yesterday.

Maybe it was the crowded theatre with the bimbo in front of us; maybe it was the killer headache that slowly crept up on me throughout the three and a half hours of total viewing time; maybe it was any combination of things.

I didn’t enjoy it very much.

Wonderful cinema, oh yes; spectacular battle sequences; epic; stunning design work, too. Smeagol was a triumph; the Ents were perfect. And yet… and yet. There was something missing. And I’m not talking about the first chapter of the book version, covered in the first film, or the last few chapters, which Jackson appears to be delegating to the third film.

I know it’s all about war; I know it’s about the Fellowship divided; I know it’s all about despair and loss of hope and the darkest before dawn, etcetera. I found the pacing irregular, and the editing extremely choppy. I thought I went in with decent expectations. I mean, I don’t aggrandize much any more; I’m very good at remaining immune to hype, and not working something up on my own, however much I might play at doing so.

I readily admit that I intend to give it another chance, mainly because I can’t believe I didn’t enjoy myself. It must have been a fluke, a freak alignment of stars or something.

Amusing side note: my parents saved the last full-page ad for The Two Towers in the Toronto Star for me, a lovely full-front shot of Miranda Otto as Eowyn. At least, I think it was for me. I’m not sure; my husband thought she was rather attractive.

My disappointment in holiday spectacle did not carry through to the incredibly hilarious pantomime version of Robin Hood that we saw today in Toronto, thank goodness. Live comic theatre is in short supply, and live comic theatre done by theatrical professionals from the Shaw and Stratford Festivals is a real treat. Any show where the audience consists of fifty percent children, who are encouraged to cheer the hero and boo the villain, is a fun show in my books. My parents used to take me to see such shows when I was a child, and this year my mother gave my husband and I tickets to see the latest in Ross Petty’s annual fractured fairy tales.

Damn, I miss performing. I miss attending quality live theatre, but having been on both sides of the curtain, I can say that this show, out of all the live shows I’ve seen in the past couple of years, induced vivid pangs of envy that I didn’t think I could feel. I wanted to be up there. I wanted to be singing, dancing, and making people laugh. Having spent the last three days reading one of my Stratford fiftieth anniversary books from cover to cover, I was ripe for the homesick feeling; I set myself up, really.

After dinner tonight I’ll settle down with the soundtrack to The Two Towers (which is brilliant, and which stood out even through my vague feelings of disappointment) and a nice lavender bath. It’s time to relax again. Which means, of course, that I can’t pick up yet another Stratford book, or I’ll just mope some more.

Christmas At Home

Well, we woke up on Christmas morning to over ten centimeters of snow, so I feel right at home. The drive from Montreal to Toronto was surprisingly good, which should have alerted us right off the bat that a bad storm was looming. (The drive was made infinitely more exciting by four or five unmarked mix tapes donated by Tass, including a seasonal compilation marked only ‘Here I am — Rock Me Like A Candy Cane’, which featured the inimitable juxtaposition of the thrash metal rendition of Silent Night with the innocent Christmas Scat from The Muppet Christmas Carol.) After a dull brown December, though, seeing drifts of white everywhere on Christmas morning is rather aesthetically pleasing. The Weather Channel assures us that the 8 degrees C on Monday and Tuesday will take care of things, much to the grim pleasure of the Torontonians.

I love Christmas with my family; there’s always what amounts to a library under the tree, hidden by pretty paper and sparkly ribbon. The tree this year is a surprisingly effective six foot tall fig tree, wrapped with a single strand of white fairy lights, since their seven-month-old Maine Coon Cat is still at the shiny-things stage. (Despite this clever attempt to protect all things Christmas-y, he tried to climb the fig on Christmas morning, because he could see his new foam rubber ball nestled in the leaves.) As for what kind of library was under said tree, my parents each received three or four books, and this year my husband tore the wrapping off The Art of The Fellowship of the Ring, the hardcover volume of developmental art that he discovered in a bookshop not long ago, which kept him busy for well over an hour. I received both books written on the fiftieth anniversary of the Stratford Festival that I had wanted, as well as the recently released Glenn Gould: A Life in Pictures and the new Anne Rice in hardcover, to offset all of that high-brow Canadian culture. Plenty of chocolate and a new polar fleece dressing gown rounded out my major gains. I’m set for the rest of the winter, now.

The snow was still flying out there when we went to bed, and weatherpersons were predicting a final day’s total accumulation of around twenty-five centimeters. I’m glad; there’s something just odd about a Christmas with no snow. Oh, sure, I’ve had my share of snowstorms in Montreal this fall, throughout November and the early part of December, but I don’t think I could ever live somewhere where it doesn’t actually snow at Christmas. I know, I know, there will be plenty of the stuff throughout January and February. I will be thoroughly sick of it by the time March rolls around. Just think, though, about the quality of light that snow creates. One of the reasons November is usually so dull is because it’s overcast and the bright green of the leaves and grass has faded through rusts to browns. The overall effect is rather depressing. As soon as it snows, though, the light is brighter, refracting through millions of individual snowflakes, bouncing around and creating a warmer, clearer glow.

