Keep Shining

While I plaster my blog with videos....here is one a cousin shared with me.  She was able to see Shad in London.  You and I get to enjoy his video and powerful music through YouTube.  Thank you to all the women who have taught me so much.  Keep shining.

Twelve Drummers Drumming

Twelve Drummers Drumming by C.C. Benison
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

A well written read by a Winnipeg author, C.C. Benison.  I would give this book 3.5 stars but that is not an option.  A tale of a pastor who has moved from London, UK to the more remote and quiet village of Thornford Regis, until a body turns up murdered and hidden in a Japanese drum.  Bringing back recent memories of his own wife's murder in London, Father Tom Christmas becomes the recipient and hunter of information to try to solve this crime.  With the help of a host of interesting, unique and well developed characters, the mystery is solved after the village has been turned topsy-turvy by the events surrounding the murder.  I will be awaiting C.C. Benison's next murder mystery, Eleven Pipers Piping as well as seeking out his other mystery novels.  A delightful read that gives one a glimpse into a small village in England that also has its drama.


View all my reviews

Doral Pilling In London

I have just spent the last hour scanning parts of Doral Pilling's autobiography into a computer.  I am in the process of sending this information to Dr. Bruce Kidd who is a professor at University of Toronto and researcher the history of athletics, amongst other topics.  He was at the University of Manitoba several months ago and I went to his presentation then provided him with the family story of Doral (my maternal grandfather) helping Percy get through his Olympic events without throwing up etc.  When I read the account in his history (thanks Arta for all your transcribing and work on that book), I can't help but think that Grandpa Doral was using sport psychology techniques with Percy long before the term was even identified.  A forward thinker for sure.

Having just taken a peek at a website dedicated to Percy Williams created by Samuel Hawley, I came across several pictures of Grandpa Doral that I have not seen in any relatives houses.  Once again, I look at these pictures and wonder why my brother Trent is there (or several of the Wood's boys), give my head and shake and remind myself I am looking at Doral.  Here is my favourite shot mostly because many of us have now been in London and here is Doral in the same city long before the rest of us even existed in the flesh.

Taken from website:  http://www.samuelhawley.com/percy1928olympics2.html

From left to right: Doral Pilling, Percy Williams, Stanley Glover

I just love this shot!  Take a look at the website to find even more information and amazing pictures about Percy Williams, with Doral Pilling often hanging in the background.

Remembrance Day, Three Thoughts

Thought One

On Remembrance Day I think about my Grandfather Lester Schmidt and the few stories he used to tell us, his grandchildren, about his experiences in World War II.  He never served on the front lines but he did provide supplies for others in the war.  He used to also tell me not to get old, it was hell.  This comment still makes me smile, like any of us have a choice.  Les dies many years ago and he passed away while sitting in his favourite chair.  I did not have the chance to say goodbye but I am glad that I did learn more about him after living with him and my step-grandma, Marjorie, for a year in Calgary.  If the Oral History Archive project had been around while he was alive, it would have been very interesting to have heard his more detailed stories and to have added them to The Memory Project.  I am of the generation in which people say we are in a war and my life continues as normal.  War is an experience that happens in other countries, is a ceremony we have every year at this time, it is a museum I visit whose exhibits I view, an thing with a name that is remote and distant.  Others, who are Canadian and from other countries, have experienced more personal journey's through war.  My hope for them today is that through remembrance, thoughts, tears, we can find a place closer to peace and farther away from war.

I also wonder about my grandfather Lloyd Bates.  He died due to suicide the year before I was born.  From the stories I have heard through family, he bore the physical, emotional and psychological scares of war, and in the taking of his own life, I wonder if those issues were ever resolved.  What supports were there in the 1950's for returning soldiers, nurses and doctors?  Who was helping those with the yet unlabelled issues of PTSD?  How many others needed help and did their best to make their way in life as best they could?

 

Thought Two

I have memories of my father asking me if I wanted to go to Flanders Fields every November, when my family lived in Brussels, Belgium.  Every year I remember saying yes.  On one particular Day of Remembrance, we approached the fields of crosses, row on row, but could not see due to the hovering fog.  As we quietly approached the ceremony area, a trumpet began playing the Last Post, and as we slowly approached the song we began to see shapes of people, crosses and the gathering remembering those who had fought and died, as well as those who had lived.  As a pre-teen I did not understand the broad scope of the ceremony, the graveyard, the uniforms, the sacrifices, the years of repair, but I am fortunate to have had parents who took me to a place that have provided me with a personal connection to an historic place.

