I have been lax, it seems, in updating my blog. I apologize to my loyal followers (and to the not-so-loyal ones, who actually won’t know that I’ve been so lax).

It’s not because not much has been happening, gosh no. We’ve had thanksgiving, there have been family issues, it’s nearly hallowe’en, and I had an interesting thing happen at the local Salvation Army Thrift Store.

I went in there, actually, on the morning of Thanksgiving dinner with my family. I had made a triple threat chocolate cheesecake and I needed a proper plate to put it on. It was so yummy. I layered it wrong, but it was gosh darn delicious.

Anyway. All the plates I have are not right for cheesecake. I did stop in at the antique store on the way to the Sally Ann, and they had a plate that was almost right, but not quite. I did promise to go back there and pick it up, once I got some cash, cuz all I had was my debit card, but I did not. Hopefully she won’t remember me the next time I go there. I also wanted a cute purse, that was made of mother of pearl, and had room for your lipstick and cigarettes, and came with a tiny little comb in it and everything… I should have gone back for the purse. Still regret not going. It was kind of like this but without those little jewels… sooooooo pretty… I have a bit of an obsession with purses. I think I’ll go back and see if it’s still there.

I looked in the Sally Ann store, and they did not have what I needed, but I took a look around the rest of the store anyway. At the store I frequent, they have auctions, usually on a monthly basis. Out of the stuff that’s donated, they put some of the really special things up for auction. Jewellery, antiques, art, that sort of thing. You may remember that my father was an artist, .

On the wall, in the area designated for auction I saw a familiar style of picture. Sure enough, when I went up closer to see the artist’s name, it was my father’s. My father was quite a prolific artist. Of the framed pieces my mother had after he died, there was enough to give to each one of my siblings (there are seven of us in total), and enough left over from that for my mother to have a living room that looks like an art gallery. (We all got one as a wedding gift, too, over the years.) I know that there are lots of pieces ‘out there in the world’. It was just such a shock to see this one hanging there.

I asked the salesgirl if she knew where this had come from, and she didn’t, it was just part of the donations that come daily to the store. (I think she got a little panicked, too, thinking that it had been donated by accident. If I’d been more on my feet, I would have said yes, maybe and got it for free.) I ended up bidding on it and winning the auction. Which was surreal. I think my dad would have gotten a good laugh about it. I had a second thought about it, thinking that maybe I should have let someone else win it in the auction, let someone else enjoy his talent, you know, I already have so many of his pieces. But then I worried about them not taking good enough care of it, I pictured it rotting away in someone’s basement. So, I think I feel good about having it. Just weird.

Is nothing sacred anymore??? I hope not.

So, I heard on the news this morning, in response to fears about Swine Flu, the catholic church is making some changes.


Yep. Many churches are removing the holy water from the fronts of churches. This statement from a chancellor in Quebec City, kind of grossed me out a bit.

"In some churches the holy water is changed frequently, but there are churches that leave it there for months, turning [it] into culture fluid”.



Ewwww…. Double ewwwwwwwwwwwww…. Blech.

As a lapsed catholic, I used to dip my fingers in that water, oh at least on a yearly basis. (Yeah, I was that kind of catholic, which makes my ‘lapse’ kind of anticlimactic. I’m sure they don’t miss me too much). I have a fairly casual relationship with dirt. I’m not one of those germaphobes, who uses sanitizer at regular intervals. I firmly believe that letting your kids get dirty on a regular basis makes them stronger in the long run. (My offspring were rarely on antibiotics as children, no ear infections.) But that comment about the holy water turning into a culture fluid really did me in. And then I got past the grossness factor, and thought about how absolutely hilarious it is, that the catholic church is admitting that holy water is not some absolute protector against everything. They’re actually saying that holy water has the potential to spread disease. (Along with sharing communion and shaking hands)

(I hope I’m not going to offend anyone, please, if you’re catholic, don’t read any further. You probably shouldn’t have read up till now…. This is your warning.)

