Big Drums

Uzume Taiko derives from the Japanese word for "big drum", and from the goddess of laughter, Ame No Uzume No Mikoto .

This goddess is known as the Heavenly Alarming Female who , according to legend, first began taiko drumming.

Heavenly Alarming Female...I like the ring of that. That's the kind of powerful happy goddess archetype a girl like me likes to identify with.

I liked this Canadian drumming group a lot. Jeff, me, Kim and baby Zoe heard Uzume Taiko in concert as part of last week's Cumberland Lantern Festival performances.

I missed the flamenco dancers on Monday alas, but I'm glad I didn't miss the Big Drums.

Uzume Taiko was loud, fun, energetic, and combined tradition drumming techniques with their own choreographies, mask work, martial arts and humour.

As well as big drums, gongs, and wooden flutes, this group can also play a mean musical trio with Frying Pans.

And Zoe, aged only eleven months, seemed very pleased with her very first Taiko drum concert. Kim was a little worried Zoe might be fussy, or the drumming might scare her, but on reflection she noted that, as daddy is a musician, Zoe's quite used to musical noise.

Actually, I've seen her with her own drum-sticks in hand...

Uncle Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

Okay, rationally I know there are few, if any, Oompa Loompas involved in my family history (although we are as a whole rather on the short side), and as far as I know "Bucket" is not a name on my geneaology tree...

Nonetheless I am pleased to share with you a picture of my Great Uncle Charlie.

His claim to fame?

He owned a Chocolate Factory. :)

Lantern Festival

So Happy Week of the Chinese New Year everyone!

Kim wrote a lovely and thoughtful post on our time at the Taiwanese Lantern Festival in Cumberland last weekend, so check it out if you like.

Me, I thought I'd post a few pictures of my favourite of the lanterns on display, and a picture of us all huddling under our brellies in the rain at the outdoor festivities.

I took a picture of my friend Tai in the rain too(oh boy, the girl does NOT like rain), but she was sticking her tongue out at the camera so, like a good friend, I am refraining from posting it here. Because there would be repercussions I'm sure.... :)

Yes, it Rained on Our Parade. Oh yes, it rained like billy-o! The chance of a paper lantern surviving the torrential onslaught of water pouring from the heavens seemed slim (fortunately the display was indoors), but nonetheless there was an enormous crowd that turned out to parade along with the Chines dragon and a lively band of drummers...down to the park we all went, wet as wet could be.

And then, the Giant Tap in the Sky turned itself off. It was a twenty minute gift from the gods.

Leaping into action as the weather broke, a troupe of amazing fire-spinners entertained the crowd with Fiery Hula-Hoops of Death, the ethereal Sky Lanterns were released into the suddenly clear and starry night sky, and great bursts of fireworks exploded over head. Gorgeous.

The show ended. Ten more seconds of clear skies.

And then, boom! The Tap turned itself on again. Perfect.

Well, except for my tragically sodden shoes. (Thanks for the dry socks, Kim!)

Would the Stale Beer Work, D'Ya Think?

I was lying on the floor on at the gym doing crunches, bored and trying to ignore the mutiny in my tummy muscles, when distraction and entertainment arrived in the form of three elderly people.

As they stretched and limbered up for their workout (I'm always impressed when folks in their eighties are gym rats), they began to chat about the good 'ol days back on their farms and dogs they used to have.

The talk turned to chicken-stealin' dogs:

Harold: "Yeah, an' then while I was up there, visitin' and having tea and cake with the lady of the house, that darn dawg of mine was around back getting after the chickens. Fifteen chickens he killed! And imagine my embarrassment at that!"

Betty: "Especially after you were eating her cake and all! What did you do?"

Harold: "Well, I, uh, paid for the chickens. And then she told me that the only way to cure a dog of stealin' chickens is to tie two dead chickens around the dog's neck and keep them there until the chickens are all rotting and stinky and there's nothing left of 'em. That's how it's done, they say. So that's what I tried."

Roy: "So, did it do the trick?"

Harold: "Nope. That dawg just kept eatin' chickens no matter what. But I hear it worked for some."

