Monthly Archives: April 2003

April 2003 Concert Review

I had an absolutely smashing concert last night, attended by friends whom I hadn’t known were going to be there. Apart from not being thrilled about half the selection of music, I enjoyed myself immensely. It was decided that rather than using the traditional concert seating, the viola section and the cello section should switch, putting the violas on the outside and the cello players between them and the wind players in the centre. I think it worked quite well, and I hope we stick with it.

I know I’ve complained about the Mendelssohn for months, but it came off beautifully. Pretty much everything did; there were no major or minor disasters, although the music was technically challenging. The pieces were mostly crowd-pleasers, and the audience certainly seemed pleased. I’m pleased to say that the only place I lost my focus was in the Brahms Hungarian Dances.

During a concert, I’m living in the moment to such an extent that it’s always a surprise when it’s over. Now I’m stuck humming the last piece on the program (Strauss, who’s not my favourite composer by a long shot, damn it all), defiantly pleased that I can pack away most of the music, sad to leave other pieces (such as the overture to Mozart’s Don Giovanni, which I have always adored; playing it in concert fulfilled one of my life-long dreams). It was an enjoyable evening, followed by coffee and doughnuts at our place and a darned good sleep.

I wonder what we’ll be playing next, for the Canada Day concert.

My private seminar on Friday night was lots of fun, too. Whenever I teach a basic class, I wonder if I’m just rehashing stuff they already know, but I’m always told that no, I’m filling in blanks and connecting dots for them and they’re terribly grateful for being shown the whole picture. I suppose I lose perspective a bit, having studied all this for eight years or so. Anyway, lots of fun, yummy food and wine, and we’ll definitely do it again. Also on the class-subject, some of my current Saturday morning students have asked me to put together a meditation class for them. I feel a fuzzy inside when things like this happen – you know, sort of, “You like me! You really like me! And you evidently think that I’m a good teacher!” I also appear to be inspiring students to create their own one-session workshops to share with other students, which flatters me beyond belief. I never, ever thought that I’d be An Example someday. Never. Now I feel like I have to live up to it, somehow. Okay, yes, evidently I believe that I’m a passable teacher, or I wouldn’t keep on doing it; but a compliment like this always surprises me, for some reason.

On Shopping For Clothing That Fits

For years I have purchased clothing based on an extremely outdated pragmatism. Buy them a bit big, then you can grow into them.

This was fine when I was a kid, when I was a teenager. As a teen and in my early twenties I was also much more comfortable wearing clothes that disguised my body slightly – call it a confidence thing if you like. Now that I’m pushing thirty-two, though, buying clothes that don’t fit just doesn’t work as well for me. (MLG’s constant voluntary assurance that I’m a babe helps a lot, too.) I have long legs and a short torso, as well, so shopping for clothes means that 98% of the time, they won’t fit me properly anyway. And since I (unintentionally) lost weight recently, all the clothes that were loose on me are now ridiculously baggy.

When I was looking for something to wear earlier this week, I snapped and saw red. Not a single pair of jeans fits me properly around the waist, which means they sag everywhere else, too. Damn it, it’s spring, and I want to look good. I want to feel like I look good, and jeans that are several sizes too big just don’t cut it.

So after work yesterday I took the metro up to Namur to check out the Le Chateau outlet, where they usually have decent clothing at decent prices.

Well, apart from the truly horrendous music, all their pants were thirty dollars or more. The music eventually chased me out with a headache, so I decided to walk along Jean-Talon to the Village des Valeurs instead. Who knows – maybe there will be something not-so-bad there, I thought, or maybe I’ll pull off an amazing find.

Door number two it was. The prize?

I came out with two very sexy pairs of Levis jeans in perfect condition. And they cost me less than twenty dollars total. If I told you what size they are, you’d lynch me, so suffice it to say that they’re about three sizes smaller than the jeans I’ve been wearing for the past four or five years.

Damn, I look good. And I’m thrifty, to boot.

Fate Accompli

I am so virtuous. So very, very virtuous.

Another two hours of work accomplished. That’s a total of five hours today! (Hey, if you are aware in any shape or form of my track record lately, you too would be cheering. Raise the roof! Raise it!)

I’ll polish it up tomorrow and send it off. Now, I’m going to kick back and go read some Jungian analysis of fairy-tales. (Yeah, well, I find it interesting, so there.)

Service Industry People Who Help And Hinder

It had to happen. I should have known.

Today is the day that my husband’s health benefits plan kicks in. Three months of employment (and paying into the plan of course) and congratulations, you now only have to pay a 20% deductible for prescription drugs and other fun stuff.