In the bible, Jesus uses spit, holy water and clay to heal a man. It’s used in the ritual of exorcism and to overcome witchcraft. It’s believed to have healing properties. It can be used to ward off vampires. I’m not sure if it has any effect on zombies.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that the catholic church has gotten to the point where they’re not so arrogant that they can’t change.

But they’ve got a long way to go, yet.



My dad used to say that the church made rules for people in order to protect them, because the general populace wasn’t educated enough to understand some things. Hence the ban against pork in the jewish faith. Because people didn’t understand that they could get sick if it wasn’t properly prepared, the church told people just to avoid it. The ban against meat on Fridays was to stretch the supply of meat, when there wasn’t enough of it to go around. (During WWII, my dad said that his priest told them that if they could get meat, they should eat it; don’t worry about what day it is) But that’s his opinion. I’m sure there are other reasons for the rules they made up.

So, I’m glad that the church figures that we’re intelligent enough to know the real reason for the removal of holy water. And I’m glad that I’m lapsed enough not to worry about catching anything from the holy water.

Full disclosure: I do have a bottle of holy water at home. I got it from a priest in this church in a small town in the Netherlands, called Beverwijk. My grandfather was on the crew that built the church. Apparently the water is from Lourdes (the place, not Madonna’s daughter), so I keep it in case of vampires. You never know when there will be an infestation. They seem to be more mainstream these days. But now, at least I know it won’t protect me from Swine Flu.

So, suck on that.

Higher education and the function of parents.

Imagine my surprise when my daughters had the audacity to turn 18 this past August, without asking for permission or anything. Not that it was that much of a shock, I guess. They’d been threatening to do it all year, and had lobbed reminders at me, nearly daily. They each programmed their cell phone to count down the days.


With the whole ‘turning 18’ thing, came the incredible task of getting Offspring #2 ready for university. (Offspring #1 decided to put off the advanced education thing until next September, thereby staving off the onset of my empty nest syndrome. Very kind of her.)

So, Offspring #2 is now suitably ensconced in residence at Brock University. (Which, I discovered during the campus tour last spring, has a Oenology Degree available. Had I known that, 20 years ago, I’d have followed a vastly different career path. Who knew such a thing even existed? However, I’d probably need a liver transplant about now, so maybe things happened for the best.)

It’s a strange thing, as a mother, sending one of your offspring out into the world. If you look at it, intellectually, it’s a sign that you’ve done your job right. The function of a parent is to grow these little darlings up into people that become valuable members of society. So, when a child goes off to university, you should greet it with the proper aplomb and ceremony. Yeah…

As the days (and now weeks) passed by, I became more sure of my ability to survive this next step in parenting. I’m becoming more sure of her abilities to survive and grow outside of my direct line of vision. She’s doing laundry; she’s eating the right things, getting to bed at a fairly reasonable hour. She’s making friends, and going to classes on time. All the things I’d make sure she was doing. I’m proud of her.

Offspring #1 remains at home, for now. She’s learning from her sister, how difficult it is to go out on your own. I’m glad that she’s decided not to go away yet, and I hope I’ll be ready when it comes time for her to go. #1 consents to give me hugs when I need them (she’s not the huggiest person in the world, not sure how that happened), and we’re helping each other through this. (She’d like people to think she’s the strong one, but... I think she’s pretty mushy inside, actually)

So far, this milestone in parenting has gone ok.



So... suck on that.

David Foster Wallace, sadness, and life.

David Foster Wallace is a writer that was previously unknown to me, until I heard of him on bookninja.com last year. He killed himself last September.

At times like this, I feel like I'm incredibly unaware of what is going on in the world of literature. Time magazine included his book, Infinite Jest, in the list of 100 most influential books. (1923 - 2006) How could i not know who this man is? Was.

It’s not a surprise to me that he committed suicide. During the past 20 years of working in the business of psychiatry, I’ve come to know an incredible number of creative and talented people, who are plagued by depression. I’ve got a few theories on the subject, and I’m sure there has been research done about this subject. I don’t think it can be boiled down to statistics and numbers.

