tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53748943610403822942024-03-13T10:57:08.146-07:00east van chronicleseverything is personal.AJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18030363133080159526noreply@blogger.comBlogger493125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5374894361040382294.post-73402827776906104202019-03-15T10:54:00.000-07:002019-03-15T11:19:13.676-07:00Learned Behaviour<span style="font-size: large;">I wake up and realize that- for me, anyway- Spring Break has truly begun. It's just Friday, but my work week tends to be front-loaded, and Friday/Saturday are <i>my </i>days. I snuggle down in my bed and relax. My apartment tends to be under-heated, but in the perfect pair of Alpaca socks (and the space kitty onesie), I am cozy and warm. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Most days I would cruise Instagram for a while, but since I've mostly abandoned Facebook, that "while" has been creeping up and up. Recently I realized that I was often on there for over an hour a day. <i>An hour a day! </i>Not acceptable. Even my YouTube hero <a href="https://www.youtube.com/user/caseyneistat" target="_blank">Casey Neistat</a> has recently said he spends too much time scrolling through social media on his phone. If he can cut back, anyone can. So now I pay attention to the warning on the app that tells me when I've been on there for fifteen minutes... and when that fifteen minutes hits, I stop. No ifs, ands, or buts. Less time on social media is one of my Big Goals this year, so making this change is necessary. I'm learning, slowly, to make changes so I'm less addicted to social media. It's amazing how quickly I don't miss it. A few days are usually enough. Always scary how fast you can get re-addicted, though. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Instead of mindlessly phone-scrolling, I read a friend's <a href="http://www.luciafrangione.com/daily-story-2/" target="_blank">blog</a>. She hasn't been writing as often, so it's a delight to see that she's back... and in Spain, no less. A playwright by trade, she has a wonderful knack of painting a scene with some well-chosen words. I decide to update my own, with some ideas that have been floating around in my head for a while now.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But first: <i>le Francais</i>. Another change. My mother and I sat down in January and plotted out a summer trip to Europe. Not only plotted, but put down some $$$ on plane tickets and AirBnBs. Paris, Bruges, Berlin, and Prague await! We are determined to be able to order food in German and French. (Flemish and Czech? Well, I'm determined to know "please" and "thank" you in those two.) So as I write this blog I'm also doing French lessons on Duolingo, where a happy owl dances delightedly whenever I finish a lesson. My mother has embraced German with a passion, but I find French more fun, since thanks to my Canadian education I already know some. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">More changes: the goals I put on my bedroom wall on post-it notes wave in their colourful way as I get out of bed. Since it was the first time I'd ever done anything like this, I made the mistake of putting a lot of long-term goals up there, but not as many short-term ones. So, lofty goals like <i>stop using paper cups</i>, <i>write a song a month</i>, and <i>write the first draft of your play</i> will likely be up there on the wall for the whole year. It does not escape my attention that fitness goals (<i>do a bike challenge;</i> <i>do yoga every day for a month</i>) and writing goals (<i>make notes for future play</i>; <i>write songs for future play</i>) are getting accomplished a lot faster than theatre or music goals. <i>Form a new band</i>? The current one hasn't accomplished much yet this year. <i>Get headshots</i>? Too expensive. Theatre is once again on the back burner as I immerse myself in music teaching. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Good thing I didn't walk away from it, as I was tempted to do this winter. High on the success of <i>Fiddler on the Roof</i>, plus two other large productions, I pictured a successful return to freelancing, with no more teaching. Ha. I chafed against teaching life the first few weeks I was back, missing the applause, missing the camaraderie of my cast-mates, missing the easy routine: Show up and try to be excellent, every day. Okay. In teaching, the routine is more like, Show up and try not to murder anyone. Or, Try not to expose the gaping holes in your knowledge. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I love it though. Teaching. I learn to love it more every year and it's hard-won love, which makes it more special. It's never easy but sometimes now it feels wholly <i>right</i>, in the way that performing does. </span><br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YRwfD1EfKAA/XIvl5C9j5SI/AAAAAAAALH8/GmpC26o4Rb8Nt-t7cVB5wHocBJwwArthACLcBGAs/s1600/20190315_092617.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YRwfD1EfKAA/XIvl5C9j5SI/AAAAAAAALH8/GmpC26o4Rb8Nt-t7cVB5wHocBJwwArthACLcBGAs/s400/20190315_092617.jpg" width="300" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">Back to the Goals. When one gets accomplished, I peel the post-it note off my bedroom wall, fold it up, and stick in in a big jar, along with other post-it notes which have particularly happy or important moments written on them. The idea is that at the end of 2019 I will have a jar full of wonderful goals and happy moments to read about. That jar sits next to a much smaller tin which is slowly filling with money. Another new thing: all twonies and loonies are put in the tin, which has <i>Croissant Fund</i> written on it. By the time the Europe trip rolls around I hope to have several hundred dollars in coins, which will buy me delicious French pastries. I am learning new behaviour around money, at this advanced age. I am learning to make do with a little less now, in order to have a little more later. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">One of the reasons I gave up on Facebook: almost no one's story ever changes. You can take a break for months and when you come back, everyone is still posting <i>the exact same thing</i>. I am trying to change my story a little bit, with goals and French lessons and saving money. Some things are harder to change than others:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strike><i>I will stop eating all sugar</i></strike></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strike><i>I will drink nothing but green smoothies for breakfast</i></strike></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strike><i>I will stop eating croissants and bread until Europe</i></strike></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strike><i>I will exercise every other day</i></strike></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I will do yoga and try not to outgrow any of my clothes. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Still some work to do here, obviously. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sometimes our stories change drastically for sad reasons: death, divorce. Sometimes we make decisions that change the course of our lives, like <a href="https://www.renegademothering.com/2019/03/10/we-have-some-big-news-notababy/" target="_blank">one of my favourite bloggers recently did</a>. Our stories don't <i>have</i> to change at all. But getting stuck in a rut is so easy: we blame having kids, we blame being poor, we blame our jobs, and we never change. And that's lame, quite honestly. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Recently I was in a music class of kids with autism, and as always, we asked a check-in question. <i>What do you like to learn?</i> we asked, and a hulking teenaged boy answered<i> I like to learn about social skills,</i> and my heart just melted. People with autism often struggle to learn social cues and behaviour that neurotypical people take for granted. This guy has identified a challenge and he's out there <i>learning about it</i>. I love that. It drives me crazy when people say <i>I hate parties. I'm socially awkward. I'm shy. Adulting is hard.* </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">You know what you can do? Learn. Practice. Change your story, little by little. Go to parties. Learn to make polite conversation. Practice. Call a friend instead of watching Netflix for hours. Practice. This is learned behaviour. If people with autism can do it, so can you/I.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">*These are all things I have said, by the way. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's now 10:45am. I am still in bed. On the plus side: I wrote, I stayed off social media. On the minus side: I am still in bed. I will get up soon, and I will probably not have a green smoothie for breakfast. I will think about what parts of my story I want to change and hopefully I'll keep practicing and saving money and staying off Facebook/Instagram and doing yoga and I'll immerse myself in the daily business of not getting into a rut. </span><br />
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EastVanAlliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13338277463392417722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5374894361040382294.post-14172035071404000842019-01-24T11:56:00.001-08:002019-01-24T11:57:27.637-08:00I Gave Up Ambition For 2019 (clickbait title) <span style="font-size: large;">Can we talk for a second about guilt?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Specifically <u>my</u> guilt, because I don't know if you've ever felt like this. Or maybe you have?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Do you, as a "creative", feel guilty if you're not doing something All.The.Time?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Do you glance over your shoulder to see if the wolf is almost at the door if you have a few days or weeks to put your feet up?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Ever felt like less of a person because you weren't madly writing your next play/song/book?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Let's talk about this quote for a second:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">For the record, I agree with Mr. Tozer 100%. But here's the thing. If we're not taking a little time to <i>enjoy</i> our progress before launching into the next thing, what's the point? </span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Let's recap:</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Five years ago in January I was subletting an apartment. Then I moved into my brother's place. For three years. I barely got any work in the city, putting all my effort instead into my spring/summer job up north. I had yet to meet my boyfriend. Finding the 500 dollars (!!!) I needed to pay rent for the bedroom I lived in was often a challenge. I had never taught a class. I had almost never performed professionally, except up north.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">And now:</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was almost exactly two years ago that I found my sweet little basement suite on Craigslist. I have never had to borrow money to pay the (substantially more than $500) rent, and I've never been late. Not once. I started teaching music classes. I've performed professionally all over the place. My new band has recordings I actually enjoy listening to. In order to help pay for the apartment (and to pursue my theatre dreams instead of playing it safe), I was out of town; away from my home and my love for <i>25% of the calendar year</i>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So here I sit , at 11:30 am, in my Space Kitty onesie and a toque (my apartment is cold in the winter, it turns out). I had a green smoothie for breakfast- part of a regimen of health and lifestyle changes and challenges I'm spicing up my life with- I did my yoga, I was just about to get into the shower... </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And then I thought: <i>I don't have to.</i> I don't work on Thursdays, the onesie was soft and fleecy and warm... </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So I sat my fleece-covered ass down and started writing this post. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">You know, if you've read this blog before, that I struggle with The Hustle. I love my work, but I also love my downtime. I believe strongly in a work-life balance, except for me? the scales will always be more weighted on the Life side. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I came back from two months away and I started working pretty soon after, but let's be real here: I only work about 20 hours a week right now. I have a sweet deal, because my teaching jobs pay pretty well. So, what's happening during the hours in which I do not work? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Am I calling colleagues and making connections and generally hustling for the next contract? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am not, but I AM calling venues and looking for places to play gigs and gearing up to play regularly with my band after a forced hiatus because I was away for so long.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Am I writing songs?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am not, but I've started work on adapting a favourite novel into a 1-woman show.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Am I running/doing HIT/going to yoga class?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am not, but I'm doing 20 minutes of yoga a day at home (thanks, Yoga With Adriene!), drinking green smoothies, cutting out alcohol and coffee, limiting sweets, cooking at home, walking or biking to work, drinking lots of water. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'm also learning German. (More on this soon.) I quit using Facebook again (okay, only 2 days so far, but it feels good).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have a list of goals on my bedroom wall, in colourful post-its. I am actively working on most if not all of them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'm also watching more Netflix and YouTube videos than I have in ages. In my onesie. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This is precious time for- much as I loathe the term- Self Care. Precious time to enjoy my home and re-connect with my sweetheart after being away for 8 weeks. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, do I have a takeaway from this post? Is this just monstrous self-justification for a month of laziness? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But you know, when I stop feeling guilty, I realize that I also feel... happy. Would I want all my months to look like this? Well no, but I also don't want all my months to be frantically busy, either. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I think we- as women, but also as a culture of creative, self-employed people- are conditioned to sacrifice, to be uncomfortable, to hustle, to be overburdened.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> [<a href="http://www.amandamagee.com/2019/01/incidental-joy-or-saying-yes-to-little-things/" target="_blank">Read this post,</a> by a blogger I adore, if you want to get an idea of what it means to be juggling too many things.]</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When we don't feel like this: stressed out, exhausted, juggling multiple projects, we feel guilty for not Doing It All. What bullshit. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have a holiday booked for this summer. When it rolls around, I want very much to feel that I earned it with a lot of honest, hard work. But when the soft times come, I also want know that I savoured them in the best ways I could, with leisure and self-improvement and domestic pleasures.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And then, just maybe, the wolf at the door will also just lie down on your doorstep and take a little nap. </span></div>
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<br />EastVanAlliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13338277463392417722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5374894361040382294.post-69720318613500993922019-01-02T20:15:00.001-08:002019-01-02T20:17:00.558-08:002018: Year In Review <i>I stared writing this blog entry just before Christmas 2018, and now I'm into day 2 of 2019, and back home in Vancouver after 2 months away. </i><br />
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I'm in Saskatoon, into the home stretch of a two-month-long contract of <i>Fiddler on the Roof</i>, looking forward to being home with my love (and back in my cosy basement den), but sad to leave such a beautiful production behind. On Instagram I wrote that this show has given me the gift of helping me become more of who and what I am, and I think that's actually true of this whole year, now I think about it. In 2017 I started realizing that I could never step away from performing, and that teaching would always take a backseat to my being a musician and theatre artist. This year, I was able to realize those dreams; in large part due to a lucky, lucky fact: just as I'm stretching my wings as a performer, it is truly becoming the era of the Musician/Actor. More and more productions are abandoning expensive pit bands for shows where the actors also play all the instruments. As far as I'm concerned, long may this trend continue. Of course, going (mostly) back to contract work had its downsides too: I endured a nasty stretch of being super-broke this fall, and had to battle Imposter Syndrome with every contract. Being a performer also meant going where the work was, and this has meant around 4 months of being away from Vancouver in the last 12 months. Being away for a good third of the year has meant that my future as a teacher is less certain, and that I can't always be there for my friends, or my band. I am supremely lucky to have friends who understand, and a partner who is unfailingly not only supportive, but generously excited about every thing I do. It's been so wonderful to watch him stretching his wings this year too, taking on exciting new challenges as his marketing and design ventures begin to ramp up. We may not be the <i>youngest </i>power couple ever, but by god, we're going to be movers and shakers some day!<br />
Here's how 2018 unfurled for me:<br />
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<b>January:</b> Halfway through the month I packed my bags and sailed for Vancouver Island to perform in a production of <i>Once</i> at Chemainus Theatre. It was strange and beautiful to be back in a place where I'd lived and performed multiple times over a decade before. Chemainus was in the thick of its quiet season when we began rehearsals, and the constant rain and shuttered businesses made me feel as if I was living in a ghost town. On the plus side, I was living in a house with a fireplace! Rehearsals were packed full of music, and soon, so were our brains.<br />