After the ceremony, large planes would fly by and drop thousands of poppies across the graves of the dead.  The children, including myself, would jump and run about collecting as many poppies as we could, but there were always too many to hold.  One year the wind was not taken into consideration and during the first fly-by the poppies landed on the highway next to Flanders Fields.  On the second fly-by, the poppies landed on the graves.  I would like to attend this ceremony again some time during my life as it is burned in my memory and to compare a childhood experience to an adult experience would be interesting.

Thought Three

While living in London (almost two years ago) I took the opportunity to go on a guided tour of France's  northern World War II sites.  We visited the D-Day Beaches, the towns first liberated in 1945, memorial museums, and cemeteries.  It was mind blowing as the guide's knowledge was incredibly extensive and he provided us with a two hour lecture of information as we bused from London to northern France.  It brought the previous stories I had heard, the museum exhibits I had visited, the people I had met who had been part of the war all together and connected to a place.  Here were the craters 60 years later, the cannons, the now clean beaches of operation Overlord, the remaining buildings and pieces of history that the French have left in place to remember.  If you ever have a chance to visit these places, please do.  The type of experience that causes you to think deeply and with great care.  Another opportunity to remember and attempt to understand.  

Standing in one bomb hole at Point du Hoc.
Bomb holes all around this entire field close to the cliffs of beaches.

The American Cemetery at St. Laurant

Juno Beach where Canadians first landed.
The first tank to have landed that became stuck and
remains as part of the museum collection.

Pegasus Bridge, the first bridge to be liberated
between Caen and Ouistreham, in Normandy, France.

Utah Beach, one of the locations where thousands of soldiers
who had just crossed the canal in tightly packed ships that landed
and begin the land attack in hopes of ending World War II.

Arromanches, Gold Beach, the remains of the temporary port
built by the UK government and its Allies as part of the liberation. 

Added Thought:

PS.  Listening to CBC's The Current and five grown men just started talking about what they cry from now after having been in a war: Tim Horton's commercials, kitten and Kleenex adds, one man just said he cries all the time.  Love it.  Men letting down their 'tough guy' guards and enjoying a moment honesty.

Winnipeg Fringe Part Deux

Hersteria

Borrowed from LePeg Festival Website

I write this review not solely as a lover of the arts, acting, singing, dancing, performance, but as an individual with a trained eye, ear and understanding.  You see my musical mother, who descended from a musical family, had her four older children arranged around the piano singing in unison by the time I was 7, then in parts by age 11.  We were on a schedule by this time before each school day: 15 minutes piano practice, 15 minutes instrument practice (flute for me), then 15 minutes to eat breakfast.  A few years and another country later we were tap dancing amongst other musical pursuits.  Although my musical career is currently as an amateur, my two siblings who are professional musicians, provide the family with great insight into the performing arts.  Did I also mention I just spent one year living in London, UK and saw Wicked, Billy Elliot, Jersey Boys, La Cage Aux Fol, and Sister Act so many times I have lost count?  I know the craft of artistic performance and hope that my words here hold some weight.

When I arrived to volunteer last night at Prairies Theatre Exchange, I had no idea I was in for such a marvellous treat!  One of the best show I have seen at any Fringe Festival, ever!  Four women meet after the death of their therapist, each one believing they have killed him.  As they learn about each other, secrets, obsessions, mental health issues, therapy and discovery ensue.  Unique and impeccably acted play.  Four actors, who are an accurate age for each part, with voices that have experienced years of arpeggios, scales, melodies and harmonies.  All soloists, yet the sonorous well blended voices of a skilled quartet.  Funny.  Joyful.  Intriguing.  Comedic.  Playful.  Insightful.  If you have $10 to spend, you will not regret the choice to see this show.  I will make it easy for you.  Click here and scroll down, find Hersteria and go! GO!  

Did I mention there were two, count them, TWO teenage boys beside me who, on the whole as an age group, don't pay much attention to middle aged women (i.e. anyone older than 22)?  These two young men were laughing, rocking back and forth at times with the guffaws and LOVED the show.  I know as their bodies showed it.  Now go get a ticket and revel in the experience of Hersteria!

Adele Bragging Rights

I am usually what is called a mid to late adopter, meaning that when something is a new, a piece of technology, a new band, or a new fashion, I am towards the middle to latter portion of the majority of people who begin including it in my life.  Perhaps the skeptic in me takes over or I just don't like being like everyone else and adopt it after the 'coolness' factor has decreased.  On occasion there is an exception.

Adele.  She was an exception.  Having already told you about her and her incredible voice and music, the other day I looked through some old photos and found these.

Adele on stage in Somerset House, London, 2008

I was there!  When she toured her first CD '19' in London, her hometown.  The 'cherry on the top' experience was her singing her song about her hometown while I stood in it listening: "Hometown Glory".  The song is about London and I was newly exploring the city myself.  Her political voice softly sharing the voices of disobedience.

