Remembering

It was good on Sunday to see the turnout at the local Cenotaph for the Remembrance Day ceremonies. The Canadian Air Force was there, the local Air Reserve, and the Air Cadets, the highland regiment, the Glengarry Pipes and Drums,representatives of the police and fire departments, legion members, and bringing up the rear, our Scout troop - a few rows of scouts, cubs and beavers with their sashes and caps and flags. They did well, these kids, starting with the church service at 11am, and followed by the parade at 2pm. Then, I dragged them off to the legion for our annual drink and sandwich, and Grace managed to avoid spilling coke on someone's bagpipes like she did two years ago, and it was nice enough to sit outside with some of the legion members and have a drink in the sunshine.

It's good to remember. And I think it's important. And hanging out with the kids and explaining it all to them felt right. But when Erik asked why, if war is so terrible, there still is war, I had no answer for him. I don't know if there is an answer to that.

from the song Willie McBride by Eric Bogle

Did you really believe them when they told you the cause?

Did you really believe that this war would end wars?

For the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame,

The killing, the dying it was all done in vain

For Willie McBride it's all happened again

And again and again and again and again.

History Mystery: The Plot Thickens!

Erik had no trouble guessing the last History Mystery so if a 9 year old can do it, I obviously need to make it more difficult.

This man was born in 1570, and at the age of 35, was sentenced to be hung, drawn and quartered for conspiracy against the King. He avoided being drawn and quartered by throwing himself off the scaffold, breaking his own neck.

He and his deeds served as inspiration for the poet, John Milton, who modelled Satan in Book 6 of Paradise Lost on this character. Although he has been vilified since his treason, he is also known as, "the last man to enter (UK) Parliament with honourable intentions," and his reputation has been somewhat modified in recent years.

Who is he?

(Wed Answer: Guy Fawkes. Congratulations Julie Queen, NB for getting the right answer. You win....um....the satisfaction of knowing the right answer.)

Thoughts On A Clear November Morning

I awoke three times in the night.

The first time I woke up, it was more sort of a roll over as Andrew left my small thermos of coffee next to the bed before he left for the dairy at 4:30am. The second time was to hear a small dog barking by the river and groggily realise it was actually a coyote yipping, a warm up for the group coyote howl which followed. I was awake then, momentarily. until reassured by the deep barking that followed that Tundra the sheepdog had the situation in hand,  I fell back into sleep. It was around 5:30am. The third time was at 6:30am when Grace punched her way into the room (in her usual delicate fashion) to tell me the dog had thrown up three times in their room. It reminded me of Mother's Day last May, and I lay back on my pillow, sipping my coffee, reflecting that I'd seen the dog in the back fields yesterday and wondering just what disgusting things she'd been into.

I felt a bit like Scrooge - like I'd been visited three times in the night - and like Scrooge, by the time I was finally awake, the sun was shining, the sky was bright and clear, and I felt full of joy and optimism.

November, on the cusp of both fall and winter, can be a bit of a bleak month, but I've always found it beautiful in its austerity. If October is like a king (think Henry VII), resplendently robed in gold and crimson, November is like a nun, (think Mother Superior from The Sound of Music), simple and pure and wise.

And as I sit here this morning, gazing out the window, past the pine trees and over the field towards the river and the forest behind, I am thinking only good thoughts.

Except of the dog. She is still disgusting.

Homework

Erik has a school project due tomorrow. A poster to advertise a book they just read in class. The assignment due date has been written in his agenda for two weeks, and being the overbearing, over-achieving interested mom I am I've been asking him every day for two weeks if he needed help with it at all ("No"), if he's working on it with ("two other boys") and if he needed to bring it home ("No, we're doing it all in school"). Cool. I'm cool with that.

Then tonight, Thursday, Cubs, he brings home a poster board that has three lines written on it in pencil in his handwriting in the top left corner, leaving a huge white space to fill.

I thought you didn't need help, I said.  (He shrugged.)

I thought there were two other boys working on it with you, I said. (Both out with H1N1 for the past week or more)

I thought it was all getting done in school, I said. (But apparently they are allowed to bring it home if they want to. He just chose not to until the very last minute.)

I always said I'd never do my kids' homework for them. I always said they could learn the lesson the hard way. So how come I ended up sitting down with him and brainstorming ways to make his poster more interesting? How come we ended up creating callouts and pictures and text boxes on the computer to add colour and visual variety to his poster? How come I found myself at seven o'clock on a Thursday evening with a pair of scissors and a glue stick instead of a glass of red wine and a book?