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<b>February:</b> <i>Once</i> opened, and Jay was able to come over from the mainland to take in opening night and explore the Cowichan Valley with me for a couple of nights. The show was joyous, and in my down time I developed a passion for antiquing (especially for little silver items). My roomie and I enjoyed many nights of post-show fires and wine, but unfortunately the weeks of heavy rain took their toll, and quite a few people in the cast battled viruses. I battled insecurity: sometimes I'd feel on top of it all, and sometimes I'd feel as if I had no business being in a play at all.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dN8NXf_WuKY/XC2LgAy4S7I/AAAAAAAAKxc/Gb1u0s6uJiEcbDBA988s8qOxtwG9Io4PACLcBGAs/s1600/20180310_192144.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dN8NXf_WuKY/XC2LgAy4S7I/AAAAAAAAKxc/Gb1u0s6uJiEcbDBA988s8qOxtwG9Io4PACLcBGAs/s320/20180310_192144.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not the most flattering shot ever of me, but I've got a nice crew. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>March:</b> <i>Once </i>closed fairly early in the month and I headed back to the mainland, and back to teaching. My calendar says that I taught some Spring Break classes at Arts Umbrella, but I have very little memory of this. I also celebrated one year of living in my delightful apartment. It took a good long while to lose the cough I got in Chemainus, and my memory is that I still had it in the spring.<br />
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<b>April:</b> This was a busy month. I started teaching at SoM again. I also began a theatre workshop called the Greek Play Project, which was a whirlwind of devising, Suzuki exercises, Viewpoints work, and songwriting on the fly. I went to a little event called BC Distilled- which was fun, by the way- got a little (ok, a <i>lot</i>) drunk, and quit drinking for 3 months. Started recording songs with the Rogue Crows, at wonderful Monarch Studios, an ongoing project that spanned the spring and summer months.<br />
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<b>May:</b> Another busy one, with lots of changes. The Greek Play Project continued and concluded. I finished teaching at SoM. Jay and I snatched a short but beautiful holiday on Saltspring at a converted aerial gym shaped like a church, with 40-foot ceilings and gorgeous acoustics. We ate, we drove, we jogged, we swam, and we recorded music together. It was a dream. And then we came home and I dove into rehearsals for my second production of Once. At the Arts Club. Another dream come true. A cast with some old friends, some new ones, and more laughs than I'd ever imagined. Still, I fought with shyness and imposter syndrome, but mostly I just had fun.<br />
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<b>June:</b> I settled into the pleasant routine of rehearsing, and then performing, a show. There are many reasons I love doing plays, but one of the big ones is having a stable schedule. Of course, the downside is that your evenings are all taken up for weeks at a time.<br />
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<b>July:</b> was more of the same. One of my great pleasures in doing this contract was my constant biking to and from Granville Island. A leisurely 30 minute trip either way, and mostly along the seawall. Between the biking and the fairly active show, I lost a bit of weight and felt healthier.<br />
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<b>August:</b> <i>Once</i> extended to the 5th, then closed. I immediately bought a new bike to counter the post-show blues, and enjoyed going on expeditions with "Livy" all over town. <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0MacZaTTGKE/XC2J-5KlemI/AAAAAAAAKxI/q8ALtbFYm-MR2NOQvomDzzZ8R7v-riT_ACEwYBhgL/s1600/20180919_124808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0MacZaTTGKE/XC2J-5KlemI/AAAAAAAAKxI/q8ALtbFYm-MR2NOQvomDzzZ8R7v-riT_ACEwYBhgL/s320/20180919_124808.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">True love.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Unfortunately, heavy smoke from BC forest fires meant that some longer excursions- like a trip to the Island- were curtailed. Jay and I saw Nathaniel Rateliff at the Burnaby Roots & Blues Festival. At the end of the month I took a short but super-fun trip to Toronto to see my friend Theresa and to run a 5k race with her on the lovely Toronto Islands.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IFBpcei8dl4/XC2JyzWLtNI/AAAAAAAAKxM/VqDsC7aEUdMClBvOhFOQth15qUYLWFqGQCEwYBhgL/s1600/20180830_191430.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IFBpcei8dl4/XC2JyzWLtNI/AAAAAAAAKxM/VqDsC7aEUdMClBvOhFOQth15qUYLWFqGQCEwYBhgL/s400/20180830_191430.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I ran a (tiny) race!</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Rxms4U4W21g/XC2GhljMjCI/AAAAAAAAKv8/Q7nP2mws57UD9Kw1T8ZQ1UUgHvwVD_HkgCLcBGAs/s1600/20181029_170907_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Rxms4U4W21g/XC2GhljMjCI/AAAAAAAAKv8/Q7nP2mws57UD9Kw1T8ZQ1UUgHvwVD_HkgCLcBGAs/s320/20181029_170907_HDR.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Having fun with my new phone's camera in False Creek.</td></tr>
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<b>September:</b> As I had decided to accept an offer to do a musical in Saskatoon in November/December, I was not able to return to Sarah M school to teach, as they didn't want me making a brief appearance and then having to leave again. So it was back to the world of freelancing, with all of its excitement and uncertainty. One of the gigs that got me through (and was really fun to do) was Secret City: Robson Square, for which I interviewed a dancer and turned the true story of how he met his now-wife into a song.<br />
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<b>October:</b> As I wasn't teaching, I went back to my favourite seasonal job: the Pumpkin Patch. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WRsv6xRpJuY/XC2F6q5uW9I/AAAAAAAAKvs/3qAvez3p9k0FC6I0SiotWlVVJzzvHQ7uwCEwYBhgL/s1600/20181006_115114.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WRsv6xRpJuY/XC2F6q5uW9I/AAAAAAAAKvs/3qAvez3p9k0FC6I0SiotWlVVJzzvHQ7uwCEwYBhgL/s320/20181006_115114.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Typical Pumpkin Patch scene.</td></tr>
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Sunny, dry weather made for fun shifts there, but the downside was that in my second month of freelancing, I was BROKE. It was sobering to have a bank account that was sometimes in single digits again, but luckily, money started to come in by the end of the month. I also got to be a part of a workshop of a new musical that told the true story of a labour dispute here in Vancouver. It was exciting to be part of something that was still early in its development phase. A quick drink with my love on Halloween Night, and it was off I went to the prairies in...<br />
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<b>November: </b>I flew to Saskatoon November 1st, and began rehearsals the next day for Persephone Theatre's production of <i>Fiddler on the Roof</i>. Our brains full from cramming sheet music into our memories, our bodies sore from holding instruments and from choreography, we struggled- as every production does- with getting it all done in time for opening. And we did. Jay was even able to fly out to cheer me on at opening night (and eat some Saskatoon Berry pie!).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lpzWrY6OB_c/XC2GZWPCjII/AAAAAAAAKv0/VYZ4iR0cXXAbe4LjKkLp1gQyModw84KQQCLcBGAs/s1600/20181117_093643.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lpzWrY6OB_c/XC2GZWPCjII/AAAAAAAAKv0/VYZ4iR0cXXAbe4LjKkLp1gQyModw84KQQCLcBGAs/s400/20181117_093643.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What Saskatoon looked like for much of my stay.</td></tr>
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<b>December:</b> <i>Fiddler</i> extended four times, taking our run almost to the end of the month. Having been scared that the cold would keep me inside and inactive, I was relieved to find it invigorating. It didn't hurt that it was relatively "warm" there too- never got colder than minus 21. I walked miles, I hung out with other cast mates, I read a lot of books and ate at many fine cafes. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were surprisingly magical, even though I was far away from loved ones. My mother joined me on Boxing Day, saw my show, and hung out with me for a final couple of days before we flew home together on December 30th.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2C4A3lmPtRM/XC2J1Rr3UHI/AAAAAAAAKxE/Zr76IkdiauINB0QkHEMF11d-9ZfQpBM8wCEwYBhgL/s1600/Fruma%2BSarah1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="599" data-original-width="900" height="265" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2C4A3lmPtRM/XC2J1Rr3UHI/AAAAAAAAKxE/Zr76IkdiauINB0QkHEMF11d-9ZfQpBM8wCEwYBhgL/s400/Fruma%2BSarah1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No fun whatsoever.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-doBVfDl49ho/XC2GoofbypI/AAAAAAAAKwE/vENScYumfOsVChS5XQpG2xdCzGD6MVywwCLcBGAs/s1600/20181117_180852.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-doBVfDl49ho/XC2GoofbypI/AAAAAAAAKwE/vENScYumfOsVChS5XQpG2xdCzGD6MVywwCLcBGAs/s400/20181117_180852.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This show made my heart grow at least 3 sizes. </td></tr>
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2018 felt like a year in which I got to spread my wings, with all the dangers and thrills that accompany flight. See you in 2019!<br />
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<br />EastVanAlliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13338277463392417722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5374894361040382294.post-38942229453348940342018-10-30T13:47:00.001-07:002018-10-30T14:58:18.019-07:00Storytelling and Theatrical Truth<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Two snapshots:</span><br />
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<ol>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>Three people duck and weave through torrential rain in search of a bar. When they find an appropriately dark and cozy spot, they slump on their chairs. One woman puts her head down on the table. The other woman stands and stretches her back, which is stiff and sore with tension. All three of them feel emotionally flayed by what they have just witnessed. </b></i></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>A reading of a new musical still very much in progress. It's about a violent, shameful event that took place here in Vancouver, just blocks away from where this event now takes place. At the end of the event there is a wonderful moment when two members of the longshore workers' union meet with the cast. One of them tells a short true story that illustrates why this musical about a long-ago event is still, sadly, relevant today. </b></i></span></li>
</ol>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I love stories. I think that stories are the reason we have theatre, art, music, dance. As we struggle- more and more in these dark times- to make some kind of sense of our human condition, these stories won't save us, but they may help us to understand. To process. And maybe even to learn from the past. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I spent five years in a place where the past was mined daily for stories. Literally mined, in some cases, as this was a gold rush town. We sang, we danced, we interpreted the past- for entertainment, yes, absolutely, but also to keep those stories alive. To say <i>You were here, and we remember, and we honour you by telling your stories now. We acknowledge that this piece of our past was important. You did not always do the right thing, and your treatment of the environment and the local indigenous people was often, frankly, appalling, but we are not perfect either, and we can learn from what you did. We ARE you, separated only by the passing years. </i>Sometimes the history we interpreted was told in a way that was frankly, pretty cheeseball. Sometimes it erred on the side of being accurate, but dull. And sometimes, like Goldilocks' porridge, it was just right. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It's an interesting puzzle, deciding on truth versus theatrical truth, and I remember a perfectly civil but passionate discussion between a playwright/director, a historian/playwright and a writer/historian about staying absolutely faithful to the truth versus telling a compelling story. And here's where I declare my allegiances: I am passionately on the side of theatrical truth. (And just as passionately against cheesiness, but that's a whole other blog post.) But it takes a discerning storyteller to know when the truth needs a tweak, and when to leave it alone. I am reminded of a wonderful passage in an L.M. Montgomery novel where the young heroine writes down and publishes a story that someone told her, and is confused when someone praises her for her work. "But I didn't do anything," she protests, "I just wrote down what he told me, in his words." "Exactly," replies her friend. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So then, we get to storytelling. Which is a whole other art, and one that's ably celebrated in Vancouver by events such as <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/flamevancouver/" target="_blank">The Flame</a> and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/StoryStoryLie/" target="_blank">StoryStoryLie</a>. The format varies, but often there is a theme or prompt, and storytellers tell a true story that has something to do with that theme. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And we get to my first snapshot, where three people spent an hour in a bar trying to digest the stories they'd just heard, and finding it rough going. One of those people, of course, was me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We'd played music at a storytelling event, a fundraiser, where the prompts were Best Laid Plans, and Confessional. Which, obviously, have a lot of room for interpretation. But for whatever reason, all five true stories went to dark, dark places. There were</span></div>
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Two stories from people dealing with serious, life-threatening cancer</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Two #MeToo stories</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">One story-slightly lighter- about racism</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And us, a 3-piece band telling stories through our songs all three of which happened to be written by me.</span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">All of the stories had laugh-aloud parts, and all of them were well-told.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Well. I can look at the bright side and say that seldom was our music as welcomed and probably even needed by an audience as it was by that one. Reeling from the emotional impact of all this personal darkness, the audience was silent and spellbound by our songs, and applauded enthusiastically after each one. </span></div>
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<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But on a more serious note, I can honestly say that never in my happy, mentally stable and privileged life have I ever felt more viscerally the need for trigger warnings. The stories I was hearing were devastating to hear, and my friends and I ALL felt bruised by their impact. And afterwards, in that bar, we struggled to make sense of it all. It felt, I said, a lot like being accosted by that person who you've just met, who proceeds to tell you unsavoury details about their lives before they barely know more about you than your name. (In fact, I met a person like that very recently.) Why were the storytellers placing such trust in strangers? And on the flip side, what about our trust as an audience? Was it being betrayed by being exposed to such a poorly-curated event?</span></div>
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<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Art can and <u>should</u> lead us to the dark places. One of the most-lauded shows in Vancouver this fall was a story about a father and his changing relationship with his adult, severely disabled son. I didn't get a chance to see it, but 100% of the feedback I heard was strongly positive, in the vein of GO SEE THIS NOW. The musical I was recently involved with (snapshot #2) tells the story of a violent and deadly labour dispute in Vancouver through songs and scenes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So what's the difference? Do we,<i> or I</i>, need a veil of fiction to go safely into those scary places? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I think there's some truth to this. Fiction takes the story and makes it universal. We see a story and think <i>That could be me</i>. Whereas if someone's telling you <i>their</i> story, I think that it's actually easier to withdraw, to become desensitized to their woes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">On the other hand, I have to say that I am enormously glad that people are helping to remove the stigmas around abuse, mental illness, and other huge issues, by being honest and telling their stories. While I would not personally choose to go there on social media, I applaud my friends who have the courage to be graphically honest about things that have happened to them. I need to say this, so that you don't think that I want to sweep this stuff under the rug. I <i>don't.</i> Maybe the difference (for me, anyway) is that reading a piece that someone's written still allows me some distance and the option to absorb their dark story at my own pace. I can choose to read it; I can choose to leave it. Or I can have a conversation with a friend and feel honoured that they would choose to confide in me. But being in the same room as all that darkness laid on me by strangers felt very different, and by the end of it I felt used. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So I guess I'm not posting this to say I have any answers. And of course, I'm sure that other people attended the same events I did and had totally opposite reactions than mine. Maybe they thought the new musical was boring or it didn't resonate with them; maybe they embraced the true stories as raw, honest, and necessary. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We have entered an age of sometimes brutal honesty and oversharing, thanks to social media, but as many people have already pointed out, even the oversharing is more curated than we often realize. As more people come forward with their stories, I think we need to ask some questions: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">How do we best share dark things in a way that respects both the artist and the audience? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">As I head east to help tell a <a href="https://tickets.persephonetheatre.org/TheatreManager/1/tmEvent/tmEvent822.html" target="_blank">hugely popular fictional story</a> with very dark undertones that has become shockingly <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2018/10/29/world/middleeast/pittsburgh-killings-jewish-rifts.html?action=click&module=Top%20Stories&pgtype=Homepage" target="_blank">even more relevant in the past week</a>, I leave you with these questions:</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">What is the best way to tell a story? Truth? Fiction? Or an artful combination of the two?</span></div>