"I like it in the city when two worlds collide.

We get the people and the government

Everybody taking different sides

Shows that we ain't gonna stand

Shows that we are united

Shows that we ain't gonna take it." 

Not only did I have the chance to see, but it was a live concert, outside in the courtyard of Somerset House where we enjoy a glorious sunset within stunning architecture.

View off to my right during the concert.

She had Bryn Christopher open for her, whose songs had just been played in the season finale of Grey's Anatomy.

Bryn Christopher belting it out.

Experiences, coincidences and ideas coming full circle.  

Life teaching me to keep myself open.  

Less late adopting.  

Be more open to the new.

A Long Long Long Walk

While I was in London, UK I wandered in and out of delicious antiquarian bookstores by the dozen.  The best street for old books, creepy floored bookstores, dusty shelves and true collectors and ravagers of the written word is Charing Cross Road, at least if people keep shopping at these independent stores.  As I toured the shelves and softly stepped on the floors I kept seeing books by Bill Bryson, in the travel section, and loads of them.  Well, I am now in Winnipeg and I finally picked up on of these non-antiquarian books and will be reading many, many more of them.

A Walk In The Woods

Upon moving to New Hampshire, USA after living in the UK for twenty years, Bill Bryson and his family begin to settle into their New England environment.  Bryson learns of a walking trail that traverses thirteen states from Georgia in the south to Maine in the north, the Appalachian Trail (AT).  The U.S. National Park Service believes the trail is just over 2,000 miles but is not sure, thus begins the hilarity that is Bryson's AT experience.  Intermingling an incredible ability to present a series of interesting facts, with witty quips, and laugh-out-loud stories of he and his walking partner Stephen Katz, Bryson just made me want to keep reading more.  I did.  Finished the book in three days along with 7 meetings.  Was thinking about the adventures along the AT during a good portion of these meetings, sign of a good book.  With the fear of wild animals, scrambles that cause their bodies to ache, strange meetings with backcountry people, historical lessons about small desolate towns, the destruction of the eastern forests, deaths on the trail, hypothermia, descriptions of art, geological history lessons, and water always falling at the wrong times, it is evident that Bryson is an accomplished and entertaining author.  In the process of walking AT Bryson finds himself in a liminal world, between the silent soft forest and the rushing loudness of concrete progress.  Caught, he tries to continue his quest towards the end of the book only to find what was once found and lost is best left laid down.

From Bill Bryson's website

Bill and his family have returned to living in the UK and he has begun to support the CPRE, helping to save rural England.  I shall be reading more Bill Bryson soon.         

You Can Take the Woman Out of London but....

Yes I did it.  I watched the Royal Wedding.  After having danced and chatted with fellow graduates until midnight on Thursday at the end of year party, I woke up at 4 AM to head to a friend's house and watch the events unfold.  Here is why I watched:

After having lived in London every summer for 4 years and almost one year after that, 

I miss the vibrant, eclectic, pulsing city at least once per week.  

Changing of the Guard up the Mall in front of Buckingham Palace.

I was able to hear the names of the places I visited, the streets I walked, the ones spaces that came to dwell in my heart as historical connections to the past that healed my reckless existence.  

Greenwich Village looking out from the Old Navy College.

Art installation at Trafalgar Square using the roots of trees from a
South American rainforest to increase awareness of the destruction of these forests.

On the London Eye with Marcia and Art, looking out over
Westminster Abbey and Houses of Parliament.

Almost 30 years ago my Aunts and Uncles woke all us Pilling kids up at 3 AM Shuwap, BC time and we watched Diana and Charles wed.  They had a long stretch of foam mats, blankets, pillows that we cuddled under wondering why we were so lucky to be up partying at this hour.  I  also remember a delicious selection of treats, although I cannot remember what they were.

My Grandpa Doral Pilling in the shores of Shuswap Lake in the 1980's.

To see an inner bird's eye view of a magnificent gothic abbey.  Having been on three tours during my stay with various groups I remember the six crystal chandeliers are 6 feet high but are dwarfed in comparison to the actual height of the 102 foot nave.  I believe 3,000 people have been buried or memorialized inside the building.  A juxtaposition of a new relationship budding from the surrounding lives that have ended. 

From Google Images, goingtolondon website.

Having attended Evensong on several occasions at the abbey, I wanted to hear the boys and men's choir one more time.  Mmmmm....love their soprano to bass voices intermingling and resonating of the stone of the Norman interior.

Thank you CBC for this shot!

Thank you CBC for the live coverage.  Thank you to my father who let me move back in with him while he was living in London and while I was in my late 30's.  Thank you mum my who was our part-time roommate and the one who took me to so many West End shows I lost track of how many times I have seen Billy Elliot, Wicked, Oliver, and Sister Act.