Perhaps it was because he got left on his own while his project mates were out sick. Maybe it's because it's his first project of the year. Maybe it's because he was telling me how he had to write the three lines he did write upside down because he couldn't reach across the desk to the top of the poster board.

However, the sad truth is that when it came down to brass tacks, I couldn't let him pass it in without some input. He got it done, hopefully learned something in the process (even if it is only to bring it home sooner next time), and got off to Cubs on time.

But next time, next time, he's on his own.

Right!

The Allure of the Theatre

I was sitting having lunch at the delectable 2Bean Cafe when I overheard them: Two women, older than me, maybe in their late 50's or early 60's, talking about the theatre. Not as theatre-goers, but as part of the theatrical troupe, which to my (admittedly eavesdropping) ears seemed infinitely more interesting. One of the ladies was telling the other about the role she was doing and the role she was going to try for next, and as they sat there, conversing in low rich voices, I felt a thrill go through me.

I love live theatre. I love the anticipation, the deep seats, the rustle of shawls and coats as people shift around waiting for things to start, the orchestra warming up, the gilded lights and elaborate carvings that are de rigeur at so many older establishments, and the deep crimson curtains, velvety and plush, that fall in graceful folds to the floor, and that pull back with a swoosh of golden tassles as the lights dim, the crowds hush, and the show begins.

I have often thought about becoming part of a local theatre group. Not acting, neccessarily - my acting career never went much further than one performance of Acastos in university. And not props - I still recoil with horror at the memory of being involved in props in high school and being asked to create a larger than life pencil for our version of You're A Good Man, Charlie Brown (which was a success despite my complete inability to do this one little job). And definitely not stage director - one of my favourite little hobbies is reading Shakespeare's plays just to have a giggle at the scanty stage directions he provides. (ie:Exit left, carrying a head, accompanied by various wispy ghosts)

But I did enjoy screenwriting a play once as a project for a philosophy class. Doctor Faustus never made it to stage, but I still have a dogearred copy of the screenplay somewhere. And although I've never written a play (with the exception of doing so with the children for Christmas) it's on my list of things to try.

Mostly, I just enjoy being a theatre-goer. Everything from local productions of War Brides or The Dresser (both excellent) to the latest and greatest musicals (just got tickets for myself and the girls to see Mamma Mia at the NAC in January), to the ones you see over and over because they're popular (The Importance of Being Ernest springs to mind). Heck, we even cut short our honeymoon to get back to Toronto in time to see Colm Wilkinson perform the lead role of Jean Valjean in Les Miserables.

But there is no denying that part of me, the part that was thrilled by the coversation I overheard at lunch, would like to be part of the production, and not just watching it. So far, I've shied away, mostly because of the time commitment. But one day, I will have the time. And if the allure of the theatre still holds sway, I look forward to being part of it all.

Every Day

Every day, you should do something that makes you happy.

Every. Single. Day.

Hallowe'en

If it weren't for the kids, who love Hallowe'en, I'd probably be one of those grumps who hide in my basement with the lights off so that no-one comes to my door. Not that anyone, in the six years we've lived here, has ever ventured down the quarter mile long laneway even when all the lights have been on and the kids' jack o'lanterns are glowing in the windows. Most kids are more savvy than to bother with the country when they can go to the nearby villages and towns. Which is what we did last night after a leisurely get together dinner with friends.

We started off at the firehall where the volunteer firefighters and Sparky the fire dog served hot chocolate and snacks to anyone who ventured by (about 700 kids most years), and then went trick or treating through small town Ontario. And I discovered that despite it all, there are benefits to Hallowe'en.

1. Walking the leaf-strewn streets of a small town past the library and the senior's centre and the community hall and the century brick and gingerbread homes is a wonderful experience, and on a night like last night, where it was cool but not cold, and a full moon scurried in between clouds, was downright beautiful.

2. We got to socialize and catch up with all the people we know but don't always get a chance to see. While the kids ran up to doors, we stood in the streets chatting and exchanging news with old friends, as well as meeting parents of friends the children have made in their new school. I had the urge all night to say things such as "Well met again by moonlight" but resisted because Andrew would have disowned me if I started quoting Shakespeare at random.

3. While there are always some teenagers who think regular clothes and a mask do a Hallowe'en costume make, some of the other costumes were clever and intricate and really very well done.

4. As for the kids, they were all just adorable. Nothing is more cute than a wobbly 18 month old in a Tigger costume or a Bat Man suit.

5. On the way home we stopped at the rural homes of some of our older neighbours because they don't get out as much and because they love to see the kids, and though it took roughly 10 minutes at each house, it was worth it just for the smiles.