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EastVanAlliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13338277463392417722noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5374894361040382294.post-24136082248918892602018-10-14T22:26:00.000-07:002018-10-14T22:26:41.763-07:00Parallel Universes<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Reynaldo is my hero today. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He fixed my accordion straps with string so I could keep playing all day at the pumpkin patch. I don't know if you've ever played an accordion, but if you haven't? It's impossible to play one without straps. You need them to help brace yourself against the instrument so that you can squeeze the bellows that pump the air. When the metal loop that holds the straps on snapped today, it was just another blow for this poor, brave instrument that's suffered years of abuse at my hands. I love it so much and I've treated it so roughly! It now needs a complete overhaul: bellows full of holes, keys coming loose, reeds out of tune, leather straps breaking, and now the metal loops becoming stressed and snapping. This poor thing needs to retire. Without Reynaldo's quick thinking (and a few inches of string), I couldn't have made it through an 8.5 hour shift today. </span><br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ly6QHOVNhIw/W8QkFRcbgYI/AAAAAAAAKMo/THadbp9bXYQwsPcfuBL8fMMKar9XLZt2gCLcBGAs/s1600/squeezebox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ly6QHOVNhIw/W8QkFRcbgYI/AAAAAAAAKMo/THadbp9bXYQwsPcfuBL8fMMKar9XLZt2gCLcBGAs/s400/squeezebox.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm back at the pumpkin patch with a vengeance this year. Freelancing? No regular job? Damn betcha I need as many shifts there as I can get. It's actually wonderful to be back there a lot after several years of only doing a couple of shifts. I love it there. I <u>love</u> it. It makes me happy to be outside and it makes me happy to sing, so really this job couldn't be any better for me. I miss teaching, and I really miss having a steady paycheque. September was tight and October is way harder. Why sugarcoat it? My sweetie buys me toilet paper and my mom takes me for breakfast. Both of them give me frequent rides to work. I couldn't make it through without them. But in spite of everything, I am extremely happy. I have the almost grotesque luxury of choosing this life. I made my life harder because I chose to do a play next month instead of staying at teaching jobs and hating myself for not taking risks. How many people in this world get that kind of choice? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Reynaldo and his co-workers don't get that kind of choice, I bet. They come up to Harry's farm from Mexico every year to work. They drive the tractors that pull the wagons I sing on. I'm sure that's super easy compared to the other jobs they have to do around the farm. I asked one of them how long he was up here for and he said "seven months". Sheila the fiddle player was asking one of them how his year had been and he said his marriage had ended. No wonder, if he's up here seven months a year. They are all brown-skinned and black-haired and I feel bad because every year I have to re-learn their names. I think Harry's probably a great boss. I've seen teenagers growing into not-so-young adults working in his market, through all the Octobers I've been singing and playing out here. I've seen the same Mexican guys driving tractors and slinging pumpkins year after year too. Their English is pretty bad and my Spanish is way worse so I don't know much about them. I imagine they think it's pretty funny that thousands of people pay good money to bring their kids out to a farm right beside the highway to pick squash out of the mud, but then what do I know? Maybe they have pumpkin patches in Mexico too. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>EastVanAlliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13338277463392417722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5374894361040382294.post-88629309300348486072018-09-02T20:56:00.001-07:002018-09-02T20:56:15.618-07:00Impulsive<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This time last week, I was watching an outdoor play that was a 6-hour journey from Vancouver. What a crazy thing to do! To get in a car and drive all day (massive props to Mom for driving, since her daughter <b>STILL</b> doesn't have a license), and by evening we were <a href="http://caravanfarmtheatre.com/" target="_blank">there</a> watching the show, hugging our talented friends... and by the next day we were home again. The entire trip took less than 24 hours. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Which was followed by a 3:30am wake-up on the following day to get to the airport for a 6am flight to Toronto, so I could run a 5k race with a friend of mine. Two impulsive trips in the space of a week. (You can see lots of pictures of my travels and adventures <a href="https://www.instagram.com/eastvanallie/" target="_blank">here on Instagram</a>.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Toronto was amazing. The sun shone. I crammed a lot into four and a half days. And then, with my bank account dwindling, I flew home to some unsettling news: no Fall teaching job for me, due to (another) impulsive decision of mine: to accept a part in a musical in another city. I'd be away too long, and the music school, which patiently bore my many absences last year due to my theatrical career, changed their Leave of Absence policy (probably entire due to my shenanigans). I am now out of steady work until November. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We all love to post memes and hashtags urging us to #FollowYourDreams; telling us #YouOnlyLiveOnce. It is part of our (my) privileged-as-fuck culture to do so. There is a part of me that is so happy and surprised that people want me in their shows, that wants to follow these opportunities wherever they lead. And there is another part of me that sits here, in my dream home, the home that the teaching job pays for, and wonders</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i> what the hell did you do? </i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I lead a charmed life. I have the luxury of having no dependents, so I can take these kind of risks. I know that I would have been angry with myself for turning down the risky performing job to keep the safe job. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And yet. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I don't want to be scared that I can't make rent over the next 60 days. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I don't want to go back to "scraping by" instead of having a decent paycheque. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I don't want to be replaced at work.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What I really want, I know, is to have my cake and eat it too. And sometimes, that just isn't possible. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sometimes, being impulsive is a gift, but sometimes, it can get you into some scary situations. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'll let you know how this works out. It <u>will</u> work out. I think. </span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What do you do when interesting opportunities turn up? Do you follow the safe bet? Or do you follow your heart? </span></i></div>
<br />EastVanAlliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13338277463392417722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5374894361040382294.post-9623452690541084122018-08-14T22:07:00.000-07:002018-08-14T22:07:35.684-07:00Surviving a Post-Show, Pre-Apocalyptic August<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My show closes on Sunday the 5th. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Two-show-day: AC fail so sweating buckets; cast member sick; everyone sad but ready(ish) to move on; sing-act-bow-sing-act-bow-partyparty-sleep.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>My beautiful show closes on Sunday night.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Monday morning, I buy a new bicycle. A beautiful blue bike and I ride it everywhere. I'm goal-oriented, so I make a list of all the places I want to get to, on the bike or on foot, and I GO. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Deep Cove. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Arbutus Greenway.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Port Moody.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Burnaby Heights Trail.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Those are the ones I've crossed off the list and there are more to come:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Bowen Island, Richmond Dyke Trail, Fort Langley, The River District, Vancouver Island. My satisfaction grows with every red line I use to cross off the names of places I've been. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have coffee with a dear friend I haven't connected with in a long while. I get free tickets (a perk of my job) and I see <i>Mamma Mia</i> with a new friend. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I record two new songs with my band. It's some of the best work we've done. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My love and I bike to the Burnaby Blues & Roots Festival, where The Rural Alberta Advantage sings keening songs about Canada, and the Suffers charm us with their funk, and Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats simply blow us away. During their headlining set, the heavens open and sweet rain pours down, which is wonderful, until we have to bike home again and it's still raining. Hard. But we make it, and it's even kind of fun. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For a few days it's cooler, and grey. Then the heat comes back and the air is sting-your-eyes thick with forest fire smoke. The world is burning up. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I eat dim sum with a friend and go on a 25km bike ride, even though I am sick with a summer cold. I am knocked on my ass with fatigue that night, but the next day I start to feel better. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I watch a concert in somebody's front yard, everybody sitting on steps or on the lip of the sunken patio to catch every note of the sweetest voice you ever heard. Even in this grungy block between Broadway and 10th, in this nondescript front yard, there is so much beauty that it will make your eyes sting- with real tears this time, not just smoke. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I catch the bus to a lake- A real lake! That you can catch a city bus to!- and I walk its small circumference, just like I did this time last year. Just like last year, it's hazy with smoke; just like last year I am filled with equal amounts joy and dread at the world. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Just like last year I jump in and let the lake wrap her cool arms around me and I pretend things are normal and it's just another hot sunny day and maybe the world isn't ending, not just yet, please not just yet. And then I dry off and wait for the bus to take my out of the forest and back to my home. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>EastVanAlliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13338277463392417722noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5374894361040382294.post-58310101283665475802018-07-10T01:07:00.000-07:002018-07-10T01:07:13.944-07:00Too LateLate night in my living room. I spent the day tending to my house, which was sorely in need of some love. Grey skies kept me inside, or at least close to home.<br />
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It's a summer of love and good, good work. The first summer in years that I've been able to stay in town. This evening, I found out that <a href="https://artsclub.com/shows/2017-2018/once" target="_blank">my job</a> has been extended by one week. I couldn't be happier.<br />
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I like to eat early, so I don't go on stage feeling too full. Then I bike home and by the time I get there I'm ravenous. Many nights I've devoured late-night snacks (my go-to is chicken fingers, for some reason). There's a place close to my house that stays open strangely late, even on Mondays. I spent a couple of hours in there last week with a friend who was walking by. Two night-owl musicians catching up over beers and Irish whiskey.<br />
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I am in love with my night work. With lazy mornings and and taking bows and singing my heart out. With bike commutes and two-show days and waiting for the next heat wave.<br />
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I think about summers where I was working up north, ready to crumple the paper of my life's plan at the slightest hint of a better option. I was a drama queen, a troublemaker. I fell in mad love several times a week. I was careless.<br />
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My life is less fraught now, but new options still raise their heads. The difference is that I don't fall in and out of love at the drop of a hat. Love is here to stay, and the choices I have to make are work-related. <i>Play it safe / Follow your dreams.</i> Beautiful decisions. I may be poised on a cliff, but the ground beneath my feet is rock solid.<br />
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This song creeps up on me, like all the best ones do. One day it's just another track on an album I like, and the next day it's wrapping its tentacles around my heart. Soundtrack to the drama that still plays out, if only in my head. Missed connections and late nights and feeling strangely aware of that person sitting just to your right. Looking up and someone's eyes lock onto yours and your breath catches, just a bit. It's not for nothing that my favourite movie is <i>Lost In Translation</i>. I am a huge fan of the breathless crush, the unresolved but staggeringly strong attraction.<br />
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The drama is not mine anymore. I swam out of the rapids and now I get to float in the warm shallows. This song is where I go to remember how it feels to be madly in love and crushingly sad, all at the same time.<br />
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It wasn't all bad.<br />
<br />EastVanAlliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13338277463392417722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5374894361040382294.post-37667683411139306172018-04-11T23:06:00.001-07:002018-04-11T23:06:37.259-07:00Eternal Nightcap<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I come across The Whitlams' </i>Eternal Nightcap <i>and it reminds me of being in the car on one of our road trips to the Central Coast where the four of us would sing the whole way. Our favourite song was 'You Sound Like Louis Burdett' and we'd sing it at the top of our voices. My mum would even let us sing the line "All our friends are fuck ups,' and Luca would sing it the loudest because it was the only time we were allowed to swear.</i></span><div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This line, from a young adult novel called <i>Saving Francesca</i>, was something I noted every time I read the book. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Do you have 'comfort reads'? Books that you dip back into when nothing else seems quite right. Books that hail you like an old, well-loved friend from the shelves on a lazy night? <i>Saving Francesca</i> is one of those for me. I came across it years ago while I was pricing books at the used bookstore where I used to work. A perk of working at a store with no computerized inventory is that there was no record... Reader, I liberated this book (and a few others over the years, I'll admit). And I read it many times, and I still go back to it a couple times a year. I don't know exactly why, except that the author, Melina Marchetta, manages to capture the essence of teenagers: moody, unfinished, loyal, loving, fierce, yearning, angry, funny... </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Here's my book-jacket blurb: </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Francesca, whose larger-than-life mum is suddenly stricken with debilitating depression, suddenly has to figure out the tough stuff by herself: she's in Year (grade) Eleven at a new school, and the crowd she used to run with isn't around to tell her how she should act anymore. After five years of being largely subdued and colourless- just to fit in better- Francesca may just rediscover her real personality and save herself, with the help of some new friends, her large Italian family, and a certain Will Trombal... </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The characters are well-drawn (Marchetta is a teacher) and wonderfully three-dimensional: Francesca often clashes with her uncompromising mother, but also loves her more than anyone else; her two closest male friends are two frequently oafish and crude teenaged boys, but they also show moments of true kindness as Francesca negotiates her difficult year. And although it's a story that could take place anywhere in the world, it also has little touches that set it firmly in Sydney, Australia, which makes it slightly exotic. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So anyway, I really like this book. And I'd always wondered about The Whitlams, but then I'd finish the book and totally forget to look them up on the internet to see if they were real.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Well... last July, Jay and I took a little road trip on Vancouver Island, and we stopped in at Ladysmith to look at my favourite antique store, and we also checked out a store that was most definitely second-hand as opposed to antique, and they had a tray of used CDs so we pawed through them, and lo and behold- </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">There it was. So I paid my 50 cents or whatever it was, went back to the car, and put the CD in the slot...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The lush strings of "No Aphrodisiac" came on, and 3 tracks later, there was "You Sound Like Louis Burdett", with its slightly deranged honky-tonk piano, and bizarre lyrics:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I'm chewing ice and grinning/I'm spewing up and spinning/It's biliousness as usual in my corner of the kitchen/Hey you, lose that friend before we go anywhere/</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And of course, the refrain:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>All my friends are fuck-ups/but they're fun to have around/Banana chairs out on the concrete/Telling stories to the stars...</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">There was '90s piano rock, there were more guitar-based tunes, there were songs that owed a lot to The Beatles, there was a song that wouldn't have sounded out-of-place in an Irish bar; there was even a Bob Dylan cover! And I was hooked. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We played The Whitlams quite a few times over that weekend road trip. Then I took it home and forgot about it, and just pulled it out two nights ago as I was sorting through receipts and papers to get stuff ready to do my taxes. And got pulled in again, the lush arrangements and loopy lyrics providing a cool counterpoint to a boring chore. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And that's the story of how a novel lead me, after many years, to an album I love. I'm glad I never remembered to look up The Whitlams while I was reading Saving Francesca. It made finding Eternal Nightcap in that grotty second-hand store all the more exciting. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Here's the song that Francesca and her brother Luca liked to sing at the tops of their voices. Enjoy. </span></div>