Greg and I on the top of a double decker bus,
just south of his flat on Regent Street.

Wyona, Marcia and I in Camden Town Market, North London.

My time in London was brief but will stay with me for years to come.  

You can take a woman out of London, but you can't take the London out of the woman.

Fleet of Hope

Love these lyrics:

The fisherman comes up
Puts his two poles in the sand
He stares out at the sea
Just exactly like me
But I've got a book in my hand
We will have caught on to something by the end of the day
But mostly we think about the one that got away.

(Chorus)

I've walked through the desert
Climbed over mountains so high
Through jungles and plains
I took buses and trains
And airplanes across the sky
But none as seductive as ocean before me alone
And now I know why
You layered your pockets with stones.

(Chorus)

When I was a girl
All of my fancy took flight
And I had this dream
Could outshine anything
Even the darkest night
Now I wait like a widow for someone to come back from sea
I've always known
I was waiting for me

Chorus
'Cause the fleet of hope is so pretty
When she's shining in the port
And the harbor clings to the jetty
For protection and support
Out in the choppy waters the sharks swim and play
You're all washed up when Poseidon has his day

More lyrics: http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/i/indigo_girls/#share

When I saw them in London I would swear I had a moment with Emily Sailers and as she sang this song our eyes locked on the chorus and we both sang while watching each other.  Then the shivers down the body from a moment of human connection.  Even if I imagined it, I don't care, it was moving and magnificent.  The live version of the song is below.

RSA

The tiles on my blog have been acronyms lately.  Here is a link to an innovative way to present academic information.  Combining a professional speaker, video, and animation those individuals who are auditory and visual learners receive a double whammy of information.  Sent to me by a professor for whom I am working this term in a Philosophy of Sport and Leisure course, the message concerns human beings innate natures.  We may not always see people's actions as empathetic but do we in fact all have a propensity to be individuals who, after all that transpires as we breathe, live, interact, have a biological need to help and be part of a the group rather than the importance of the individual?  An old age question revisited below by a new organization to me who is educating in a rather unique way.

   

There are more videos like this one on YouTube through the organization Royal Society for the encouragement of Arts, Manufactures and Commerce (RSA).  A new favourite website and organization for me.  Enjoy! 

In Case You Haven't Participated...

...Sakineh is a woman who has received the death penalty in Iran, accused of committing adultery.  There is no witnesses accusing her, nor a person identified with whom she had the alleged affair.  Since her imprisonment she is also now being accused of killing her husband, yet there is no evidence of such behaviour.  According to sharia lay, she has been in jail for 6 months and has received 90 lashes, now she is scheduled to be killed.  Her brother, who is also her lawyer, has collected international signatures calling for her release in one of the most world's most egregious country's with respect to women's rights.

Add your name Free Sakineh

Read more in MacLeans and in The Times of London

More Artsy Coolness

Part 1:
The History of the World with 100 Objects
I LOVE THE BBC!!!  Despite rumours of top-heavy overpaid brass, a yearly mandatory payment from each TV owner in the UK of 120 pounds, using the same comedians and celebrities over and over and over, I still love them.  Sites such as this, with a partnership to create such originality, necessitates an even deeper devotion.  (Let me know if this link functions.  At times, outsiders cannot connect to UK sites.)  Link your brain to the past!

Part 2:
Londoners enjoy a plethora of markets with delights to tempt every enthusiast (or simply a chance to purchase this weeks fruits and veg).  This weekend I ventured to a 50 year old market I had never visited, Bayswater Road Market.  This market runs on Sunday and boasts professional artists (mostly painters) from all over the United Kingdom, who venture forth to sell their works of art.  Oh the delights to my eyes, the ideas for the creative spirit, and the slow beat of my step as I inhaled the individuality of each artiste.  Below are the websites of my favourites:

The Studio Gallery
Michael R Reynolds and I had a discussion about his painting techniques with his swirling, landscape-esque pictures using oils.  The cavernous blues and ominous reds (MR 49, MR 57); so magnificent as 'one-off' works of art.  I may return to make a purchase in the next few weeks.