(Side note: I’ve just finished reading his review of A Dictionary of Modern American Usage by Bryan A. Garner. (ADMAU) It’s causing me to be overly aware of all the mistakes I make. I’m trying to correct the ones I know about, and trying not to be paranoid about all the ones I know I’ve missed. )

Mr. Wallace was a contributing editor of Harper’s Magazine, and shortly after his death, they released all of their content that was written by him. I, being the nerd (or SNOOT) that I am, of course printed it all up. Then, being the procrastinator that I am, I put it away to ‘read later’. I just found it back last week, and I’ve spent the intervening time reading his works.

Of course, reading his work posthumously puts a whole different spin on things, doesn’t it? Reading “The Depressed Person”, a short story about a woman’s experience with depression, the loss of a therapist to apparent suicide, and being a burden to her “Support System”, you have to wonder how much of this was autobiographical. The review of ADMAU gives glimpses into his life, how his parents were highly educated, and their attention to proper language usage made things difficult for him when he was growing up. (you know, nerdifying him as well) His name for people who pay way too much attention to proper language usage is SNOOT, and he calls the children of those people “SNOOTlets” So, when I read about how the “SNOOTlets tend to have a very hard social time of it in school… When his peers are giving the SNOOTlet monstrous quadruple Wedgies or holding him down and taking turns spitting on him…” I had to wonder if this was his experience.

During the writing of this post, a friend made the choice to take her life... This is no longer an intellectual discussion with myself...

Although i have respect for personal decisions, including the one to take one's own life, it is something I will never understand. It reinforces my belief that there are some people who think too much, who feel too much, and that sometimes that burden is too much to take. I know that people will make decisions like this, and I don't believe that there's anything we can really do to change their minds, no matter how hard we try. When people are truly suicidal, when they've made that decision, they don't give any outward indication of how they feel. They're past the point of talking about, of being talked out of it. They've made their decision.

Nudity and Nickelback

So, a few months back, my daughter said that she'd take me to see Nickelback, for my birthday. (Well, 'take' me is a bit of a misnomer. If i were a little more cynical, I'd say that she wanted me to go so that i could drive her and her friend. But I'll go with her interpretation) So, finally, the day comes, and off we go.

We left a little early, did a little shopping, and whatnot along the way. The concert was at the Molson Ampitheatre, in Toronto. We had seats, so we weren't worried about getting there early in order to get a good spot on the grass. On the way down, I remember thinking "I doubt if we're going to have an adventure like Paul Michael Murphy did, when he went to see Elton John and Billy Joel." Sigh.

So, we got there in lots of time, although, you know, there was the requisite having to turn around because I thought that surely can't be the line to get into the parking. Turns out, yes it was.

The concert opened with Saving Abel, who were very loud, and they swore a lot. I worried about the pigeons flying around under the roof. Are they bothered by the loud music? I wonder if they're deaf... hmmmm I don't really like birds in enclosed spaces, but, you know, they were pretty far away.

The second band was Papa Roach. They were also loud, and swore more than the first, if that's at all possible.

I felt old at this point.

The next band was really good, although they swore a lot, too. Hinder They were good, and i knew enough of their music that i could sing along with some of the songs. I didn't embarrass anyone, though, not like the woman two rows in front of me, who was 'whooing' along with girls half her age.... ok, less than half her age. Her daughter spent most of the concert looking like she hoped no one she knew saw her.

So, yeah. The weather report earlier in the day was calling for thunderstorms, but for most of the afternoon, it was nice and sunny. Real hot, though... then we saw the clouds coming. The bolts of lightning. then the rain... then the guy comes on the stage and says that they'll postpone the concert, until the rain passes... so we hang out for a while. and get wetter. and more wet. and then, you reach a point where you can't get any more wet. At that point, they cancel the rest of the concert. I guess Chad Kroeger is too cute to play in the rain. (well, i guess there were safety issues... )

So, off we go back to the car... the offspring is splashing in puddles like she was 3 instead of almost 18. And we're talking about how uncomfortable it'll be to drive all the way home (almost 2 hrs) in wet jeans, because, of course, we don't have dry clothes to put on, and even if we did, they'd be wet before we could get dressed, the rain was coming down that hard. Here's where the nudity comes in. It's night time, its dark... Yeah. we drove home nearly nude. (I did have a t shirt on, the girls had a bit less) Shockingly, the guy at McD's drive thru didn't notice.

so.....



suck on that.