Betty: "Say, Roy, I just now had a fantastic idea! I think we should try hangin' a couple bottles of stale beer around your neck. Maybe that would cure you.'"

Roy: *snorts* " Yeah, well, I dunno about that...."

Heh, those three sure kept me entertained. As for the chicken trick, apparently people really do try that, but you'd think it would just make you not want to hang out with your dog.

Rally Rant

We came .
We rallied.
We waved our signs.

But I'm not very sure that many people noticed.......

There was a red carpet out on the steps of the Legislature, but it wasn't for the thousands of people protesting nasty cuts to the child-care system in British Columbia, that's for sure.

One thing I learned this past Tuesday at one of the province-wide rallies: if it's not a Slow News Day, you probably aren't going to make a big splash on the evening news.

Way to get eclipsed by the Throne speech and Valentines Day lead-up articles!

Bah! Bah, I say!

Daycare fees are going up. (The hundred dollar a month gesture nicknamed The Beer & Popcorn Money Plan that Harper is replacing the old system with is dismally inadequate for most families who need childcare. It's about six hundred dollars a month for daycare 'round these parts...)

Childcare worker wages are going down. ( At the end of June my wage will be lower than when I joined this profession ten years ago. I knew this wasn't a high-paying profession when I went to college for it, but I didn't expect the future to be a few bucks from minimum wage and going backwards. Grrr!)

The waiting lists for getting in to most daycares are so long.... that your child may have to be a foetus when you sign up. (Yes, it's literally true, we've had unborn babes waiting to get into our centre and it doesn't necessarily mean they'll get a spot in time.)

The government is closing every Childcare Resource and Referral Centre in B.C. by the end of September-- people are losing their jobs and daycare providers are losing job training, lending libraries, and the people who keep an eye on licensing requirements and criminal-record checks and a whole lot of other important things.

Yeah, the whole fragile child-care system in B.C. is getting a little more dodgy, I'd say.

On the bright side, even if I got up early and trekked to the Parliament Buildings in Victoria for very little effect (and less a day's pay), at least the sun was shining and I had a nice walk around Beacon Hill Park to show for it.

Oh, and I got to see a whole lot of Mounties, parading politicians, and the Lieutenant Governor herself. Dang it, the red carpet was for them, wasn't it?

We Are Very Small

Brighid's Day

In Celtic tradition, the spirit of a sacred candle flame resides in the wick of the candle and not in the flame itself.

A sacred flame such as the one that is tended by the Irish Brigidine nuns of Kildare can be passed onto others because of this.

And on the eve of this past Brighid's Day (February 2) I was honoured to be part of a small gathering of women who received the gift of Brigid's Flame in a beautiful ceremony (candle-lit, of course)created by a good friend who recently visited the cathedral and shrine at Kildare and had the flame gifted to her by the sisters there.

My friend, not a Catholic at all, but a devout pagan, was thrilled by her experiences in Kildare. Brighid is one of those beloved saints/goddesses with tangled crossover links to pagan mythology, and my friend had also experienced a physical healing at one of Brighid's sacred wells on this trip--and any time you're able to avoid extensive dental surgery you are bound to be spiritually moved as well in my opinion!)

This is part of what she wrote in her invitation for us to come and share the flame:

Brighid's Holy Day will be celebrated this year in Kildare, Ireland, by devotees of both the Goddess Brighid and Saint Brighid from around the world.

For many She is one and the same, and a bridge between the worlds.

The year 2oo7 marks the centenary of the re-establishment of an order of Brigidine Sisters in Kildare. It was started in 1807 by Catholic Bishop Delaney, who in commemoration planted an oak tree which still stands today in Cill Dara(Church of the Oak). On Feb. 1st, 2006, the President of Ireland lit Brighid's Sacred Flame in the town square where it will continue to burn in perpetuity.

Last year I was blessed to have Brighid's flame passed on to me twice in Ireland. First of all by Mary, pictured below with her holy candle, and then by the Sisters of the Brigidine order who were responsible for rekindling Brighid's flame at a Peace Conference in 1993, re-invigorating this ancient link to pre-Christian Ireland that had been forced underground after the perpetual flame was extinguished by a Pope in the 1600's.