Lucien Simon
Dear Lucien,
I want to have your children...I mean...your surealist art made me giggle aloud, not because it was meant to, but sweetie the wasp, the carrot, the fungi...oh what dreams you must have!  Someday I will buy your piece...I mean a piece.  Those legs...how sleek...what a pleasure to observe...they make the eyes draw upwards to the top of your glass table!  Such blissful book perches!  Perchance could you mail a jagged-edged coffee table to Canada, and throw in an outdoor glass sculpture just because I blinked my pretty eyes and asked.
All my fanatical adoration,
Tonia

The Tale of the St. Albans, Tube, Battery and Heron

You visit a place and you want to see everything. Seeing is not always enough so you go with a group and a guide. The touristy fake places are obviously garbage, but some tours have guides that are deeply knowledgeable and make you think briefly about moving your life to this new, delightful place. This is the case with London Walks, the guides that bring London to life with their in-depth knowledge of architecture, historicity, famous connections and places of note. So I was off; off to see St. Albans, a town North West of London with the London Walks group. Then the weather turned sour, real sour. Alberta in February, cold, wind, wintery sky, things shut down and the streets are empty kind of sour. Well, cold, snowy, and icy; I was prepared; I am Albertan and I have handled -40 and survived! I checked the internet and there was no sign of cancellation. Went to bed early, woke up to an alarm, showered, dressed, double layered clothes, ate breakfast, gathered snacks and braced myself for a day of fabulous information with a winter chill.

The Tube in London tends to close or partially shut down on the weekends, but I headed to the busiest one in the area in case I needed to re-route. Good thing. The one Tube that could get me to the tour's meeting point was shut down. I read the sign, re-grouped, re-planned and headed for the replacement bus service. My excitement was mounting. I was going to be there despite the cold! Despite the snow! And despite the closure of the tube! All with 10 minutes to spare.

“I am just here waiting for a group,” I explained to the nice public transit man who was re-routing people away from the closed meeting point Tube station. As I rocked back and forth to keep warm I envisioned St. Albans under a snow; the fantastic shots I was going to take; the history I was about to absorb....”Excuse me,” interrupted a kind, taller, dog-on-a-leash man, “are you here for the London Walk to St. Albans?” “Yes I am. It is cancelled?” I enquired. “Yes it is and we are sorry but it is just shear ice out there and the guide was not able to make it into town to pick people up,” he replied. “I was thinking that the trip was not going to go but I thought I would come down anyway. Thank you for being here to let me know of the change.” And I was off. Back on the replacement bus home.

Should I go home, I wondered. I am Canadian, we are hearty people and it’s not -40 outside, only -3...I am in London at a historical time...the weather has not been this bad for 20 years...I should see it, experience it, enjoy it...I shall head to the park and take pictures, then go to some of the busier places and enjoy capturing these Brits manoeuvring through the snow! Brilliant!  Regent’s Park was the winning location. A delightful mixture of formal garden, sport pitches, fields, a small stream, water fowl, paths, benches, children’s playgrounds, buildings and fountains. What more could you fit into a park?

My SLR in hand I headed for the park. Turn on...nice shot there...click...the fountain is frozen, nice...this feels more like Alberta than I think it should...oh, it is the wind, that always makes it colder...it feels like -10 not -3...I wonder how long I will last...nice shot there...beep...oh, that is not good, the battery just changed. The green battery icon had just turned red which meant the juice in the battery was decreasing with every click, button turn and setting alteration. It should be OK for a few hours..might as well stay out while I have the time...and some battery...

As an amateur photographer, I did not realize that carrying an extra battery with me at all times is essential to capturing shots all day long; that is until my battery ran out at the top of Jungfraujoch in the Swiss Alps in August.

On the way to the top of Jungfraujoch.                     

At the top in August, just before my battery died.

Alas, obtaining a second battery has not occurred as of yet. I carried on, felt in the photography zone and was loving it!

Frozen fountain and formal gardens.

Tree, bench, snow and British Telecom Tower,

just to prove I was capturing London.

Closer to the beauty of frozen greenery.

Fantastic old looking bench and perspective.  Nice!  Off to the stream I go...perhaps a bird or two will provide an interesting shot...click...make sure I get a picture of snow that has fallen precariously on some interesting location...click...click...that tree looke like it is on fire...stunning...

Hey, the pond is frozen and the birds are hopping on it...excellent...

The birds continued to hop along the frozen water. I moved from one interesting shot to another.

“CAUWWWWWWW!!!”

Holy cow that was loud...stay focused...eye through the viewer...quick, flip to sport mode...done... eye through the finder...stay focused...push button...........NOTHING...........where is the click...where is the rapid click...what?.....I.....but. I removed the camera from my eye and saw this:

NO BATTERY CHARGE

“NOOOOO!!!” I yelled out in pain, out to the park, the city, the universe, “NOOOOO!!!!!!” 

It was a Heron....a grey one...full wing span out...landing on the frozen pond...through the middle of my view finder...bush on the right...smaller birds in the background...oh my crazy, crappy, horrible, DAMN!!!!

The battery died in the middle of the shot. It was gone!
I tried to regroup.  I am fine...I lived a beautiful moment...captured the scene with the synapse of my mind...lodged in my long term memory...a special moment...a memory that will last forev.....shit....I didn’t get the shot.  Arggg!!!  I hate batteries!!!