Sounds in the Sound

I've been lax when it comes to blogging, and I apologize for that. No excuses. Except that I am the biggest procrastinator in the world. So, with that out of the way, on to the blog.

This Tuesday just past, I took my mom up to a concert in Parry Sound. They have this Festival of the Sound every year, it's a two week long festival of all sorts of music. (well, not all sorts, really. There's no rock, or metal, or pop. Classical, jazz, choral, that kind of thing.)(no rap either)

Anyway, I learned that the Elora Festival Singers were going to be performing at the Festival of the Sound, and I've really been wanting to hear them, since my choir, Serenata Choir sang with them a couple of years ago. They are truly amazing, and a joy to sing with. As a member of a choir, I love that kind of music, but i seldom take the opportunity to listen to it. I love the performance, but it's just so nice to be on the other side of the stage for once.

The concert we heard was in the Charles Stockey Centre for the Performing Arts, which, because this is Canada, after all, also houses the Bobby Orr Hall of Fame. The Stockey Centre is absolutely gorgeous, a really intimate setting, we were four rows from the front, and less than 20 feet from the stage. They even had seats on either side of the stage, but i liked where we were, in the centre, you get a more balanced sound.

Noel Edison is the Conductor of the Elora Festival Singers, and the Toronto Mendelssohn Choir. He's a wonderful director, able to coax beautiful melodies and wonderful phrasing from any choir.

The performance started off with four pieces by Eric Whitacre. (BTW, he does not fit my stereotypical image of a choral composer.)Two of them i don't remember the names of, and they weren't in the program. "i thank You God for most this amazing day" is an ee cummings poem set to music. "Sleep" was the other piece. So beautifully done, they were halfway through the first piece before i realized that they were doing it a capella (without musical accompaniment)The balance of this choir was amazing. Their phrasing is exquisite, the tone is beautiful. Singing a capella is challenging, an inadequately trained choir can easily fall off pitch. Um..yeah.. not a problem for this group.

They also sang a piece by Paul Tiefenbach, "Nunc Dimittis", which was lovely and lyrical and beautiful.

One of my favourite pieces, "Remember", is a poem by Christina Rossetti, which is sung to the music composed by Steven Chatman. It's a gorgeous piece, which is meant to be sung a capella, which they did. They gave me goosebumps.. truly a beautiful, wonderful, lyrical piece, which they did absolute justice to.

The next part of the concert was their performance of a work by Tim Corlis, who was a Juno nominee (you have to scroll down a bit on that page). "Missa Pax" was commissioned for the occasion of the Elora Festival's, and the Festival of the Sound's 30th season. This work was absolutely amazing. I can't remember how many movements there were, I was lost in the music. There were beautiful, long sustained notes from the women, gorgeous low tones from the men, and such wonderful mixtures of everything. The entries were clean, the ends of phrases were exact. It was beautiful. James Campbell, the artistic director of the Festival, accompanied the choir in that work, on the clarinet. I have to say, i was a little nervous about that. The clarinet has never been my favourite instrument. Well, apparently i've just never heard it played right. It was a beautiful addition to the work, absolutely lovely. He blended so well with the choir, that at times, i could almost not pick the sound of the clarinet out of the mixture.

I have only one negative thing to say about the whole concert. After the "Missa Pax", the audience stood up in appreciation. The program was perfect. It needed nothing else. I had the last note of the Missa Pax in my mind, and i could have died happy, right there. Then Mr. Edison led the choir in "So you want to write a fugue", by Glenn Gould. Now, this is a wonderful piece of music, its funny, its lovely to listen to, but i just so wanted that last note in my mind.



so... there it is.

What were they thinking?????

I'm just saying. As if clowns and nutcrackers aren't scary enough, what the hell would you do if you woke up on christmas morning with this freaking thing under the tree? HIDE!!! that's what. Wonder why you haven't already been taken by the children's aid, if your parents think that this is an appropriate gift. I found this on Cracked.com (where, incidentally, i found my new living room furniture)