We still have to brush it off cars, and wade through it to get to the bus stop, and jam hats down over our hair to protect our ears from blowing ice and wind. I know. Overall, though, it’s not so bad. It’s the dampness that creeps into your bones and makes you miserable. There’s a difference, after all. If it would just snow for a week leading up to Christmas, then stop, I’d be happy…

Yule Party!

Woo!

Just back from the office Yule party. If I’d known that red wine would make me feel this good, I’d have started drinking it at eleven o’clock this morning when I started feeling really ill.

Seriously, though, my short Christmas Special Return to Retail — For A Limited Time Only! — was made a lot easier by my stellar boss and coworkers. (Okay, the easy-going clients were a significant factor as well. No one was freaking out this Christmas, which was good to see. I was worried; after all, part of the reason I burned out after eleven years of retail had to do with the needy clients, who were in remarkable scarcity this past week, thank goodness.) Tonight’s party, spent in the company of my colleagues, was incredibly enjoyable, even taking my rebellious stomach into account. My only regret is that I didn’t dare eat anything for fear it wouldn’t stay down; the buffet looked amazing, especially the desserts. Denied the solid food, I started off by drinking 7-Up, and flung caution to the wind after my second glass. If I was going to be sick anyway, I might as well choose to be sick in style. Oddly enough, the wine seems to have settled my stomach. It has also, however, gone right to my head, since I’ve had nothing to eat today.

Oh, well. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

Memorial Concert Reminder

Ouch.

Typically, as soon as I solve one health problem, another crops up. Now that I have new glasses and have miraculously solved my mysterious low-grade perpetual headache, my back has begun acting up once more. It’s becoming more and more difficult to move around; lying on the floor is pretty much the only way to ease it. Good thing I have those new glasses so I can get a clear view of the ceiling.

I don’t know what it is — I’m doing a lot of computer work and cello playing, sure, but that’s no different from my activities of the past two years. Is it the weather, the cold-to-warm-to-really-cold spells we’ve been having? Am I developing arthritic symptoms in my spine that respond to seasonal change?

The osteopath hasn’t done much for it the past two times I’ve seen her; evidently I shall have to really stress the pain and the precise location for her next time I see her in late December. I thought I had done so during the past couple of visits, and for the rest of the day things seem all right, but a day or so later the pain creeps back. I’d go back to her sooner, but that financial thing’s in the way again. I’m just trying to take it really easy and watch how I sit, how I carry things, and so forth.

Speaking in passing of my cello, in case I missed you in my e-mail announcement (or if you have no clue who I am and are in the Montreal area next Sunday!), here’s the concert announcement:

I know, it seems like only yesterday that I did a concert, but it’s that time once again…

This Sunday, December 1 at 7.30 PM, the Lakeshore Chamber Orchestra and guests will be presenting a program called “Tributes to Andres” in honour of our conductor who died in an accident almost three months ago. Included in the program are a dramatic Prelude and Fugue by Handel, Albinoni’s Adagio, and selections from Mendelssohn’s first symphony and the Beethoven symphony we played at the Canada Day concert that Andres enjoyed conducting so much. We will also be playing an intriguing arrangement of a Latvian folk song, arranged by our late conductor himself.

The concert will take place on the West Island once again, at St. John Fisher church in Valois (which was the venue we performed at last January). The church is located at 120 Summerhill, corner Valois Bay Avenue, in Pointe-Claire.

Tickets are $10 per person, children 18 and under are admitted free.

Both the 204 bus and the 203 bus from the Dorval station pass nearby (for the 204, get off at the corner of Belmont and Broadview; for the 203, get off at the corner of Valois Bay and Belmont); a map is always useful too.

This concert is going to be packed with people paying their last respects, so if you’re planning on coming I advise getting there early so you’ll have a seat!

Lest We Forget

Ceri and I took in the Remembrance Day ceremonies this morning at Place du Canada, and I saw a schoolgirl pass out in front of us. I am quite ashamed to say that the first thing that ran through my head was, “Would my NaNo protagonist pass out at a Remembrance Day ceremony?” The second thing, of course, was, “Is she okay?” Looked like her teacher had it all under control, and I know the last thing I would have wanted if I were fourteen was to have a bunch of strangers crowding around me. It was well-handled.

I was stunned by the reports of anti-war graffiti on the cenotaph, though. It had been cleaned off by the time we arrived, but I saw some on the park benches nearby. Defacing public property on the day the country commemorates the senseless deaths of our citizens in unwanted battle – great way make a point, whoever you were, and to encourage us to admire your skulking ways and your whiny protest. No, war isn’t the solution. I agree with you there. But attacking the spirits of hundreds of veterans who risked ther lives in confrontations beyond what most of us can envision – that’s low. Your ways do not justify your means.

Sorry. Rant over. Stuff like this just sets my teeth on edge. You honour your forebears for the courage to stick to their beliefs, whether you agree with them or not.