The shot was gone, and that is all that mattered.  It sucked large frozen dirty rocks! Shit!

A few days later I returned to the same place.  Stream still frozen.  Snow laying delicately around.  No swooping herons but I found some in and around a tree.

 

These will do until I have the chance to see another swooping heron and I shall be prepared.  Is 6 extra batteries too many? 

In order to become an expert at anything, it requires around 10,000 hours of practice, knowledge acquisition and work.  Only 9,884 hours to go!

Dadawa

My father’s co-worker from Cleveland was coming through London with his wife, and stayed in the flat for a few days. Unbeknownst to me, it turned into an informative and incredibly interesting visit. The co-worker told us of some of his events and travels as the Canadian Ambassador in North Korea, and his wife Dadawa shared with us her work as a well-known Han Chinese singer and United Nations Goodwill Ambassador.

Image from Weblo.com

Dadawa’s bio progresses in brief thusly: born in Guangzhou, China (where my father worked for 3 years), she went to university in her early 20’s, a professor ‘discovered’ her voice, and she released her first CD in 1995 with Tibetan influences titled Sister Drum which resulted in international acclaim. Her second CD was titled Voices from the Sky (1997), she began receiving awards, performing and travelling all over China and the world, released a CD in 2006 titled Seven Days, received more awards, then accepted a post as UN Goodwill Ambassador.

Here is where the story became fascinating for me, as my conversation with her focused on her Ambassadorship to document and preserve the traditional music and handicrafts of China. Joined by 9 other professionals driving four Jeeps; these experts in music, photography, video, research, and documentation, travelled to 6 different Chinese provinces to document the traditions in China’s lesser known regions. They created a 17 piece television series that documents communities who continue to follow ancient, local, music and handicraft traditions. Dadawa said that their work was well received in China and plans to translate the work are in progress.

The reason she agreed to complete this work, with UN support, is her concern over the influence of the Western world on the Chinese culture and the abandonment of many ancient Chinese traditions. She does not want her country to be solely known for making and exporting Western goods, nor does she want her country to become the IT capital of the world. For centuries the Chinese were a dominant world force, whose influence began waning when the Chinese emperor closed its borders to international trade in the early 1400’s. For the next 1,000 years any dominance on the world stage decreased rapidly due to several factors: lack of international trade, Opium Wars with Britain in the 1800’s, fear and execution of reformers in the 1800’s, civil unrest in the early 1900’s, the Japanese invasion in the 1900’s which resulted in political disorder, the Cultural Revolution of the 1960’s (see The End of Poverty by Jeffrey Sachs). It was mentioned in our conversation that as part of the Cultural Revolution the Chinese government decided to promote a ‘New China’ and rid itself of its old heritage and reputation. In 1976 the Cultural Revolution died along with its leader, Mao Tse-tung. Since 1978 China has been the worlds’ most successful example of economic development and growth, but it not all been jolly walk down money lane (environmental and human rights issues, as well as division between the rich and destitute).

In 2009 Dadawa and others are still asking themselves, ‘what does New China mean?’ This led our discussion on to the historical influences of many Chinese inventions including paper, printing, compass and music theory.  That these incredible contributions to modern society and the country’s rise out of poverty, has become synonymous with the ‘Made in China’ stamp found on so many things in Western homes, seemed disappointing to us both.

The history of China is extensive and its brisk economic rise unmatched in the world, but is there a space for the preservation of thousands of years of history amongst its place on the stage of world economics?  Does one need to be forgotten in order for the other to evolve? Is there space for tradition and advancement in the same history?

Dadawa and her cohorts are one group trying to find a desirable mix and their work with the United Nations is a strong contribution to this process.  From the videos and stories Dadawa shared the people she met, these are my favourite:

Authentic Voices
The group of 10 entered one village and asked if there was a singing group in the community. There was, it was gathered and they began to sing. It became evident very quickly that this was the tourist version of their community. Dadawa explained who they were, their purpose and the villagers responded with authentic voices and songs. The group took everyone up into the mountains and began singing in fourths and fifths, then slurring notes up and down in droopy scales. I asked her what they were doing and she had learned that they sing in the mountains to allow their voices, which are imitating nature, to also flow out into nature. Once I knew this, the music and the group’s voices made more sense as they did sound like nature reverberating and echoing in the hills. Beautiful!

Authentic Clothing
One group had 7 women in it and I noticed they had buns on top of their head and with long, flat, horizontal pieces of gold through the top of the bun. On their necks they had large moon shaped necklaces with dangling pieces of gold and beads on each side. The choir wearing these pieces discussed the meaning of them for the documentary.

