Okay — yesterday it was the killer migraine that hit me minutes after we arrived at my parents’ friends’ place for dinner (Dad drove me home, bless him), the day before was a day trip to Stratford, and today was here and there. Otherwise I’d’ve been posting the long reflective entries I’ve been composing in my head for the past seventy-two hours. Honest.
I was at the Royal Botanical Gardens for an hour on Tuesday morning, amusing myself in the greenhouse whilst my parents attended a meeting in Conference Room Two (which really ought to have been called TROT-2, but no one would understand the reference except a handful of people back home, so I withheld it). I took reams of notes to turn into a substantial post on herbs and the joys of being alone in huge glass buildings with over two hundred invisible anoles, which I still might do eventually, but I’m just too tired at the moment. (And don’t believe the website write-up; it was humid, not cool and dry.) Besides, I want to get back to Fool’s Fate, which is stunningly fabulous. I finished I, Elizabeth the night I had my migraine, after I’d taken two extra-strength Advil and slept for two hours (oops – there’s a max of three per day, so no wonder it knocked me out). Damned good. Pre-dates the film Elizabeth (you know, that Cate Blanchett one), and really foreshadows the film well in tone, speech, and scene. It was nice to finally hit a book which took more than two hours to read from start to finish.
Mum and I saw Guys and Dolls at Stratford, which came as a bit of a culture shock, since I’d been reading I, Elizabeth, and after having experienced so much Elizabethan theatre in the town over the years I always associate Shakespeare plays with a Stratford trip. (And that’s Stratford, ON for my American readers. I can’t quite envision Stratford-Upon-Avon, UK doing Frank Loesser musicals. And t!, the Noretta Motel finally as a new sign.) The show was enjoyable, in spite of Cynthia Dale doing a monotone performance of Sarah Brown. Sarah Brown should be earnest and perky. Cynthia Dale was lukewarm and lifeless. (Which she has apparently been in the past five years she’s been appearing at Stratford. Why do they keep casting her?) Sheila McCarthy as Adelaide more than made up for the time Dale was onstage, though, and every other lead was phenomenal, paticularly Geordie Johnson as Nathan Detroit. (BTW, Tal, my mother and I have decided that sometime in your life, you have to play Nicely-Nicely Johnson. Just thought you’d like to know.) The choreography to the Gamblers’ Ballet was as impressive as the dancing itself. It’s rare to find a show where the men’s chorus has the knock-out dance numbers; in fact, it’s rare to find a show with practically no female chorus. This ballet had been choreographed so that while there were a dozen guys onstage, there were five different moves going on simultaneously — by two or three men in completely different places. It made for a dynamic overall presentation of the number, seeing that three men were dancing the same steps, but they were each dancing next to someone whose steps were totally different, and next to that second man there was yet someone else dancing something again different. For those of you who know the Festival Theatre, you know that the thrust stage is almost square, but still not huge; group numbers have to be really carefully sequenced. The choreography throughout the entire show was a triumph over space.
But every time I think of Cynthia Dale in the show, I think of a cold fish dressed as a Salvation Army sergeant. She would just stand and sing — no emotion, nothing. And in a larger-than-life show like Guys and Dolls, particularly when your co-star is very expressive, that just doesn’t cut it. I rather meanly evaluated her performance and almost said to my mother than I could have done better (and no lie, her singing is about my level of skill, and the gods know I can act better than she does), but I didn’t. If I believed in Purgatory, I’m sure I’d have shaved a few years off.
Time to go curl up and read again.
Monthly Archives: July 2004
Witches Weekly
Witches Weekly for July 10, 2004 — Pagan Community
1. How did you choose the specific path you’re on? (Druid, Wiccan, Sumerian…)
Choose? Sometimes I feel as if I’ve been railroaded into it, and all the while Spirit was snickering up its sleeve.
The story’s been told before. Namely, I was doing research for a character whom I decided would be a modern witch, and rather than making it all up I chose to visit the local metaphysical shop and pick up a couple of introductory books. The rest, says the author/priestess/teacher, is history.
Come to think of it, I did the same sort of research on ferrets last November for my NaNo novel, but I didn’t become a ferret fan. Any more than I already am, that is. Ferrets are a nice idea, but too fast and nippy in person for my taste.
(For a more detailed answer to this question, visit the Owldaughter: Believe page.)
2. What do you feel you contribute to the pagan community?
Ahem. I’m a once-bitten type of girl, which means that I stuck my neck out in the Montreal pagan community about four or five years ago, and was disgusted with the hypocrisy which abounds. I was one of the four original founders of the Montreal Pagan Resource Centre, which is still going strong. It was the first pagan resource centre in Canada. I got tired of the community backbiting the people who were attempting to provide a common space and ground where everyone could meet, and resigned two years later. (Tangent: The amount of political crap that goes on in the Montreal pagan community never ceases to amaze me, however. It whines and moans about the lack of community, then snaps and backstabs any attempt at community support. I once told an interviewer that the Montreal pagan community eats its young. It’s a curious truth. End tangent.) For the past four years now I have taught a four-level program which studies a broad spectrum of comparative religion over the ages (N.B.: this is not a spiritual path; it’s a survey program which examines techniques and beliefs of various cultures). I also write articles and reviews for our local pagan journal, and I think my editing of the New Age imprint counts as well. For the first time I’ve realised that I’m a part of an international community as well as my local community, and I try to lead by example.
3. How long have you been an active member of the pagan community?
I never really hid what I was; after all, it’s a spiritual path, and frankly it’s nobody’s business. I became unmistakeably part of the Montreal community when I began to work in the city’s largest and oldest metaphysical shop. It’s hard to deny that you’re not part of the community when you’re immersed in it every day.