It is speculated that the flame may have originated up to 1000 years earlier, with the Goddess inspired Druidic priestesses that long preceeded the advent of Saint Brighid's egalitarian monastic order in the 5th century AD.

Well, after an evening full of singing, story-telling, poetry, chocolate cake and Irish lore, I am very happy my friend decided to create such a meaningful way to share a personal experience.

And I now have a beeswax candle with mystical links to ancient Ireland and a Brighid's cross hand-woven from reeds on my kitchen wall.

Misty

This whole week has been shrouded in fog and mist like a Victorian melodrama.....

But, unlike a Victorian melodrama, this week's plot-line consisted mostly of serious back-to-back staff meetings, an allergy flare-up, cleaning out the garage and the like. Hence, I haven't written much.

However, last weekend (and this weekend too! ...but that's another post) redeemed the mundaneness in between by being full of friends and food...and er, fog. Fog can be a marvellous thing when you're out in nature and swathed in it.

We (Kim, Shawn, baby Zoe, Tai, Jeff, and I) took an icy-cold but briskly beautiful walk around the trails at the Airpark last Sunday morning.

Walking in the mist was like being in a watercolour painting. The colours were muted blues and greys and tawny-yellows and ran into one another. The sun hung watery and low with a strange pale light.

It was cold...really cold. And you can't wear your mittens when you're taking pictures....but it was gorgeous. Still, I'm glad we ran for the nearby coffee shop right after.

(Note to self: New drink to love called "London Fog", basically frothed and steamed milk mixed with Earl Grey tea. It wasn't on the menu but they made one for Kim when she asked for it.)

The day before Tai and Jeff and I were out and about buying salmon at Portuguese Joe's (apparently endorsed by Hollywood celebrities: mmm, famously-good fishies). I took some pictures down by the beach there too. I love the look of seagulls and docks in the mist.

But first we had lunch at Taco Del Mar .

Tai (pictured below shivering in her coat at Taco Del Mar ) proved conclusively that just because a restaurant has fake palm trees and surfing bric-a-brack on the walls doesn't mean you're going to find your inner Baja there. Brrrr!

No, the only antidote to the weather was to get my friend Tai to cook the most colourful dinner she could (pink salmon, bright dill and lemons, orange butternut squash, green beans) and serve it up in my colourful kitchen.

Amadeus and the Evil Blue Ballerina

As I left the theatre this evening after a stirring dance performance of Amadeus by the Atlantic Ballet, I overheard a man explaining the dramatic closing scene to a small child, a scene in which the body of Mozart is placed into a harpsichord symbolizing a coffin. As the music swelled with feeling, the symbolic sands of time rain down upon the closed lid and the curtains close.

"You see", the man was saying to the little girl (not more than four years old), "even though Mozart died his music is still with us and loved by people today".

The curly-haired poppet nodded seriously. "Yes, I know that. But...did they REALLY put him in a piano?!"

You could tell she really needed to know.

Ah, art appreciation can start young. :)

Colour me impressed that all the bow-tied, neatly-combed little children in the audience sat through a two-hour performance in perfect silence considering the medium of ballet is not big on comic relief or explanation--I'm assuming here that the program explaining the symbolism of various props and the tortured lives of Salieri and Mozart was lost on the preschool set.

This evening at the ballet was an unexpected gift to me. My mother-in-law bought the ticket before she realized she'd be sunning herself on a Mexican beach on the date involved. Voila! A wonderful night out for me!

Gorgeous music. Pretty ballerinas. Standing ovations.

Distractingly sculptured male dancers. (You know, I tried to pay attention to the dancing, but physiques that are that comic-book hero perfect are hard to look away from! Thank goodness they put on frilly shirts by the next scene!)

There was one ballerina I particularly liked. She was tall, fey and elegant and played the character of the fickle Muse, the drive behind the two composers' inspiration. She generally toyed with their emotions, bestowing her favour and affection first on one and then withdrawing it from the other to their distress.