Where Are They?
Since the development of China’s own Industrial Revolution, many people have moved from rural locations to urban environments for work. Dadawa’s group noticed that there was an entire age range of people missing from the villages. There were children and the elderly present in towns, but the older teenagers and adults were missing. The provinces this group visited were in the Western and Northern parts of China and the industrial development has been along the Eastern and Southern portions of China, requiring wage earners to leave their communities (see The End of Poverty by Jeffrey Sachs). Most of them had moved to the urban centres leaving grandparents to raise their grandchildren.

Knock Knock...Whose Your Uncle?
One village works in a Matriarchal society in which fatherhood is not as important and brotherhood. In the evenings after dinner, all the elders go to bed, and the women and men go back to their individual homes. After an acceptable period of time, the men get up and go in search of sex with a woman. A man approaches a female’s home and looks to see if there is an item on the door. If so this means the woman inside is already ‘busy’. The man then moves on to another home in search of sexual pleasure. Once a free home is found and the woman agrees, the woman and man enjoy an evening of lovin’ and the man returns home. If a baby is produced from the evening’s events, the father of the child is not identified or even important, as it is the woman’s brother who becomes the ‘father’ of her children. Sisters and brothers do not sleep together but they do remain connected through the birth of the sister’s children. Everyone knows what is going on, but the elders head to bed and pretend they don’t know what is happening. The question remains, do the elders reproduce?

Dadawa said that there were many interesting communities, all with their unique stories, histories and cultures and she is proud to be doing her part to document their existence. I was delighted about our conversation, learning about fascinating people who live differently than I. I am not interested in a world that conforms to one way of life or whose sole purpose is economic viability; our diversity is what makes us interesting and remarkable. Our depth as people, groups, cultures and communities remains strong when we learn to hold on to the good which forms us, as we move forward into new spaces.

I wish Dadawa and her group joy in their work as it was a pleasure to have met and talked with her and her husband.

Dadawa’s Blog (in Mandarin or Cantonese)

University of British Columbia Artist in Residence

Video: Balad of Lhasa

Video: Concert in New Zealand

Ugly Duckling or Swan

Which would you rather be?

Though one becomes the other, most would pick a swan and skip the ugly duckling part. After what I saw Tuesday night, as long as the swans move me to misty eyed awe, I don’t care which one I am.

Tchaikovsky wrote Swan Lake (1875) with a chorus of swans who all represented womanhood in its purest form (typically the ballet did not become well loved until after Tchaikovsky’s death). The swans are all disciplined, all beautiful, all desirable, all graceful but only one leader: Odette/Odile. Odette the queen swan and Odile, her evil twin (both danced by the same prima ballerina during the performances). She was the swan above all others who led the group and who won the heart of Prince Siegfried (insert heavily noted and delightful music, tragic love, and an ending of tears and sorrow here).

120 years later, Matthew Bourne demolishes the Russian ballet’s history, and changes the beautiful gaggle of tutu clad, adored, classical spinning female swans, into a swarming mass of muscular, beak pecking, modern moving, broad winged male swans. Including the lead role as the tallest of all the male swans (Bourne's lead swan role was used by the makers of the Billy Elliot movie in 2000). Bourne also modifies the plot and turns the heterosexual love story of the swan and Prince, into a two male lead with homosexual under and over tones.

I loved every movement, note, character, reference and minute of it!

The classical dance mixed with the modern movements; the hilarious potential girlfriend as they mock classical ballet; the sadness of a Prince’s desire to receive a physical manifestation of love from his frosty mother; this lack of love being transferred into a love dream for a beautiful swan; a swan who appears a second time as a seductive lady’s man, rejecting any familiarity with the Prince; the flailing wings and arms of the dancers; the moonlight beaming on the gaggle of swans; the pas de deux between two men; the reference to the 1970’s – 1980’s electric shock treatment given to men to ‘cure’ their homosexuality.  All so new, exciting and exhilarating!


Now that the swans have danced for me and I adore them, the question becomes, how many more times can I go to their performances before it all ends on January 24? 

(The pictures interspersed within the words

are pictures I have taken of swans in Europe,

July – December 2009.)

Regressing to the 80's

I went to see my old favourite 80's band this past week:  Depeche Mode.  Tonight I return to see another: Pet Shop Boys.  Here is the video of their new song.  Seems to be all about not needing things and a certain look to have a fantastic life.  Seems good to me.

Pine Nuts: Are We Nuts?

Greg (my father): Do pine nuts, like the bag full of them on the cupboard, come from pine trees?

Wyona (my mother): Her head whips from side to side, me to my dad. I don't know.

Me: I am not sure either. I never thought about it.

Greg: OK, I'll look it up. He proceeds to the laptop and searches for the answer.