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EastVanAlliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13338277463392417722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5374894361040382294.post-37948214635539853852018-04-02T15:17:00.000-07:002018-04-02T16:02:21.184-07:00Spring A-waitening<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Spring is springing but it can't even be 5 degrees outside. I went for a run yesterday and the early spring wind made me gasp with its cruelty. Cruel too: chocolatey eggs and sugary candies everywhere and I *CAN"T* eat them because I'm wearing a bigger bra size than ever and I must, I must, I MUST decrease this bust. And tummy. And bum. I try to walk a moderate line but it's too hard, so it's back to low-carb this and lots of water and no desserts and less booze and yeah, running. All the fun stuff. Actually I like to run, but it's hard when you're carrying a few extra pounds. Maybe more than a few.<br />
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I think on all those wasted days in Chemainus where I sat around between shows and didn't work out. Yeah, <i>that </i>was smart.<br />
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It's the last day of my "break" between a show that's ended and the start of school-and other projects. My brain is filled up with ancient Greek plays and preschool rhymes. It's an interesting contrast. Preschoolers rending their garments and groaning <i>oi-moi, oi-moi</i>, while Electra and Medea grasp brightly-painted hand drums and sing <i>Somebody's Knockin' at my Door</i>.<br />
My hours and days are going to be so, so full, and I've left a lot of my prep until the last minute.<br />
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I think on all those wasted days in Chemainus where I sat around between shows and didn't work. Yeah, <i>that</i> was smart.<br />
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My email dings and it's Equity, announcing another audition. The part I auditioned for, they mention, has been cast. That means... well, it means that I'll be teaching music this fall, not performing in a musical. But it also means I can start looking for cheap tickets to Toronto, so I can run a 5k race with my friend Theresa. That's awesome! I think of my sweetie, doggedly sending in applications and expressions of interest to public art projects and corporate art projects and galleries and who-knows what else, casting his net far and wide. He simply carries on if he gets a rejection or doesn't hear back. And you know, it works. He's starting to get stuff. So that's what I'll do, just carry on and not let rejection stop me from trying.<br />
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I spend my last day of relative freedom flitting from one project to the next: printing out a plan for teaching my preschoolers tomorrow; recording a smattering of ancient-Greek-inspired lament; sketching out the idea for a new song. Feels like a day of waiting: the mail won't come, the emails don't arrive, love is at work, phone don't ring.<br />
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Sometimes the hardest part of Spring is waiting for all that promise to burst into bloom.<br />
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EastVanAlliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13338277463392417722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5374894361040382294.post-37506976645530059152017-12-31T18:44:00.001-08:002018-01-01T19:03:03.097-08:00Year In Review: 2017Where to start? Someone I know described 2017 as "the year in which everyone else's existential angst caught up to my own," which is a pretty good way to sum it all up. Last Christmas, I wrote that it felt as if we were teetering on some sort of abyss, and that still applies. But it's a year where we got angry. A year of #MeToo. A year of protests. We've had a year to get used to the fact that some terrible things have happened on the world stage. A lot of writing I've seen lately has been positive- it's almost as if we've hit the bottom of the (cess)pool, and now we have to push quickly upward, towards light and fresh air.<br />
Last year I also wrote that the negativity on social media made me despair, so this year I did something about it. In May I stepped away from Facebook, almost entirely, and it felt fantastic. I've been bingeing on it over this Christmas week, but I'll step away again, and what was surprising was how easy it felt after a day or two. I wish I could say the same for my sugar addiction, which is still something I struggle with. I don't weigh myself, but I know I'm heavy right now. I'm also running and hitting the gym, so hey, it's a work in progress. <i>I'm</i> a work in progress. Let's see how things progressed in 2017.<br />
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<b>January:</b> I joined thousands of pussy-hatted protesters downtown in hopes that we could start making the world a better, hate-free place. In faint hope, I started cruising the Craigslist ads... and hit the jackpot. I found a gorgeous basement suite just off Commercial Drive, with the nicest landlords in the world. I still pinch myself, every day. I did an online psychology course. Vancouver was snowy, to my everlasting delight. <br />
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<b>February:</b> I taught. I did some session work. I saved my money and packed up my bedroom, readying for the big move in March. It was still snowy. I had a revelation that although teaching was important, performing was still the most important thing in my life. I played music with my friends.<br />
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<b>March:</b> Big month! Moving day was on the 6th: two hours later my stuff was in boxes on the floor of my new place. Two days later it was mostly all unpacked. I don't waste time. The biggest incentive for having everything tidy? A week after I moved, I left for a 2-week trip to Saskatoon. It was cold, and I missed my new home, but working with the Persephone Theatre young company was rewarding. I also got to catch up with some old friends.<br />
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<b>April:</b> Back from Saskatoon and revelling in my new home, I also dropped straight into rehearsals for a remount of The Out Vigil. It was a delight to connect with such a wonderful show and such great people, and to get to perform in the beautiful Evergreen Cultural Centre. Then I was back to Saskatoon for a week. Underdressed and permanently freezing, I was happy to be able to tack on a quick visit to Kelowna to see my dad. I enjoyed the Okanagan warmth, and my weekend there.<br />
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<b>May:</b> One more week in Saskatoon for the opening of <i>Here</i>, by the Persephone Young Company. Very proud of the show I helped create, but I developed stomach pain that made much of my trip uncomfortable at best. Back to Vancouver, to teaching, to band practices.<br />
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<b>June:</b> Finished up teaching, and as is becoming tradition, I left for Saskatoon the day after for a three-week contract. It was STILL cold! In fact, I spent much of my time there freezing in the unseasonable chill. It warmed up at last, just in time for our long confinement indoors during tech week. I found this contract a bit challenging at times, but it was still a great chance to reconnect with some amazing people, and spend time in a city that I love.<br />
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<b>July:</b> Returned to Vancouver. Taught 2 weeks of summer music camp at Arts Umbrella. Biked, walked, and swam. Went for a month without sugar. Visited the island. Looked after my landlords' garden and made so much pesto.<br />
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<b>August:</b> Heatwave! Vancouver was smoky and <u>hot</u>. I was on holiday. I spent happy hours at the pool. I played at the Maritime Festival with the Crows. I enjoyed a rare visit from my dad and his girlfriend. I celebrated another trip 'round the sun on this crazy planet.<br />
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<b>September: </b>Back to work after one more glorious trip to the island to go tubing down the Cowichan River. Teaching started to feel like something I <i>did</i>, more or less naturally, rather than a strange experiment every day. And of course, just as that happened, a friend encouraged me to audition for a musical... and I got the part! Necessitating a term-long leave of absence from teaching that goes into effect in January of 2018 as I leave to work at Chemainus Theatre on Vancouver Island for 8 weeks. I can't wait.<br />
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<b>October:</b> After more than a month of watching him be busier than ever before, my sweetheart had his first solo art show! Almost as amazing as his art was watching all his nearest and dearest friends and family show up to support him at the opening night. #squadgoals, for sure.<br />
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<b>November:</b> More teaching. My first solo performance as a singer/musician in a long time. A great gig with my band the following week. This felt like a looonnnnnnng month for some reason. I think because I knew I wasn't coming back to school next term and I was eager for fall term to be done.<br />
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<b>December:</b> School concerts- always sweet and touching and chaotic. First recording session with the band. Dreaming of a white Christmas (got <i>just </i>enough snow!). Family time and time with my love, and too much food and not enough visits to the gym. But some, which was a start.<br />
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2018 is going to bring some big changes. To me, and the world. I hope they're positive. Love, strength, passion to you all.EastVanAlliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13338277463392417722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5374894361040382294.post-19324780388780826382017-12-19T16:17:00.000-08:002017-12-19T22:27:25.639-08:00Sore heads and Snow. <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Yesterday, I had a large lump taken out of my head by a remarkably unsympathetic surgeon. (Although the words "unsympathetic surgeon" may actually be tautology. I have been a Standardized Patient - role-playing for medical exams- for years, and surgeons almost always have the best brains... and the worst people skills.) Doctor Meanie (not his real name, sadly) offered to do the surgery for what he called "a tray fee" instead of the usual 400 dollars (this wasn't covered by MSP as it was not an essential surgery). But when I went back for the operation yesterday he complained throughout the procedure, and generally made me feel guilty for accepting something that he'd suggested in the first place. I contemplated the wiseness of getting into it with someone who was about to slice into my head and bit my tongue, but it made me feel simultaneously angry, and also like a charity case. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Anyway, when I sat back up after 15 or 20 minutes, I was surprised to realize that I felt much shakier and crappier than I'd foreseen. I'd been living with this annoying thing behind my ear for over 2 years, and when the opportunity to lose it had arisen I'd quickly accepted... but I hadn't really thought about how losing it would actually <i>feel</i>. What it feels like is as if someone sliced hard into my head, removed something, and then pulled the skin together really tightly and sewed it together roughly. Which is <i>exactly</i> what happened. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This is a busy week, what with Christmas and all. There are dinners to help cook, gatherings to attend, a couple of gigs, last-minute shopping to do. (Thank the gods that I only have a couple of people to buy for, because I've hardly done any shopping at all.) Today I had a gig at a seniors home, and my dear mother offered to drive me, my harp(!), and my accordion there. Twenty minutes before she arrived to pick me up... snow! We white-knuckled it through the unsalted streets to the gig, where my mother was thanked and applauded more than I was, for getting me there. It transpired that one of their other entertainers had had to cancel, and many family members had also backed out of the Christmas party. I played my motley assortment of Christmas accordion tunes and faked my way through a few harp instrumental numbers, and then we happily accepted their invitation to stay on for a turkey lunch. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And then, instead of trying to get things done, I took myself and my throbbing head home (actually, my mother took me. Thanks mom!) The Christmas tree is glowing, the <a href="http://benandbirdy.blogspot.ca/2005/09/rosemary-caramel-popcorn.html" target="_blank">rosemary-caramel popcorn</a> I'm eating is a perfectly acceptable dinner substitute, the Christmas blues/soul hits are playing on Spotify, and there is just enough snow outside to make it look wintery. I may regret this idleness in a day or two, when shopping and cooking overwhelm, but for today, it just feels like the most Christmas-y of days so far. Even with (or maybe because of) this sore, stitched head of mine. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EW50dbJt8nc/WjmrkEGGnrI/AAAAAAAAHfI/LHIOyD93Rfs_uUexq1ADEbsTT7eEHrqNACLcBGAs/s1600/20171219_152623.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EW50dbJt8nc/WjmrkEGGnrI/AAAAAAAAHfI/LHIOyD93Rfs_uUexq1ADEbsTT7eEHrqNACLcBGAs/s400/20171219_152623.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Actual, real SNOW! Not likely to last, though. Sigh. </td></tr>
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</span>EastVanAlliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13338277463392417722noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5374894361040382294.post-87596016865349725192017-12-14T23:44:00.000-08:002017-12-15T00:08:49.884-08:00Humbug!<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Have you ever tried to force a feeling or a mood and come up... just a bit short? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The seasonal holidays are upon us; as usual I have bushels of time off (unlike my theatre friends, who often get the 25th off and are back at work for a Boxing Day matinee), but although there are lights twinkling on my house, a tree brushing the ceiling of my apartment, AND QUITE LITERALLY A HARP LYING ON THE CARPET AT MY FEET, I'm not quite feeling that Christmas spirit yet. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Blame the snow, or lack thereof. Last December it snowed on the 5th and stayed snowy right into March, so I got my long-for White Christmas with a vengeance. Everything about that December felt almost stolen and delightful: the snow blanketing everything felt stolen from a colder country; my little Christmas tree crammed into a corner of my bedroom defiantly (my roommates had just gotten kittens, and had wisely decided against a tree); the last month of stolen relief before that orange buffoon ascended to the White House and destroyed the world... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This year there are no kittens to attack my tree, and I bought it so early (too early?) that now it doesn't smell all pine-y and fresh when I walk in the door. The weather stays Vancouverishly temperate. Some snow fell in early November(!) and I was delighted, but that was the last time. I cannot for the life of me think of the perfect present for my lovely Jay this year... There are a hundred small reasons and yet I know that it is mostly that I am missing the magic of snow, and I am trying too hard to make up for it, and you just can't force an atmosphere. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Tonight, my friend Tanya and I went to the Christmas Market together, which is now an annual tradition. We drank overpriced but delicious Gluwein and waited in line so long for perogies that we were actually happy to cough over the twelve (gasp! rage!) dollars each for a small plate of them. Then we waited in line to get into the tent where they sell the really expensive Christmas ornaments... and then suddenly I looked at my phone and realized that it was almost 9pm. Closing time! And we still had to get our photos taken with Santa and ride the carousel! We gave up on the carousel ride and proceeded to the photo booth, where Santa was looking decidedly livelier than last year (we'd thought he might die on us, actually). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And so, even in the absence of snow, and in the (saint) nick of time, a little Christmas magic after all. I think this sums up this year's Christmas really well: a little bizarre, a little weird, but still with a lot of potential. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kudos to Santa for playing along. </td></tr>
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EastVanAlliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13338277463392417722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5374894361040382294.post-69878517408891589862017-12-10T11:02:00.000-08:002017-12-10T11:02:25.266-08:00Eccentric Architecture<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the morning, I dream of water.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In my dream, I am walking down a street and I see an old building, slated for destruction. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But when I go in, it is a huge, covered swimming pool, and there are people. A cafe. Children playing. There is kind of a combined Italian cafe/pool hall/rec centre vibe. It's both very strange and perfectly normal, in the way of dreams. I meet <a href="http://www.luciafrangione.com/" target="_blank">Lucia</a> there and we have a lovely conversation, much more intimate than we would have in real life. We talk, I think, about things that happened to us a long time ago, but it's blurry like dreams can be, and I just remember a sense of peace. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wake up mostly feeling calm and inspired by all the turquoise water and the playing children. When I dream about eccentric architecture I often wake up with a fierce longing to actually experience the place I have just dreamed about, and I feel that now too. To spend a day surrounded by water and food and a good friend. Never mind that in real life that combination of things would be odd, and the person, although lovely, is not a close friend at all. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My Google search of dream interpretation says that dreaming of swimming pools <i>"...</i></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><i>suggests that you need to acknowledge and understand your feelings. It is time to dive in and deal with those emotions. You need to cleanse yourself and wash away past hurts. Consider the depth of the pool. If you were swimming on the deep end, then it means that those emotions are deeply seated and may be harder to confront.. You will need to work through it, no more matter how difficult. If you are swimming on the shallow end, then it implies that you should be able to easily deal with your feelings."</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Interestingly, an old friend reached out to me last night, just before bed. <i>What the f? </i>he asked. <i>You disappeared. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I did, and his message wakes thoughts and feelings I need to chew over. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I got off Facebook, because my friends' posts were making me bored, or angry, or despairing, and I wanted to remember what life felt like when my day wasn't being sucked away by the internet, and I enjoyed meeting my friends in person and knowing all their sides, not just silly memes and attention-grabbing posts (both which I was also guilty of, by the way). I got busy: I moved house; I worked in another city a lot; I had band practice and teaching and a boyfriend... In short, I was a bad friend. I thought that cutting back on social media (a move I don't regret in the <i>slightest</i>) would mean that I'd suddenly have dinner parties and coffee dates galore, but in reality my social life is dictated by the things and people that I love the most: my boyfriend, my band, my work. I am lucky in that my job as a musician means spending time with people I adore. Band practice is work, but it's also a social life, which is a large part of why I formed the band in the first place. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Last night as we ended our recording session (!) for the day, our recording engineer asked us if we had any plans for the evening and the other girl in the band (who is one of my best friends lately) said offhandedly "I'm going to a ball," and we all did a double take. Turns out one of her friends was having a birthday and decided to throw a ball. Just thinking about going to one, let alone <i>throwing</i> one, gives me acute anxiety. I thrive on performing; I can get up in front of people and perform and not even be scared about what might happen, but I cannot imagine trying to gather scores of people in a rented hall and having a celebration. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I think of the eccentric architecture of my friendships.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My bandmates, who are 3 very different people who somehow form a cohesive whole. We are tight. Even when I go away, they keep going without me, as I'd hoped would happen. When I had my birthday party/picnic this summer, they were pretty much the only people I invited. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The people I teach with. When my boss asked me if there was anyone at work I felt I could go to if I was having a problem or a bad day, I couldn't think of anyone I<i> wouldn't </i>go to. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My friend T, who is busy stage managing and living in the 'burbs but who keeps in touch. My Christmas Market date, my guilty-McChicken Meal-bingeing partner in crime. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My other friend T, who I met in Saskatoon; who lives in Toronto now, and with whom I carry on a surprising and delightful friendship almost exclusively over Instagram Messenger, of all things. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">D, who invites me to yoga and breakfast. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">J, who is my love and my best friend, and whose own friends have enthusiastically accepted me without reservation or exception. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And I think of rooms that are boarded up, maybe slated for destruction. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The friends who had families, who got preoccupied with diapers and routines and sudden illnesses and school. Maybe I wasn't always flexible enough to accept that other things were more important to them and maybe they weren't always willing to make firm plans. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The ones who live far away.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A couple of family members who didn't warm to my partner, and we haven't dealt with it because it's easier to let things drift apart than to hash it out. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My last Facebook post was also about friendship, now I think about it. These feelings run deep, and they need airing and investigating from time to time or they appear in odd ways, in dreams. The anxiety of living in this uncertain and scary world makes me want to reach out, but also hide in my little bunker. I love my world, but I never want to take my place in it for granted. I shore up the crumbling foundations and board up certain rooms and reopen other ones and find new rooms I never knew existed. Rooms with a view I never expected. And maybe a swimming pool/cafe or two as well...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>EastVanAlliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13338277463392417722noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5374894361040382294.post-23538657289038742952017-09-04T11:43:00.001-07:002017-09-04T11:44:37.971-07:00Impromptu Road Trip<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Sometimes you decide to take a last-ditch, last-minute trip to celebrate the end of summer. Neither of you has much money to spare, but you jump on the ferry and borrow someone's car on the other side and drive to the capital. There is eating and walking and lots of laughing. You might all decide to walk the one whole block(!) to the beach to catch the last of the sunset. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then there is bedtime in a small apartment, with three of you bedded down in the living room. One of you snores. Loudly. Not coincidentally, only one of you gets a single wink of sleep all night. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The next morning, you and your love will stumble to the beach again and search for sea glass, clutching your coffees like a lifeline. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1GJcD-12FPQ/Wa2TcjuQe-I/AAAAAAAAHYE/M7H4JW_w2jEe_SSzhD1_1isefFp0tCYEwCEwYBhgL/s1600/20170903_091324.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1GJcD-12FPQ/Wa2TcjuQe-I/AAAAAAAAHYE/M7H4JW_w2jEe_SSzhD1_1isefFp0tCYEwCEwYBhgL/s400/20170903_091324.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why is Victoria such a great place to find<br />
beach glass? I have no idea. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
You will find the best and cheapest breakfast place, right on the water, and the rest of your party will stumble in, and plans will shift and change, and soon you are heading to the river in two cars in the intense heat. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Of course, you are not the only ones who thought that tubing on the river during a heat wave on a holiday weekend would be a fine idea.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The first place is sold out of tube rentals(!), but there is a second place. Fast forward through the yucky stuff: lineups, waitingwaitingwaiting on the asphalt in the heat, figuring out how much time we have left before someone <strike>needs </strike>NEEDS TO BE HOME, packing hot bodies in a smelly van to drive to the river. Nothing matters but hauling your tube to the water and AHHHHH! you're in. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Even then, nothing's quite how you imagined: the water is still high but the current is sluggish so the breeze blows you backwards and it takes forever to float downstream to the rapids. But who cares? There is beer, and swimming, and lazy conversations. It's hard to capture this spectacular place, seeing as only one of you brought a phone. And- whoops!- guess what? Ziplock bags aren't waterproof! Someone's phone takes an impromptu bath! </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You finish later than you thought, of course. So two of your party race away, and you and your love linger at the ice cream store that sells homemade cookies, cupcakes, and other treats. You eat ice cream for dinner #1.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Dinner #2 is at the crazy little Mexican restaurant in Nanaimo. There's a lineup, and it's only open 'til 8, but the wait is short and the food is great, although it's so hot you might as well actually <i>be</i> in Mexico. And guess what? Even though you couldn't make ferry reservations and you're sure you won't get on... You drive to the ferry anyway and bliss! There's no lineup at all! You will get home earlier than you hoped, and a good thing too, because by the time you hit the sack you will have been up for over 36 hours. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OCFPjlDLWRc/Wa2RjLNM1OI/AAAAAAAAHX4/YSKv3VvQe6UFHnMGYf0naVF69-ziIfzRACEwYBhgL/s1600/20170904_104352.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OCFPjlDLWRc/Wa2RjLNM1OI/AAAAAAAAHX4/YSKv3VvQe6UFHnMGYf0naVF69-ziIfzRACEwYBhgL/s400/20170904_104352.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Sleep deprivation catches up to someone. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And you learn- again- that nothing ever goes quite according to plan, but that the way it went was actually</span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> better</i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> than you had planned, and you need to let go of always wanting to be in control of things. And he learns- again- that maybe making a few flexible plans isn't always a bad idea. You learn and you grow and you squabble and you laugh, and you have happy, imperfect holiday time together as the summer draws to an end. </span></span>EastVanAlliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13338277463392417722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5374894361040382294.post-54304097225073074342017-08-30T14:58:00.001-07:002017-08-30T14:58:21.470-07:00Birthday Week: heat wave, picnics, and family visitsAutumn! You are so very necessary this year, what with all the fire and fury of our hot, dry summer. Even I am almost ready for you.<br />
<br />
My birthday was yesterday, and it was on a day so hot that even I quailed. I had to teach some preschool classes in the morning, and by the time I met my sweetheart and biked to the PNE for some deep-fried meat and other healthy snacks I was so exhausted and irritable that I couldn't quite give in to the carefree enjoyment that a trip to the fair demands. I even snapped a few times at my poor love, who is so swamped with work and yet <i>still</i> took time off to cater to my wishes because it was my special day. (Sorry, Jay.) We got our coveted free-entry stamps so that we could come back to the fair that evening and see Tom Cochrane perform, and then we biked (so uphill! much panting!) to <a href="http://www.blackrookbake.com/" target="_blank">Black Rook Bakehouse</a> because I <i>needed</i> birthday cake, dammit! But as I slumped, sweaty and defeated, over my <a href="http://www.blackrookbake.com/store/p13/Molly.html" target="_blank">Molly Cake</a>, I had to accept the fact that<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>nothing could take the place of <a href="http://www.blacksmithbakery.ca/" target="_blank">Blacksmith Bakery</a>'s peerless Chocolate Guinness Cake, which I'd had in Fort Langley on my birthday last year, and </li>
<li>It was just too hot for sugar, even though (or maybe especially because) I've been cutting back so drastically on it lately.</li>
</ol>
<div>
Luckily, things started looking up once we got sensible and dragged ourselves over to New Brighton Park for some much needed r&r. Not right away though, because I'd just bought myself a <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Knapbag/dp/B01GUAC7G8" target="_blank">Knapbag</a>. Are inflatable couches all the rage where you live? They certainly are here. Unfortunately, my couch didn't come with instructions, and therefore I took out the plastic lining inside of it, not realizing (silly girl!) that you <i>need </i>those liners, because that's where you trap the air. Whoops. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lBREglAEZ6U/WactGyQvKXI/AAAAAAAAHVs/IMTuFETaoyMe426OnEN9dnAIwcXwZzpRwCLcBGAs/s1600/20170829_151705_HDR_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lBREglAEZ6U/WactGyQvKXI/AAAAAAAAHVs/IMTuFETaoyMe426OnEN9dnAIwcXwZzpRwCLcBGAs/s400/20170829_151705_HDR_resized.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Utter despair. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The bag, of course, wouldn't inflate properly. I was hot and frustrated and furious. With myself, natch. What a waste of 60 bucks!<br />
<br />
Luckily, Jay is made of sterner stuff, and he soon figured out how to re-insert the lining. Thanks to my love, I was able to lounge comfortably after all! And he appreciated it too, because he could use it as a backrest while he sat and sketched, which was part of the work that he needed to do. Win-win!<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NmFcOU_gHrk/WactKqnkGjI/AAAAAAAAHV4/TDPJdxhVIuw2pw6HkpKBbF7cer5Q9OafACEwYBhgL/s1600/20170829_155211_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NmFcOU_gHrk/WactKqnkGjI/AAAAAAAAHV4/TDPJdxhVIuw2pw6HkpKBbF7cer5Q9OafACEwYBhgL/s400/20170829_155211_resized.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Much happier! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
We stayed here for about 5 hours. I, of course, spent some of that time in the pool. I felt much more human again after a quick dip. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Later, we went back to the fair to watch Tom Cochrane and Red Rider play. Although we were both tired, the air cooled as the sun went down, and Tom played a great set as we cheered and sang along in the night air. Honestly, these fairground shows <i>are</i> mostly nostalgia acts, meaning you'll often see performers in their waning years, but many of them are still super-tight, sounding great, and seem genuinely happy to be there. Tom had tons of energy, and his voice was as good as ever. I can't think of too many bands that are more quintessentially Canadian than this one. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cPs5GBqJq78/WactIJewD6I/AAAAAAAAHV4/xx6DPqEIFWkWXrSRhsBI7AafwHl4qGsQgCEwYBhgL/s1600/20170829_210431_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cPs5GBqJq78/WactIJewD6I/AAAAAAAAHV4/xx6DPqEIFWkWXrSRhsBI7AafwHl4qGsQgCEwYBhgL/s400/20170829_210431_resized.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rockin' out. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Two years ago, my birthday plans (almost identical to this year's) were foiled by some epic winds and rain, which closed down the PNE for a while. This year, the epic-ness went the other direction, with temperatures that got up to over 29 degrees. Even I, with all my love of sunny days, found this one to be simply too much. It is greatly to Jay's credit that we were able to have a lovely time despite the blistering weather. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As usual, I like to spread my birthday over several days. Why have one celebration when you can have three?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Last Saturday I had a little picnic in another local park. It was very last-minute, and very small. I panicked about inviting people for several reasons:</div>
<div>
<ol>
<li>Vancouverites are <u>infamous</u> for saying they'll be somewhere and then bailing. </li>
<li>This trait gets even worse in the summer. </li>
<li>What if I set it all up and then the weather changed? (This was the dumbest concern, as it hasn't rained in over a month.)</li>
<li>Did I really want a large group of semi-friends, or just a small group pf people I <i>really</i> wanted to see?</li>
</ol>
<div>
In the end, I went with a small group of friends. I had my band, my boyfriend, and my mom. And a shit-ton of food. We hung out, we drank illicit alcohol in the park, we played music, we ate (not as much as we should have- I bought waaaaayyyyyy too much stuff), and we sunned ourselves. It was easy and perfect. </div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The next day, my dad and his girlfriend arrived for a quick visit. Thanks to the weather, it was also easy and perfect. We ate dinner <i>en famille</i> on Commercial Drive. We walked over 15km around downtown and Stanley Park, much to the delight of my dad's girlfriend, who's hardly ever been to Vancouver. And on their last night we simply barbecued steaks in my back yard, invited my landlord to join us for dessert, and sat in the summer darkness: me, Jay, landlord, dad, and girlfriend- just talking and laughing and enjoying family time. It was a delightful birthday week. </div>
<div>
<div>
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
EastVanAlliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13338277463392417722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5374894361040382294.post-49086284469943186332017-08-08T21:37:00.002-07:002017-08-08T22:07:44.409-07:00Appetite For Destruction<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I had an ice cream today.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-c31RU6so1oY/WYqQOhIaNlI/AAAAAAAAHT0/vagbwnunHbEPv_Qge75QJ4BPjM7i5aNzwCLcBGAs/s1600/ice_cream_PNG5091.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1049" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-c31RU6so1oY/WYqQOhIaNlI/AAAAAAAAHT0/vagbwnunHbEPv_Qge75QJ4BPjM7i5aNzwCLcBGAs/s320/ice_cream_PNG5091.png" width="209" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Actual ice cream not exactly as pictured. It was actually a double scoop<br />
of Earnest Ice Cream's Strawberry Swirl and Salted Chocolate, in case you care. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I really hate that it's even a thing I have to think about, let alone feel guilty over. I mean, God, I just went for over a month without having a single dessert so I could break sugar's hold on me and maybe lose a few pounds and get healthy and all that crap. It started slow, while I was still in Saskatoon. It felt hard, damn hard. But by the time I got home the self-discipline had taken hold and I was rockin' it, you know? It even started to feel good.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Then I levelled up: I started biking everywhere. Taught some music classes on Granville Island: biked. (Easy- not even 30 minutes from my house.) The next week I helped teach a creative drama camp in West Van. Did I want to take the bus every day? I did not. I got on my bike 4 days out of the 5 and I biked through downtown and along the Coal Harbour seawall and through the @#$ Stanley Park Causeway and over the mighty and terrifying Lions Gate Bridge and past Ambleside and then I worked with active little kids for 2.5 hours and then I got back on my bike and did it all again... in reverse. I got addicted to the feeling of getting myself from A to B under my own power. I still didn't eat the sweet stuff. And at the end of those 2 weeks of teaching, I wanted to stay active. Hell, I don't even want to be indoors at all when the sun's out and it's hot. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">My lovely landlords went away for 2 weeks and left me in charge of their house, garden, and cat, so every morning I was also getting up to give the kitty some company and water the plants and spray the veggies down before the full heat of the day made that a bad idea. (It's the one thing I know about gardening: don't water things in the middle of the day. Oh, and that deadheading is always a good thing.) Not only that, but I was allowed to harvest things as they grew, so suddenly it was lettuce with the dirt still on it, and tomatoes and cucumbers right off the vine, and tiny eggplants made into the best Baba Ganoush... </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And you know what? These things <i>work</i>, dammit. I could see a change, see my face thinning out, feel my clothes fitting better. I felt stronger, faster, firmer. Drama camp ended (and with it, the commute across the bridge), but I discovered HIIT workouts. I still bike everywhere, and I'm starting to swim at New Brighton Pool, an outdoor pool which kicks Kits Pool's ass, in my opinion. In short, I am one healthy person right now, and I don't want to screw it up. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">At the end of July, my 30-day sugar challenge was over.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">You know what? Cold turkey is easy, really. I mean, making it stick can be a pain in the ass, but once you get going, it snowballs. You feel proud. Empowered. All you have to do is one thing: stay the hell away from whatever it is you need to stay away from. (Okay, I don't have experience with hard drugs; I'm not speaking about quitting heroin here. But cigarettes? Been there, done that. Several times, in fact. Sweets? You know it. Again, many times.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">What really stymies an addict is trying to wrap their heads around <i>moderation</i>. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I recently worked with someone who had it way worse than me. He had to bring pre-made, portioned meals to work, because if left to his own devices he would have eaten a week's worth of lunches in one sitting. "Food addiction is tough," he said gloomily. "It's not like you can just quit eating." Indeed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">In the past I've tried:</span><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Having "dessert days", where I could only indulge on certain days of the week. <i>That</i> went about as well as expected. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Counting calories (The biggest pain in the ass ever. Forget it. Seriously.)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Joining various websites. Spark People. Noom. A Facebook page/support group for a <strike>cult</strike> way of eating called My Bright Life, where people- almost all women, by the way- regularly posted about how naughty they'd been for eating some bread! Or having a glass or two of wine! </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Keeping a food diary, to be more accountable. (This worked somewhat. But not for long.)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Buying a too-large bag of treats and then throwing them away somewhere where I wouldn't be tempted to retrieve them later. When I read Ann Lamott's writing about her addictions and she described running water over food so she couldn't eat it later, I felt a shock of recognition. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Started my own Facebook page to support and empower myself and my friends- again, mostly women- who wanted to do something about their health. A good idea, but almost no one ever posted anything, so I gave it up, not long before I gave up on Facebook altogether. (Which is still one of the best things I've ever done, by the way.)</span></li>