Capricious ballerina dressed in blue!

You knew she was evil when she lounged atop the harpsichord and began to blow smoke-rings from a long slim cigarette-holder. I've never seen a ballet dancer smoking on stage before (albeit in a stylistic fashion). Maybe I should get out more!

Zombie Dreams and Dinosaur Comics

(You can click on the comics to make them bigger. You don't want to miss out on comics with dinosaurs and zombies, right?))

I was starting to think that maybe this last week and a half with me running from one job to the next was why I'm dreaming about zombies and the like so much. You know, maybe it was my subconscious telling me that:

"This lurching horror symbolizes the drudgery of daily habits and routine. For every little death you die while waiting in lines and stuck in traffic, a supernatural ghoul returns from your imagination to extract angry vengeance. On the bright side, you can always outrun these zombies if you wish, and by taking care to add variety and spontaneity to your life, you can ensure they will stop appearing in your dreams."

Heh, so said a rather fluffy Dream Dictionary I found online anyway.

Naw, it's probably something more like how it's portrayed through the fine medium of Dinosaur Comics (you know I love 'em!)

Zombie Dream #1: I come home to find Jeff and his friend frantically stuffing moldering body parts into little round covered baskets and taping the lids on tightly. His friend claims to be a Wizard and tells me that pretty soon all these disgusting pits and pieces are going to come to life and have a little Zombie Party. (I'm paraphrasing, by the way, I'm sure he said it in a more sinister way).

Sure enough, the baskets start shaking and the things inside are trying to get out and we're having a deal of a time preventing all the Zombie Bits from reassembling. They're oozing out of the baskets literally looking like month-old hamburger. (The wizard shouts: "Don't eat any!" I give him a withering look that says "As if!")

Anyway, in the midst of all this chaos and zombie-wrangling I suddenly remember I need to start an early shift at work tomorrow and will need to call in a sub for the preschool if I'm going to stay and help save the world from zombies. I start to make a phone call, wondering how I'm going to explain why I can't make it in. I'm worried because I know it's difficult to find a substitute teacher at the best of times.....

I related a less gory and edited version of this dream to my boss at work. Really, finding subs IS a huge problem, even if zombies generally aren't....

Zombie Dream #2: Dreamed that Jeff was bitten by a zombie, but he didn't tell me right away. In fact, he didn't tell me for weeks. He seemed just fine though, no symptoms of shambling around or wanting live brains. I was torn between being relieved at his continued good health, annoyed that he hadn't told me, and suspicious that he was just really good at pretending that he wasn't the Living Dead. One of those really paranoid dreams.

Zombie Dream #3: The world is full of zombies. There's just me and a small group of survivors, all holed up for safety in my house. We go out foraging for food and are SUPER-careful to make sure no zombies get into the house.

Theoretically......

Oh, for goodness sakes! Did you just leave the front door unlocked? Again? Fer cryin' out loud! Now we have to kill more zombies. Sheesh.

The people who are with me are really lax at keeping the zombies out. I'm a little fed up with their carelessness actually. *sighs* I guess it's up to me and my broom-handle to take care of herding the zombies out the door again....

My Grandma Baby-sat Lily Munster

"Speaking of degrees of separation", my mother remarked casually during conversation this evening, "Did you know that your grandma Isabelle used to baby-sit Yvonne De Carlo?"

My grandma took care of Lily Munster as a preschooler?!!

*Spider Girl's eyebrows shoot up*

Indeed, no. I did not know that!

Apparently the actress Yvonne De Carlo, who was everybody's favourite vampire mom back in the sixties, (and who just passed away recently) was a Canadian born in Vancouver.

I love that Six Degrees of Separation theory. I really do. We are all connected.....

To the Munsters!

* the gothy teenaged part of myself giggles in glee*

My Grandma Baby-sat Lily Munster

"Speaking of degrees of separation", my mother remarked casually during conversation this evening, "Did you know that your grandma Isabelle used to baby-sit Yvonne De Carlo?"

My grandma took care of Lily Munster as a preschooler?