I’ve been holding on to a recent prescription slip for a week or so, waiting for this day. So after three hours of work at the computer this morning (aren’t I good?) I put on my coat and off I went to the pharmacy, to fill my first month of prescription, hurrah!

I handed in the slip, along with my shiny new benefits card, and hung around waiting for my name to be called. Now, if the truth must be told, I was a bit nervous. I’ve had problems with benefit cards before. What if they didn’t flip the switch or unflag the account or whatever it is that they do at the health insurance office? What if there’s some kind of problem? No, no, I said to myself; stop creating things to worry about. You checked online yesterday, and everything was fine. Plus your husband verified with Human Resources at work to make sure everything would be operational as of April 8.

Well, the pharmacist called me over and said, “Your claim has been refused.”

Heart plummets into stomach. I knew it, I knew it, I knew it.

“Why?”

“They say you’re not listed under this policy.”

Sigh.

“We checked this yesterday. I’m on the plan.”

She must have seen me gritting my teeth, because she said, “Well, we’ll try again.” She called the insurance people and talked to them for about five minutes before they discovered together that I’m the second person listed on the plan (duh – my husband is the first), so they had to type in a 02 somewhere instead of a 01. (I’d like to take this moment to point out that the 02 is plainly printed on my card. I know, because I looked when she gave it back to me.)

At this point I stopped listening as relief washed over me. Everything was going to be fine. I’d get my prescription and go home.

Except it wasn’t fine. The pharmacist came back to me and said, “The insurance people tried to run the claim through while I was on the phone, but the network went down, so we can’t do it right now. Can you come back later?”

Heck, why not. I’m having so much fun here that I can’t wait to come back for more.

“I’ll call you when their system is back up and we’ve completed the claim,” she said. “I’ll let you know the moment it’s ready.”

“Why not,” I said, “I’m in the neighbourhood tonight anyway.”

Then I took the bus to another pharmacy to pick up a parcel, and got flak from a supercilious postal worker because my slip said I could pick up my parcel after one o’clock, and it was twelve forty-five. (How was I supposed to know what time it was? I don’t wear a watch, and there wasn’t a clock anywhere around. All I knew was that I had left home a long time ago and spent much too long in a pharmacy in west NDG before trekking into Westmount for this damned parcel.)

He’d look much more attractive as a rock. Or a hatstand. He had that kind of personality.

It seems to be that kind of day. I can take great comfort in the three hours of work I did this morning, though. Yep. Something to be proud of.

On Misfiling And Missing The Point

I’m collecting information on the books that are coming out within the next few months within one of my fields of specialisation, and at Amazon I made a sickening discovery.

Out of all the decent books out there on witchcraft and the occult, I am horrified — no, that’s not quite right; shocked? dismayed? spitting mad? — that the top-selling book in that category is The Book of Shadows: The Unofficial Charmed Companion.

So help me Gods.

You know, in every interview I do, I’m asked my opinion on shows like Charmed and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. My response? “Hey, I’m a huge Buffy fan. But Willow’s not Wiccan, and what she does isn’t real magic.” If they press me about Charmed, I usually say something about Wicca 90210 and heavily stress the 90210 part, because Charmed has even less Wicca in it than Buffy does.

These shows, and films like The Craft and Practical Magic, are double-edged blades. On one hand, they introduce a whole new crop of people to the idea that people who practice a discipline like magic aren’t, by definition, automatically evil, which is great. On the other hand, they’re an incredibly inaccurate portrayal of the path. Wicca’s about spirituality and responsibility, not spells, demons, and warlocks (don’t even get me started on that inaccuracy).

This is why I still do interviews with students, for newspapers and on radio, and why I continually write articles. I’m trying to raise the general level of awareness out there. And most of the time, people walk away with a better idea of what it’s all about. Sometimes, though, you just can’t get through to them, and they walk away determined to find “a real witch” who will teach them how to change their hair colour without the aid of L’Oreal.

It’s not easy. I’ve chosen to teach and educate on this path, though, and if this is how I’m being called to serve, then this is what I’ll keep on doing. However, if you ever feel inspired to do a bit of reading on Wicca, please, please ignore the sales ranks at Amazon. Read anything by Doreen Valiente, and Vivianne Crowley, and Gerald Gardner. Or read something like Essential Wicca by Paul Tuitlean and Estelle Daniels, or Scott Cunningham’s Wicca- A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner. But for the sake of all that’s intelligent, stay away from books that purport to be about spirituality and use pop TV shows as source material.

My skin feels all crawly. I’m going to go make more tea.