</ul>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I have never been bulimic, thank god. I've certainly binged, but I've never purged. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">So I'm really nervous that having to be moderate about this whole eating thing is going to screw it up for me. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Here are a couple of rules I'm putting in place to help cope: </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Every morning, the first thing I do when I get out of bed is put on workout clothes. And usually the next thing I do once I'm dressed is a quick workout, or some yoga- something to start the day right. (The only problem is that on hot, sunny days, I'm often inclined to leave the stinky workout clothes on all day so I can stay active. You have been warned.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I have <strike>the poor man's</strike> Samsung version of the FitBit. It's called a GearFit2, and when I remember to charge it, it's fantastic, at least for nagging me when I've been sedentary too long, and for logging my runs, walks, yoga sessions, and bike rides. It <i>doesn't</i> log swims (not waterproof), or HIIT workouts, although if I just kept it on during those it would probably measure my rocketing heart rate and know that <i>something</i> was going on.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Speaking of getting up, most days I'm getting up early. Now that my garden-tending duties are done, I'm hoping this trend will continue. It just sets the whole tone of the day, for me. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I'm varying my routine when it comes to staying active. Some days, it's just yoga, to be honest. Other days, it's a quick HIT workout in the morning, and maybe a bike ride to the pool later on. I'm digging Fitness Blender for their workout videos, because although their workouts are <strike>torture</strike> tough, they're also blessedly <i>short</i>. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">What to eat (and more importantly, what <i>not</i> to) is, of course, the biggest challenge. I'm lucky, in that in the summer I really want to eat less, and to consume lots of fruits, some veggies, and less carbs. In the winter, that changes. (So does the getting up early. It's just really hard to get out of bed when it's rainy and dark. If you have any suggestions to sweeten the deal, I'd love to hear 'em.) </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">This time around, after my 30-day ban on sweets lifted, I hit upon a new idea to help with moderation. Most of my unhealthy behaviour takes place alone- it's harder to indulge in over-the-top portions and choices with an audience. So my new rule is dead simple and, I hope, effective:</span></div>
<div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Eat the ice cream, on occasion. Have the cake. Don't feel guilty about it, and for god's sake, don't be a bore about it. Just...</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Don't do it alone.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Ever. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I'm betting that this rule <i>should </i>keep my bad habits under better control (except for my boyfriend's unholy love of Chicago Mix, but I can avoid that, I think). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Because when it comes to food- the good and the bad- the goal isn't to avoid it entirely. For me at least, the goal is just not to over-think it. Or over-eat it.</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Bon appetit. </span></i></div>
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EastVanAlliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13338277463392417722noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5374894361040382294.post-18148994683905734752017-06-27T23:01:00.003-07:002017-06-28T18:04:12.472-07:00Ten Things I Love About Saskatoon<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Well hello! I'm right in the thick of rehearsals in my usual summer home of Saskatoon at the moment, but it's starting to weigh on my mind that it's only a quick visit this year. (Although I did spend 4 weeks here in the spring, so if you count those weeks plus the 3 weeks I'm here this month, it'll have been 7 weeks total in 2017.) Although I miss my sweetheart a lot, I am always happy to be here. There's something about this place that has really captured my heart, so I thought I'd make a list of some of the things I love about this prairie city:</span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The people.</b> It's that small-city-big-town thing I guess, but strangers really </span><u style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">do</u><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> smile and say hello to you here.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The neighbourhoods</b>: Caswell Hill- my home away from home. Riversdale, where I enjoy the farmers market, a cappuccino at Collective Coffee, and shopping at all the hipster stores. Oh, and brunches at The Hollows (sadly not this summer though, because I work Saturdays, and they're not open 'til 11). Broadway/Nutana across the river, where I love to go shopping and eating! Downtown, where I spend way too much money at Midtown Mall. The Weir, a manmade waterfall on the river, just beside a giant railway trestle that you can walk across. Stunning. Mayfair- home of the Safeway where I stock up on supplies, the zany antique-store-coffee-shop, the bakery, and several other cool stores on 33rd. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Speaking of stores... </b>The local corner stores here are wonderful. You'll be biking along a residential street, and suddenly you'll come across a convenience store that's totally like a small-town store: it'll have the usual chips and candy, but there'll also be some baking, or some kitchen supplies, or some home cooking, or something else that makes it just a little different than your run-of-the-mill corner store. Even though Saskatoon has all the big box stores and supermarkets, these little local stores continue to offer neighbourhood shopping for their communities, even if those communities are only a few blocks in size. It's pretty cool.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Pelicans.</b> When I came here in March this year, these giant birds hadn't yet arrived, and it was weird seeing the river without them. When I came back in April they'd come back, and most nights in April and May I'd walk or bike down to the weir to see them floating gently above the falls, or bouncing on the choppy waters beneath, looking for fish. They spend some of their year in exotic places like Mexico and Guatemala, and they look foreign and out of place here, but I love them, because we don't have them in BC *EDIT: And <b>Jackrabbits</b>! I can't believe I forgot about Jackrabbits! Seeing these big-footed bunnies bounding through the city streets is always a treat. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Jazz Fest.</b> Every year, my visits coincide with Saskatoon's Jazz Festival. I will admit that I've seen very little actual jazz here, since their headliners and free shows tend to be more pop/hip hop/rock than jazz. But, there's <u>nothing</u> I love more than heading the short distance to the free stage after rehearsal, grabbing a drink, and letting the music wash over me. This year, Pride Fest and Jazz Fest joined forces and brought Hawksley Workman to the <i>free</i> stage last Saturday, and I was in heaven. I also love hanging out by the river behind the Bessborough Hotel and hearing the big-name headline acts playing their shows. Why pay 60-70 dollars when you can hear just as well behind the stage with a great view of the river? I'll be hanging out down there on Thursday night, when Michael Franti hits the stage.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The weather.</b> I KNOW. I am a total fair-weather friend to Saskatoon, having never spent a winter here. Even being here for a few weeks in March and April this year had its challenges, as I had to walk everywhere because it was too icy to bike (it was too icy to walk, for that matter). But summers here are the bomb. Except this one, because it's been kinda cold and <u>very</u> windy. But even so- still sunny, most days. And when there's rain, it's epic and short-lived. Oh, and thunder storms! Love 'em. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Biking and running.</b> It's flat. Biking is easy. Running is a delight. Oh, and there are also fabulous paths on either side of the river for your walking/running/biking pleasure. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Outdoor swimming pools.</b> I think I've written about this before, but it blows my mind how many outdoor swimming pools this wintery city has. Not only do they have awesome pools, but the pools also usually fence off grassy areas as well, so that you can lie on the grass and relax before or after your swim. True story: when I flew into Saskatoon for the very first time, 2 years ago, I looked down from the plane and saw a gorgeous little park and a cute little pool with a water slide, and I thought, <i>what a great neighbourhood. </i>Little did I know that I would be living RIGHT BESIDE THAT PARK. And to this day, I still make my home very close to Ashworth Holmes Park and Mayfair Pool, every summer. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The theatre community. </b>Small but vibrant, Saskatoon's theatre scene is pretty awesome. Shakespeare? Check. (Their version of Bard on the Beach is called Shakespeare on the Saskatchewan, and it's in a tent down by the river.) Brand new works by local playwrights? Absolutely? A theatre company that is passionate about making a difference in their community? (Big shout-out to Sum Theatre, who were my employers last summer, and who are incredible in this regard.) I feel so very lucky to have been welcomed into this community as a musician/music director, because there's certainly no shortage of local talent. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>My friends.</b> Who are, by and large, part of the theatre community here. It's getting so I'm more likely to have people to talk to at an opening night in Saskatoon than back home in Vancouver. My friends here lend me bicycles so I can get around. They let me live with them for 6 weeks while I'm working here. They invite me to stay at their farm on my day off. They ask me when I'm going to move here for good (probably never, but I sure hope I can make it my home away from home for a long time to come). </span></li>
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EastVanAlliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13338277463392417722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5374894361040382294.post-44874473534678397502017-06-11T20:02:00.000-07:002017-06-11T20:16:09.848-07:00Ten Reasons I Won't Ever Use the Term #Blessed (unless I'm being sarcastic)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SBIeKZXfTzA/WT3_dHZcL4I/AAAAAAAAHTE/_n9pyzb70qkOHkT7d88UPEhw1-hWs8yjgCEw/s1600/images.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SBIeKZXfTzA/WT3_dHZcL4I/AAAAAAAAHTE/_n9pyzb70qkOHkT7d88UPEhw1-hWs8yjgCEw/s1600/images.png" /></span></a></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It's glib. You're putting shit like this mindlessly at the end of your social media posts because everyone's doing it and who knows, maybe it'll win you more followers, right? Or maybe because you think that posting this hashtag makes you exempt from, you know, actually <i>doing</i> something for others. Way easier to be #blessed than to make sure others are feeling that way. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It turns your uber-boastful post into something that looks like gratitude. Putting the word #blessed in your posts does not suddenly give you carte blanche to post a gazillion pictures of your kid, your material possessions, or your tropical holiday. Guess what? We know you're still showing off. You're just hiding it behind a humblebrag. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">If God existed, She wouldn't bless you. No, really. He doesn't hand out blessings like the Easter Bunny hands out chocolate eggs. Or so they tell me. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">If you don't believe in God, it's even weirder that you're using this hashtag. Who the hell #blessed you- the Tooth Fairy? </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It's symptomatic of our guilt over the glut of things we possess. Do we know that there are millions of people in the world- hell, in our towns, mere streets or houses away from us- who have a tiny fraction of the things we have? Yes we do know that, and we think that somehow, if we acknowledge that we're #blessed, we can sleep a little easier on our soft, soft feather beds. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Because practically any other adjective would be more accurate. You could claim to be #rich, if you're showing us your new house. You could be another #boringparent or #ObsessivePetOwner, if you're posting nothing but shots of your kids, either furry or not. (and no, that doesn't mean I don't want to see <i>any </i>pics of your pets or kids, before you get all upset with me. I do. Just don't be boring about it.) You most certainly are #lucky, or more honestly, #privileged beyond belief. And here's the most accurate hashtag of all, but you won't see this one popping up on people's feeds...</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">...#Random. Most of us, even the atheists, want to believe in some kind of order in the universe. It's way easier (and glib-er- see #1) to say that you're #blessed than to admit that the world is completely random, and that most of the great things that fall our way are the result of frighteningly chance occurrences, connections or coincidences.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You think it's a simple way to show gratitude. Gratitude is great. But truly showing gratitude doesn't mean adding a couple of meaningless hashtags to your boast-y posts. True gratitude should be about acknowledging your good fortune, luck, random set of circumstances, etc. by <i>taking action, whether it is in a good attitude, a positive mood, or even better: by sharing your good fortune with others. </i></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It's thoughtless. I mean that in a very literal sense. It's as bad as posting Minions memes, linking to ill-informed articles you haven't actually read, or basically putting up anything that doesn't contain some original thought. The internet is full of stupid. Why make it more so? </span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Look, I get it. Social media is <i>designed </i>for bragging. I do it all the time. So do you. And then we feel guilty, so we add that one little word to make ourselves feel better. But maybe instead, we should take the time to think a little more about what we're posting on social media. And why we feel the compulsion to post anything in the first place. </span></li>