Indeed, no. I did not know that!

Apparently the actress Yvonne De Carlo, who was everybody's favourite vampire mom back in the sixties, (and who just passed away recently) was a Canadian born in Vancouver.

I love that Six Degrees of Separation theory. I really do. We are all connected.

To the Munsters! * the gothy teenaged part of myself giggles in glee*

Celebrity Lookalikes?

After Hours at the Dentist

So it seems I have landed an evening job to supplement my outrageous annual Euro-Vacation spending habits.

Yes, I am now moonlighting some nights now as the Girl Who Cleans Up After the Dentist.

Lots and lots of dangerously-poky instruments to sterilize first in the Mysterious Blue Ultra-Sonic Chemical Bath...then I seal them up neatly in little baggies....and then load them all up for a ride in Mr. Autoclave which is sort of like an ancient and finicky pressure cooker that must be gently coaxed into doing its job by fiddling with the little knobs.

'Tis an art, but not exactly rocket surgery I was assured by my friend Sherry who is training me this week and next.

And yes, I'm keeping my day job at the childcare centre.

But after seven hours of shrill little voices and soggy mittens, a few quiet hours at the dentist office after-hours may well be something to look forward to.

Best Gift Reaction Ever

This is a picture of one of my family's newest members.

His name is Benson. He's a ten month old Neapolitan mastiff belonging to Jeff's sister. He really doesn't look that enormous in this photo, but trust me, he's a hundred pounds of unbridled puppy love (he'll probably double his weight before he's full-grown), and BOY OH BOY was he excited (and eventually exhausted) this past weekend when eleven of Jeff's clan gathered together in Victoria for one last holiday celebration.

(Yes, Christmas is a flexible date--we count ourselves lucky if it's all done by the end of January, and my brother's still in Nicaragua so my side of the family will probably call still another dinner Christmas before Valentine's Day).

With all this socializin' and celebratin' the grownups would probably be bankrupt from all the gift-exchanges, so we mostly exchanged hugs and food and scratch-n-win tickets.

But we still give presents to the children and this year we sent our ten-year-old nephew Riley over the moon with the recycled gift of our old laptop computer. You should have seen the kid's eyes--big as saucers!

Did he appreciate it? Well...after the frenzied cries of joy and elation...

He puts one hand to his chest, looked deep into Auntie Spider Girl's eyes and said: "This is the BEST PRESENT I have EVER received...except for love..."

His mom pats him bemusedly on the shoulder. "Yes, Riley, love is the most important thing."

"Oh man", my nephew continued, "This weekend has just taken a most UNEXPECTED and amazing turn!"

Heh, is that appreciation or what? :)

Happy First Full Moon of the Year!

The ferry workers can almost set their calendars by us. Three or four of us cross over from town to the smaller island by ferry once a month to meet together with our island friends when the moon is full and bright.

One of the crewman cheerily called down to us from above last night: "The full moon's TOMORROW night, ladies! "

"Yes, we know! ", we called back sweetly. "Thank you!"

Happy New Year everyone!

I just wanted to share with you a little part from yesterday evening.

I was standing outside in the wintry air in my friend's backyard. My head was tilted back, I was just looking up at the sky and feeling the moonlight on my face. All day long it had squalled with rain, but now the air was curiously balmy for January and the stars peeped out of a beautiful black sky lit by an amazing ripe moon.

This is my resolution, my intention, for 2007:

Life rushes by too fast sometimes and I have a habit of always looking forward to the next thing, sometimes forgetting to live in the present.

I would like to just STOP, like I did last night, more often in my life and just look around myself unhurriedly, and feel what comes to my senses.

We were very near the ocean and I could hear soft waves from the beach. There was a full creek rushing with water somewhere in the woods nearby. The grass beneath my feet squished with moisture. A farm gate creaked in the occasional gusts of wind that lifted our hair and played with it. The welcoming smell of woodsmoke from my friend's stove drifted by me...

For maybe twenty minutes, we all just stood without words and enjoyed the beauty of being alive and in nature.

I wish my friends and readers lots of that good feeling in 2007!