Greg: Hey, it says here that pine nuts do come from pine trees.

Wyona: What kind of pine trees. All of them or just some?

Greg: Begins to quote Wikipedia aloud, 'Pine nuts are the edible seeds of pines. Family, Pinaceae. Genus, Penis.”

Wyona: WHAT!?! Ha ha ha!

Tonia: Are you kidding? As is kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, species? The only biology I remember. That genus penis? Ha ha ha!

Greg: Yep! Ha ha ha! OK, maybe it is ‘peh-nis’ are ‘pI-nus’. I am not sure.

Wyona: Wasn’t there someone who had a joke about that?

Me: Yes Trent’s (my brother) friend Nathan was in the States trying to convince people that there was a place in Canada called Regina. No one believed that anyone would name a city Regina, a word that rhymed with vagina, so one guy said, ‘That is like calling a place Pehnis, Utah!’ Yep. Yep it is. And yes Regina exists.

Wyona: Ha ha, that’s right.

Greg: Continues quoting pine seeds info on Wikipedia, ‘About 20 species of pine produce seeds large enough to be worth harvesting; in other pines the seeds are also edible, but are too small to be of great value as a human food.”

Me: Just like some penises.

Wyona: TONIA!

Greg: Ha ha ha!

Wyona: Ha ha ha! Well, genus penis.

Do Something Different

Tonight I went to see something completely different. Instead of attending another classical concert, I headed to the Barbican to see the latest hip hop dance group Boy Blue, perform Pied Piper. Having never been to a live hip hop performance, the price was right and I attended. The whole cultural mystique from which the dance form has been derived is not my life experience, as I am a Caucasian, middle class, Canadian, swing / two-step / tango / social dancer. Not so good at the hip and the hop. The enormous amount of talent I saw on stage however, made any life experience barriers fall aside into an abyss of dance joy.

In the show the Pied Piper is hired by four money laden bureaucrats to clean up the UK streets from the 'hoodies' (people in hooded sweat shirts causing chaos to reign). The Pied Piper enters several different lairs of evil (snakes, vampires, etc), and conquers them one by one. One of the best moves was the traditional run up to a wall, leg pushes off wall, legs flip over head, and person lands upright on floor. Only the Pied Piper was the wall, four men held him still, and one man did a back flip off his chest and another off his back at the same time. Stupendous! Then there were the flips, and air spins with half turns, and feet moving so fast that there seemed to be six feet where there should have only been two. The speed and gravity defying dancing caused me and the audience to ‘oooo’ and ‘ahhhh’ for much of the performance.

In true fashion, I noticed that there was a good mix of ethnicities on stage as well as a strong mix of women and men. Most of the Hollywood hip hop dance movies show predominately male groups in competitions, and perhaps one token female group. This group did not delineate between genders, skin colours or ethnicities. All those who passed the audition, were on stage breaking a sweat while entertaining the audience.

During the applause I am so glad I broke away from my norm and did something different (the Barbican's motto).  My only critique would be the amount of dancing that represented fighting, whereas I had always been told that the Pied Piper played a wee flute and danced the rats out of Hamelin. No flutes in this performance, but much dancing!

If you have a chance to attend a Boy Blue show or any hip hop event, add a little flair to your life and see the dancing live instead of in a movie. You may even go home and try a few of the lighter moves. (No wall attempts please.)

A Boy Blue Peak

Pied Piper Longer
This is slightly different than the one I saw this evening.  Less hootchie from the ladies who wore more clothing.

WICKED

Having read Gregory Maguire's book several years ago, and being led to deep contemplation while watching the musical several times in London; I offer you my favourite quote from Mark Platt, one of the co-writers of the musical.

The Grimmerie 

The Wizard has no power.  He has to exploit the fear and ignorance of others.  That is a theme in history that repeats itself over and over.  How many times have we seen leaders and dictators who prey on the differences in others in order to galvanize a group of people?  It happens all the time in history, repeatedly.

Along this same vein of thought, I have added one link on the right 'Abuse Prevention & Assistance', that will connect readers, who are experiencing abuse, to Canadian local, provincial and federal groups.  The misuse of power is an issue for us all.

Christmas Cooking Video

He he!  Just in case you need more to do this Christmas, and you have not discovered the plethora of Christmas at Costco, here is some entertaining cooking for you.  It includes a visual on Christmas Pudding. 

Speaking of Christmas Pudding, I heard a comedian say once that there was really only ONE Christmas pudding/cake in the world.  A person or family receives it, offers a fake 'thank you', rolls their eyes in despair, and holds on to it for 364 days, then re-gifts it to you.  The next year, you do the same.  One Christmas cake, the entire Western planet.

Delia's Classic Christmas

Enjoy!