Happy Anniversary!
Happy thirty-seventh anniversary to my wonderful mum and dad, who have persevered through tears and laughter, challenge and triumph, and a thirty-three year old daughter who has had her nose in a book most of her life.
I love you both immensely.
Buried in Books
I’ve just finished my fifth book since arriving here. I feel like I’m catching up on reading fun stuff. I enjoy research, of course, but it’s truly relaxing to read a book for pure pleasure, without a pencil in my hand and a notebook by my side.
I read a third of Undead and Unwed by MaryJanice Davidson on the plane, then finished it here Thursday night. Not as solid as I’d hoped it would be; I guess the reviews denoting it as a summer beach book were more accurate than the ones touting the comedic value. It felt like a giant set-up, as it ends on an obvious tune-in-next-time note.
Once here, I had access to my mother’s mystery library, so I read the third Indigo Tea Shop mystery by Laura Childs, Shades of Earl Grey. I like the author’s characters, and the setting of Charleston, so I still read them, despite the author’s heavy-handed habit of obviously teaching the reader about something new every book. Educational tea references embedded in the text are fine, as that’s what the series revolves around. But the fourth book, The English Breakfast Murders, opens with volunteers baysitting a turtle hatching on the beach, and the author Educates You About Turtles. Apart from this habit which makes me roll my eyes, the copy-editing drives me mad. Two books in a row had a character taking a “peak” at something, one of the spelling errors that drives me mad. (The other really bad one is ladies wearing “broaches.” You broach a wall or a subject. Ladies wear brooches. A successful computer spellcheck does not mean that you’re using the correct spelling for the context of the word.)
Last night in bed I read Joanne Dobson’s The Maltese Manuscript from cover to cover. This is the latest in a literature-themed series based in a fictional New England college, around an English professor. It’s been about two years since the last book in this series, and I’d forgotten how truly above-average Dobson’s work is. I almost wish I’d never read her before so that I’d have the pleasure of reading all five now.
And half an hour ago I finsihed Victoria Thompson’s latest in the Gaslight series, Murder on Mulberry Bend. Set in Victorian New York, this series foucuses on a midwife and a police officer as they uncover murder in both the lower and upper classes. They’re nothing to write home about, but I’d read one recently, and I needed something new to read, so I pulled it out of the bookcase.
Next is a fictional story of Elizabeth I, another of my mum’s favourite topics. But now, it’s dinner, which I think is grilled German sausages. And I think I’ll have a cider.
Shrek 2
Just as good, but different, and much fun. Having seen MI2 only a couple of weeks ago meant that I was the one laughing louder than anyone else in the theatre at the scene with Pinocchio descending into the dungeon from the roof of the tower. And Puss is my newest fave Antonio Banderas part. I kept hoping it was his voice. I love trying to figure out voice actors in any animated film, and although my guess was Banderas for Puss, and my mum picked out Rupert Everett as Charming right away, I missed John Cleese as well as Julie Andrews of all people. All in all, great pacing, nice new designs, and a solid story that doesn’t rehash or cheapen the first.
Oh, and I saw a full-length preview for The Incredibles. What a riot. But then, superhero humour amuses me.
From the Wilds of Southern Ontario
So here I am in lovely Oakville, enjoying moderate temperatures which force me inside at about five-thirty PM because it’s too chilly. I also have to put socks on inside because the tile floor is too cold.
I ain’t complaining. Love it.
Those who are familiar with my mum’s culinary abilities will sigh when I tell you that I’ve already had mussels, grilled salmon marinated in maple syrup and orange juice, baby spinach and mushroom salad with a wonderful cream dressing, almond pound cake, those fabulous Spice Cookies Which Emphatically Fail to Suck, and last night’s delicate bolognese sauce on pasta. Plus my dad’s homemade Sauvignon Blanc.
It’s good to be fed by the parental units. Oh, yes. And I’ve only been here a day and a half.
I’ve also already read two books, a pile of magazines, visited old family friends, and dropped two rings off to be sized. Today, all three of us are going to see Shrek 2, because taking your thirty-three year old child to an animated feature still counts.
Even More Joy
Last night was my early birthday thing at Hurley’s, our favourite pub for this sort of thing. There were so many people that we had to move from our regular fireside spot into the big room on the other side. And that was before everyone had arrived.
They gave me a sewing machine. It has a cover. I love it. I wonder if Debra knew about this before she agreed to lend me hers. If so, she must have been snickering up her sleeve. (Debra, your machine will be dropped off at the store by HRH sometime this coming week, seeing as how I really don’t need two here, particularly when I’m not present to use either of them.) I’m looking forward to making ritual dresses, robes, a banner, doll clothes, and a handfasting dress with it. And those are only the currently scheduled projects. Who knows what else I’ll come up with? I love you all for enabling my sewing addiction.
We had a blast, as we always do. I made a mushy speech about how everyone has supported me over the past six months and toasted them, but thanks must be given again: Thank you, thank you, thank you, everyone, for making it such a wonderful evening! (Even Tal, who made snarky comments about HRH and I walking in ten minutes after I said I’d be there. (HRH had a long day at the office.) I pointed out that I wasn’t late, I was five days early for my actual birthday. He yielded.)
This afternoon I’m flying out to spend a week and a half with my parents, so updates will be less frequent. Apparently Scott and HRH are already planning while-the-cat’s-away activities, since Ceri will be gone too. Whatever happens, it will probably involve bottles of Keith’s and an Xbox.