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EastVanAlliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13338277463392417722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5374894361040382294.post-57039952586987109592017-05-10T22:24:00.000-07:002017-05-10T22:49:32.235-07:00Catching Up: An Interview<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Whoa. Hi there. Seems I took a bit of a break from blogging, which is usually a solid sign that I'm busy <i>living</i>. Over the last year or so I've been trying to blog about specific subjects: life as a musician, the arts in general, teaching (which I totally just typed as <i>teachering</i>, thereby proving that I may have a little bit more to learn), etc. But it's been a while, so why don't I just catch you up, in the form of an imaginary interview?</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">First off, how do you like your new home? </span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Love it. <u>Love it.</u> LOVE. IT. I really can't say it enough times. After 2 months, it still seems fresh and magical to walk through that door (my door!) every evening. Sometimes I still say "hello, home" as I put down my bags and settle in. Part of the reason the attraction is so fierce is that I've been away almost half the time since I moved in, so when I'm home I still feel like it's brand new. Leaving for Saskatoon for two weeks when I'd literally only been in the new place for a week was painful. Thankfully, I worked my ass off unpacking in that week, so I had a clean, well-organized place to return to. My landlords are amazing. The other day I put out the rubbish bins and got an email saying how nice it was to share a house with me! It's also just wonderful not to have to live with anyone. My sweetie comes over once or twice a week, and that's great, but other than that It's MY home, and I like it that way. I love being around people, especially as a teacher and performer, but at the end of a people-heavy day I love having a quiet, empty apartment to return to.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Wait a minute- Saskatoon? What are you doing there?</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Working for Persephone Theatre's young company helping teenagers perform their songs better in a show they created called <i>Here.</i> On the plus side, I get to work with amazing young people and spend time in a city I'm now proud to call almost a second home. On the minus side, I miss my new apartment, and it makes me feel a bit disconnected at work when I miss classes. But theatre is still very much my first love, so it's a sacrifice I'll keep making. I have one more trip in 2 days (!) but then I'm back for three more weeks in June to do another show. Saskatoon: the town that keeps on giving (me work). And hey, a cool side effect is that my hatred of flying has mostly worn off!</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">What about theatre here in Vancouver?</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Not as much as I'd like, but I <u>did</u> get to perform in a remount run of <i>The Out Vigil</i>, which I first did around the same time last year. Luckily, all the old cast and crew were back, and we had a magical and too-short reunion. I sincerely hope that this may not be the last time we get to do this show, but we'll see.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So... Your work just lets you have time off for all this stuff? </span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Yeah, basically. I have a really great job. It's not without its frustrations and challenges, but I can honestly say that I love it. It's taken me several years to feel at home at the music school where I work, so it's hard-won, which makes it even more rewarding. And because every year I am exposed to new challenges (this year it was teaching preschool music and teaching music to kids with autism), I learn constantly, and in turn, this makes me a better teacher and musician. Also- and I feel kind of mercenary saying this, but it's important- my standard of living has improved immeasurably because of teaching, and that is no small thing. This time last year I wouldn't have dreamed that I would be able to afford to live alone.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Still in any bands? </span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Yes, thank goodness! I have pretty much made my peace with the fact that being a performing musician will be a sideline rather than the main event in my artistic life. But just because I don't do it all the time doesn't mean that it's not vitally important to me! I still perform sporadically with Zeellia, which is the Ukrainian band I've been a member of for well over a decade now. But the best decision I made came fairly recently, when I invited some friends to start a new band with me after our old one disbanded. And then I got even smarter and asked another friend to join us. And gradually it was like a flame that had been sputtering was re-lit again. This new band was rough, but we were all eager to get better. Excited to bring in new songs. Open to switching instruments (each of us plays at least two). Two summers ago I was surrounded by music; in a musical, even, and I had no urge to play or write. These days I can't stop. I credit this to my new-found love of my teaching job, and to my new band, which is just loose enough to have fun, and just tight enough to be full of possibility. It's a creative time.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Do you have time for your partner and friends, with all this travelling and work going on?</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Sadly, not as much as I'd like. Sigh. I'm just super-lucky that most of my friends are busy too; that my bandmates are all my BFFs, and that I adore all the people I teach with. My boyfriend is King of the Workaholics, so our weekly trysts are usually enough for both of us to feel connected, while still being able to pine sweetly for one another. In related news, I recently decided to quit Facebook for a while, and reconnect more with people in real life. I've only been off for 2 days, so don't throw a parade for me yet or anything. In fact, it was quite funny, because after resolutely deactivating my account I found myself having to reconnect it again to I could log into apps like Spotify. (The dangers of using your Facebook identity on other platforms.) The turning point came when I hardly got any work done on Monday because I was too busy checking to see if friends had "liked" a witty post of mine. Plus there was a fierce debate going on over the use of accents in comedy routines, and I watched as people on both sides of the debate- including people I know and adore- indulged in endless, useless fighting. Hardly anyone was reasonable. Hardly anyone exchanged ideas in a respectful or open-minded manner. It was gross. And I couldn't look away. So I decided to go cold turkey, for a while at least.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Um, haven't you noticed that the world is basically ending?</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Yes, because my Facebook friends never stop talking about it! (Another reason to get off there: read more <u>real</u> news and a whole lot less stupid memes, trollish comments, and preach-to-the-choir posturing.) What the fuck am I supposed to do about the horrendous things going on in politics and the environment? My firm position is that the best thing I can do is to be better-informed (still working on that one); to be more connected to the world (less internet time); and to be kind. If the human race is in its twilight years 'thanks' to Donald Trump, North Korea, or our egregious misuse of the planet's resources, I'm certainly not going to spend my last days being miserable. Until I have no other choice, anyway.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Are you quitting this blog?</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">All appearances to the contrary, no. For one thing, if this quitting-Facebook thing works out, I'll need <i>somewhere</i> to <strike>dump</strike> post my observations about life. It's interesting to me that a number of the blogs I loved have either quit altogether, or significantly reduced their number of posts. I think it's partly because a lot of the blogs I first loved were so-called "mommy blogs", whose writers eventually found they had less and less time/inclination to post everything their little darlings did. As their kids clambered out of toddlerhood, their parents started feeling a little more connected to the world again, and were able to reach out beyond a cold and often judgemental internet. At least that's my theory. Apparently, blogging is passe these days. But I started my first journal at the tender age of six. I'm not going anywhere.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Anything else?</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Let's see: passed my second Psychology course; played a solo accordion set at the Princeton and made some new friends; entered another Storyhive music video contest; tried and failed at a number of health/diet initiatives; started buying plants and not killing them...mostly; worked on new friendships; lost touch with some other peeps; got to know Saskatoon better; haven't spent enough time exploring Vancouver lately. You know. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And now, in the spirit of being better connected to the world I am going to sign off this machine and empty my organic waste bin. It's good to be back! See you soon.</span><br />
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EastVanAlliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13338277463392417722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5374894361040382294.post-79062154258632555232017-02-10T18:44:00.000-08:002017-02-10T18:47:46.377-08:00The Air That I Breathe<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I never smell very good after a seniors home gig; I'm sorry, but that's the truth of it. They keep the heat cranked up- and rightly so- for the feeble and the slow-moving, and neither of those words describes me when I'm performing. By the time my hour is up, I'm rather...damp, to put it politely. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Today I had to spend a good while putting together a new book of songs for the gig, as my usual binder is packed in a box somewhere. I've been getting a jump on my move by boxing up everything I think I can do without for a few weeks... and a few things, obviously, that should <i>not </i>have gone into boxes just yet. After reluctantly slitting open a few boxes with no success, I decide to just print out new lyric sheets; after all, most of them are saved onto my laptop anyway. This leads to some new song choices, which is refreshing. I decide to bring my ukulele as well as my accordion, since I'm playing more uke than squeezebox these days anyway. As I stagger down the street with my accordion in a knapsack on my back and my uke and purse in my hands, the good angel on my shoulder urges me to check my pack... good thing, because I've left the binder with all my freshly-printed lyric sheets in my bedroom. Stagger back (luckily not far). Surprise the cats with my re-entry. Grab binder, depart again. Two buses later and I'm there. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Up on Three West I begin with a new one: Singing In The Rain. Right away I know it's a good choice as a chorus of voices immediately joins in. I keep 'em coming: Big Rock Candy Mountain into Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen into Blue Days Black Nights... Today's seniors grew up in the '40s and '50s, so I mix country blues, folk, Canadiana, Irish and good old rock 'n roll, with the occasional Big Band-era blaster like Minnie the Moocher or Won't You Come Home Bill Bailey. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Right away I notice a bubble in the air, an energy coming up to me and getting bounced back to the audience through my music. Maybe it's the slightly younger crowd: I see more than a few residents who look to be in their early seventies, even one woman with punky green streaks at the front of her bleached or grey hair. I've always had fun playing at this home, but sometimes I've seen people wheeling or shuffling away before my hour was up. Not this time. Their voices join me on everything from Harvest Moon to Blue Suede Shoes. Maybe it's me. I'm feeling rested and my voice is in fine form. Whatever the reason, today we're cookin'. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Imagine you spent most of your time breathing something that was <i>like</i> oxygen, but wasn't. You'd do fine, but something would be lacking. And then some days, you got to breathe the real deal- your lungs would fill and your eyes would sparkle and you'd feel extra zest and energy you didn't know you were missing- That's what singing and performing feels like to me. Oxygen. Even when I'm sick it lifts me up. When I'm not sick... Pow. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I say this a lot, and I really mean it: I have the incredible good fortune to do what I love for a living. I never thought I'd be a good music teacher, but I love it. I never used to think I'd be a good musical director, but they keep hiring me so I guess I've got the skills. And I DO love my jobs: I love showing kids (or actors) how to put a song together; I like arranging; I like getting to pass on my rag-tag collection of Things I Know. I even like the herding-cats exercise that is teaching preschool music. But here's why I'll never be the best teacher or musical director there is: because there's always going to be this little diva inside of me that is silently yelling J<i>ust step aside and let me do it instead, Jesus CHRIST let me because I can do it better than that, because it's all I want to do and I can't, they won't let me they keep hiring me to teach </i>you<i> instead-</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Which isn't to say I'm silently hating on you when I work with you or your kids, far from it. (Unless you're really terrible at your job and they hired you instead of me. Then yeah.) It's just... I have this friend who has a doctorate in music education. He's never in his life played in a band, or been in a play, and he's Never. Wanted. To. His passion is <i>teaching</i> music. </span><span style="font-family: '"verdana"', sans-serif;">(He also helped me get my teaching job, for which I'll be eternally grateful.) </span><span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Mine is </span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">performing</i><span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"> music. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I lack the killer instinct, which is why I'm not recording an album or touring Canada, or, you know, famous. Instead, I'm a (mostly) very happy teacher of music/music director who plays in a band with three good friends and has moments of passion and inspiration at all of her jobs, and really <i>really</i> comes alive when she gets to step into the studio for a session, or play onstage, or even when she lugs two instruments on two buses to play for thirty or so seniors, some of whom may even not be sleeping. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Today, we make some magic at Royal Arch Masonic Home. Who knows why? I make my way through 21 songs and the seniors are with me every step of the way. Someone (dear god, probably only my parents' age) asks for Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah", so I do it, scrolling through the lyrics on my phone with one hand as I stumble through the bass notes on my accordion with the other hand. I am surprised how many voices sing the haunting chorus with me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I launch into Stan Rogers' "Forty-Five Years" and feel my eyes water a little as I take in the pink and crepe Valentine's Day decorations strung up around the room. The song is Rogers' beautiful tribute to his much-loved wife; how many of the seniors in the room still have their loved ones with them? Too few, I'm thinking. I finish with "Goodnight Irene", which I often close with because I love to hear the old ones sing it with me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">They've handed my money to one of the residents: Ms. Green-Hair. She wheels toward me slowly, a challenge in her eyes. First, she thanks me for bringing some sunshine, because "it can get kind of dreary in here." I bet. Then she says, "But we're not going to give this to you that easily. If you want this, you'll have to do another song for us." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Challenge accepted. It's the first time I've been asked for an encore here. I rifle quickly through my pages: what would be the perfect finisher...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Ah, yes. I put on my accordion and launch into "Folsom Prison Blues", the perfect song for people who are trapped in a seniors home, no matter how nice it is. As I sing, I hear their voices joining me one last time. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>I'm stuck in Folsom Prison/And time keeps rolling on/But that train just keeps on moving/On down to San Antoine.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And then I leave, back to the rest of my unfettered life. Breathing that sweet, pure oxygen until my lungs are as full as they can get. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>EastVanAlliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13338277463392417722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5374894361040382294.post-60376439373827263272017-02-03T19:17:00.000-08:002017-02-03T19:30:52.958-08:00Nesting<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, how are you all doing? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I think a lot of us are feeling a bit fragile these days. It's hard to know when to engage, and when to switch off and spend some time with people you love. I've seen friends get absolutely lambasted recently on social media for daring to have an opinion on women's rights (Imagine that! Women having opinions on women's rights!), or for writing about the wrongs being done to Muslims. One thing I've noticed is that people get very, very nervous when they're confronted by steely logic and righteous anger. And then, unfortunately, they often get angry, and the whole thing degenerates into name-calling and insults. But keep on, brave men and women out there. Keep fighting, and using logic, and making bigots and racists and chauvinists as nervous as possible. I have never seen so many "normal" people galvanized into taking action as I have in the last month. It's the one heartening thing I can take from this; that it's jolting us out of our complacency. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We're already a month into 2017, guys! That's what happens when we're busy and angry and working hard- time gets away from us. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, what's been happening so far this year?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Like a lot of people, I marched:</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I am at a bit of a loss as to what to do next. It is a pathetic excuse to say I'm busy, because who isn't? I don't have much money to donate to causes, and I don't always </span><strike style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">have</strike><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> make time to go to vigils, so... Can I promise to try and do better? To try and lend support to minorities who need allies? To give some of my time to being political? I really don't want to ignore what's happening- how could I?- so if any of you have suggestions, I'd be glad to hear them. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">In the meantime, I've been nesting. This is probably a sound and predictable instinct when things in the outside world get scary. I have two other very good reasons for increased nesting recently: first of all my roommates are away for 3 weeks, so I have the whole house (and four kitties) to myself! I've been extra busy lately, so today it feels amazing to curl up on the couch and watch the snow (yup, it's baaaaaaack) coming down outside. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">And the other good reason for nesting? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I found a place to live!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">This collage doesn't really do it justice, but here's my new suite. I found it on Craigslist, and it was only the second place I physically went and looked at. I know, hate me. I would too. It has a gas stove, a big bedroom, gorgeous bathroom, tons of light even though it's a basement suite... and a gigantic alcove that seems to be expressly designed to be used as a giant window seat for reading, working, playing music, and dreaming. I think it was this eccentric detail that sealed the deal for me. I was as charming and polite as I could possibly be to the landlords, a nice couple who live upstairs. That, and the fact that my boss gave me a glowing reference, sealed the deal for <i>them</i>, and they called me back the very next day to offer me the place. The best/worst part is that the suite's not available until March 1st, because they're actually going to expand some of the windows to make the place even lighter. That's great because a) Bigger windows! More light! and b) Time to pack! Time to put aside money! but of course I also want to move in right now because IT'S MY OWN PLACE FINALLY, COME ON! AND ALSO I WANT TO LIVE THERE FOR AT LEAST A FEW MONTHS BEFORE DONALD TRUMP DESTROYS THE WORLD!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">While I wait, I am starting to pack. I took a trip to Ikea with my angel mom, who bought me many kitchen and home-related items as a moving present to me. One side effect of being older is that I am not content with a couple of mismatched plates and some grotty used particle-board furniture. I want my place to look... pretty. Put-together. Warm and inviting and funky, but not student-chic, ya know? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">So it's going to be a mixture of things, but pretty ones.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>The functional: </b>Stuff from Ikea: dishes and cutlery and bookshelves and cubbies and utensils.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>The antique:</b> my Mongolian sideboard, which is dark and knobbly and has doors which slide up and into it, which makes it quite hard to use effectively, but is still my favorite piece of furniture I've ever bought. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can't adequately capture your unique beauty, sideboard, but you're still my fave. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">A really cool desk I just found at Sellution, which is the best place to buy used furniture with a personality. A little rocking chair that was actually outside of Sellution with a "free" sign on it (it's a fixer-upper). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>The ridiculously hipster and self-indulgent but not actually that expensive:</b> My knives:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I bought these very inexpensive but well-reviewed <a href="http://atelierstgeorge.com/products/knife-pallares-solsona-small" target="_blank">knives</a> at <a href="http://atelierstgeorge.com/" target="_blank">Atelier St. George</a>, which is probably the only time in history that the words "inexpensive" and "Atelier St. George" will EVER be used in the same sentence (I mean, they have a wool jumpsuit that costs <i>$1700.00</i>, for fuck's sake). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">And now I sit, and I wait to move house. Well, mostly I go out and work and have band practices and clean litter trays, it's just today that I've superglued myself to the couch watching reprehensible YouTube videos and avoiding any sort of work at all costs. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Hey, work. Remember my ambivalence about teaching, last year? Well, sometimes there are things you do where you walk into a situation or a job and think <i>Hell No</i> and walk right out again, and you just <i>know</i> that you were right to leave. And there are other times where you immediately think: <i>This is what I was meant to do</i>, and the more you do it, the more it confirms that initial thought. (Performing is like that for me.) But there are other things that feel like a <i>no</i> at first, and may end up feeling like a <i>no</i> for a long time before revealing themselves to be, in fact, a big <i>yes</i>. Teaching was like that. I'm glad I stayed. I'm glad when I get to teach kids how to write songs, and when I get to play games where I teach them music theory games and pretend to die horribly if they get the answer wrong. I'm glad when I make a bunch of sullen teenagers sit in a circle on the floor and sing the harmonies to "Jolene" and they do, and it sounds beautiful. Even more when the tallest, sleepiest, sullenest kid voluntarily picks up a ukulele to play along. I'm glad when I get to sing my soprano heart out in choir class, and when I get to yell at kids to stop running in the halls. Glad to the point of transcendence when the evil/cute little 11 year-old who slouched in a corner in my junior class glaring at me and growling that she was "bored" every week suddenly decides to drop the attitude and lights up with glee as she and her classmates hammer out a very creditable version of "Bittersweet Symphony". Teaching is like oxygen; it takes all my energy and yet gives it back to me, a hundredfold. (And suddenly I get a glimpse of what parenting must be like. But...nope. Still don't want 'em. Phew.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">So that's what I'm doing. Plus mentoring/music directing a youth theatre company in Saskatoon, plus getting ready to do another show in Saskatchewan in the summer, plus teaching preschool music, plus session work at my favourite recording studio, plus... You get the idea. Most days I'm really happy, which feels kind of wrong with all that's going on in the world, but </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">(I accidentally hit "publish" without finishing that last sentence, but I can't think of any good way to finish it anyway, so it stays like that.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Oh, and I coloured my hair. Fuck grey hair. Actually, it wasn't the greys that were killing me, it was the boring brown. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm going to blame my phone's camera for the fact that my face looks strangely puffy, not the fact that I'm still not in shape post-Christmas gluttony.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">New place, new work, new world (dis)order: 2017 promises to be...interesting, in the Chinese-Curse sense of the word. So batten down the hatches, get mad, get smart, get safe. And look after yourselves. I know some people disdain self-care (and I certainly hate the phrase), but I don't think it's wise to burn out, either. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">See you soon. </span></div>
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EastVanAlliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13338277463392417722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5374894361040382294.post-57348995442749483602016-12-28T23:01:00.000-08:002016-12-28T23:32:19.450-08:002016: Year In Review<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I <b><u>so</u></b> don't want to join in on all the "Fuck you, 2016" sentiment that's going around right now, but I have to admit that it <i>is</i> hard not to hate a year that brought us President-Elect Donald Trump, and took from us George Michael, Carrie Fisher, Alan Rickman, David Bowie, Leonard Cohen, and a host of other luminaries. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Sometimes I see social media posts from my circle of friends and acquaintances, and they make me want to weep. Even worse, they make me want to give up. My goal for the coming year is to try and find a way to be informed while still staying positive. I don't want to be a Nero/Pollyanna, endlessly fiddling while Rome burns, but if all we ever point out is the dark, the despairing, the apocalyptic... aren't we feeding the beast? No, wait- I'm going to be more declarative on this one: We ARE feeding the beasts of negativity, despair, hopelessness, and apathy if all we notice and write about are the bad things that surround us. It's all too easy to be a dark tourist in this life, watching the world crumble and posting things like "We're all doomed." But it takes real guts to see the world at its worst and face it with humour (sometimes very black humour indeed) and hope, and then to actually take action against the things that scare us. Some of my friends have faced unimaginable pain in their lives and emerged angry and fierce and <i>funny</i>, dammit. They are my inspiration as we limp into 2017.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">For me personally, 2016 was actually not a bad year at all. I am- still- lucky enough to love and be loved by a really wonderful person. I have a great relationship with my parents and sibling. I grew to like teaching more and more, and for the first time in ages, I made enough money to live on comfortably. I'm still living with family/roommates, which keeps my rent low, and I'm even starting to look for my own place, which I crave. But I love my house, and I love my neighbourhood, so I have the luxury of having lots of time to find my own digs. Considering the current Vancouver rental market, that's a damn good thing. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(Although doing a post like this may seem self-indulgent, I like writing them, because I'm often reminded of events and occasions I'd totally forgotten.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Here we go then, the year in review:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>January:</b> I dragged myself out of the sleepy torpor created by almost a month off, and got back to work, albeit reluctantly. I screwed up the courage to back out of a gig that I really didn't want to do, and felt nothing but relief once I did. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But, as my sweetheart always says, I am the busiest lazy person he knows; I helped him to move apartments by finding him a place (Facebook luck) and by unpacking and helping to set up his new home. </span><br />
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<b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">February: </b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Halfway through the month I dived happily into rehearsals for a new play. It reminded me that although teaching puts food on the table and is becoming more and more fun, theatre really feeds my soul. The process for this show required everyone to be onstage for the entire performance, and also to be at all rehearsals, all the time. What could have been arduous was simply wonderful. I happily took the bus to rehearsals, and it was the perfect time to be working 6 days a week, because it barely ever stopped raining. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>March:</b> My show opened, to good reviews and decent houses. I got the chance to work at a theatre I'd never worked at before (The Firehall Arts Centre). During this busyness, I was also rehearsing for an album release concert, and of course, I was still teaching as well, both privately and at a music school. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>April:</b> The album release concert happened, and it sounded beautiful, although it could have been better-attended. I worked, trained for a Standardized Patient roleplaying gig, and learned to make yoghurt, a feat I have only attempted twice since. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>May: </b>"This life I wanted to build for myself in Vancouver? It's happening." I wrote last May. I was realizing that, much as I may miss my crazy life up north doing interpretive theatre in a gold rush ghost town, my new life is rich and I have no regrets about turning my back on that world. (Except that I wish I could visit, but it's so remote and expensive.) I went to Victoria to see friends, played gigs, got a volunteer gig ushering so I could see more theatre. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>June:</b> The day after my music school job ended, I jumped on a plane and flew to Saskatoon for the second summer in a row, to work for a different theatre company for 6 weeks doing theatre-in-the-park. Our play was a Cree story, and I got to work with indigenous actors, do workshops with youth, play 6 different instruments, go to a sweat lodge, and reaaallllly get to know parks all over Saskatoon. I had also made a strong commitment to getting healthy, and this was helped immeasurably by the fact that I had to bike and walk everywhere while I was away. I loved doing the show, and I loved being back in Saskatoon, my new second home. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>July:</b> This month gave me the rare gift of being able to focus on one job for a while, while getting to know my second home a little bit better. Despite weather that was often more like Vancouver's than Saskatoon's, we were only rained out twice. I took the plunge and got my hair cut. Then I cut it even shorter. I started to be very aware of the discrepancy between my idyllic life and the injustices that were giving rise to hashtags like #BlackLivesMatter. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>August:</b> Flew back home, went to a job interview (quite hungover), and managed to secure a new job, teaching music to preschoolers, which was not something I knew anything about. Decided to procrastinate like hell on that one, and enjoy my month off to the hilt. There was a great deal to enjoy: I made a music video of one of my songs (or rather, two lovely people made it; I drank a lot of wine and sang along to a recording of myself over and over); a cousin of mine came over from the UK and we all made a trip up to the Okanagan to have some wonderful family time (plus, I learned to rock climb); and my lover and I spent several blissful weeks house-sitting a converted barn in Fort Langley. We also spent a lot of time working, because we discovered to our surprise that our creation, Little Ali Fox, was one of ten finalists in the Ottawa Animation Festival's <i>Pitch This!</i> event, and therefore we needed to raise funds so that Jay could travel to Ottawa. I continued to run a lot, and because we were living in the middle of nowhere, I also used my bicycle a great deal. It was blissful. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>September: </b>Holy switching gears, Batman! I transitioned from rural life: dirt between my toes, homegrown veggies, river swimming... to so many new challenges. My music school underwent a huge shift in its way of operating which ultimately benefitted me greatly, as I was able to use my skills as a multi-instrumentalist rather than just being a reluctant piano teacher. I began teaching preschool music at another music school, a job I hated for several months until I got on top of it (more or less) and learned to love it. I started playing ukulele On top of this, I went back to school as a student, taking a psychology class at Capilano University. which is one of the prerequisite courses of the Music Therapy program. On top of all this, I decided that there was JUST NO WAY that Jay should go to Ottawa for this animation festival without me. So I impulsively bought a plane ticket and went with him for 31 hours. Which was AMAZING. Expensive, but amazing. We didn't win <i>Pitch This!</i>, but it was still worth it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>October:</b> More work, more music, more running. I really enjoyed my new band, which I formed in the fall when the old folk band dissolved due to members moving away. I bought a U-bass, which I love playing, both at the music school and in my band. Music, music, music. And Psych 100, which I loved, to my surprise. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>November:</b> Man, what can I say about a month in which we watched a narcissistic orange get elected president? We all felt the world collectively cringe. We all struggled to feel any hope at all. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>December:</b> Somewhat to my surprise: It snowed!!! (The ground, over 20 days later, is still more white than green.) In fact, this is the first white Christmas in Vancouver that I can remember. Also to my surprise: I got an A minus in my Psych class (maybe because my exam was delayed by a day. THANK YOU, SNOW.) I finished schools of all sorts, and dived happily into doing fuck-all for 3 weeks. Oh, and I decided to set myself a fitness challenge and try to run every day for 30 days. Aaaannnnd, the gods said:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Ha</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ha</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ha</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ha </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ha.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But hey, I ran over 10 times! So it wasn't quite as impressive as I had hoped, but I still ran way more than I usually do. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I got to score a short film, which was a blast. I attended, and participated in, my music school's Christmas concerts, and felt more love for my work than ever before. It's a complicated, frustrated love at times, but hey, what love isn't? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Oh, and Christmas! I love Christmas! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And by the way, if we're speaking of love... I have to give major kudos to Jay for his amazing ideas, his crazy work ethic, and the way he gives 110% to everything. I love you with the passion of a thousand fiery suns, to quote from the podcast I'm listening to as I write this. Also my friends, both the ones I talk to on Facebook, and the ones I actually, you know, <i>see</i>. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">That was my year. Welcome to 2017, folks. In the spirit of hope, I hope I'll see you all next year. Be fierce. Be funny. Above all, stay alive. I love you. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>EastVanAlliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13338277463392417722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5374894361040382294.post-53187668872616883772016-12-14T22:36:00.000-08:002016-12-14T23:04:45.278-08:00Auntie Alison's Christmas Spectacular<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Well hi there.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I admit, I am a little woozy from all the Bailey's I've had tonight. Although I must stay vigilant enough to keep the kittens from destroying the Christmas tree. Which is in my bedroom! And taller than me! And makes my bedroom smell like a pine forest! </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5CK1KMUPHhs/WFIRxYkPkII/AAAAAAAAHM4/GVEYBRQkoBsKxN-bH8-3sIr7fGzPjruFQCLcB/s1600/20161214_122831.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5CK1KMUPHhs/WFIRxYkPkII/AAAAAAAAHM4/GVEYBRQkoBsKxN-bH8-3sIr7fGzPjruFQCLcB/s400/20161214_122831.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just LOOK at this damn tree. <br />
Try to ignore the bad lighting job though. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I'm not sure when I turned into such a Christmas nut; it sort of crept up on me slowly. I should say that I'm actually more of a Christmas <i>anticipation</i> nut, since most of my joy is actually derived from the weeks leading up to Christmas rather than the actual day itself, culminating in the rapture that is Christmas Eve. I swear I feed on the excitement that's floating around in the air. The joy sharply diminishes for me once The Big Day actually rolls around. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Christmas Eve always means dinner at my mom's with a loveably ragtag collection of Christmas orphans and eccentric friends (last year it was at my place, but the same principle applied.) I highly recommend gathering together a small group of people who've never met before and watching what happens. It's always been sweet, odd, and sometimes really fun, depending on who all gathers at my mom's place since it's never the same two years running. A couple years ago I randomly invited a woman I only slightly knew from my days up north because she happened to be in town; she turned out to be a delightful addition to the party. One year it was the couple who were my bosses in Barkerville, plus a roommate (and ex) of mine; another year an Israeli Jew who is a theatre lighting designer-slash-Christmas orphan... The point, of course, is not to simply collect amusingly eccentric people, but to mix things up a little but (or a lot) every year. Fresh blood is essential. After all, do you really want to hear Uncle Albert's off-colour stories for the 10th year in a row? You do not. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I am extra-lucky, because I get three weeks off around Christmas, so I have plenty of time, if not a great deal of money, to really get into the spirit of things. (Perhaps too much, if my tightening waistband is anything to go by.) It also means that I am soppily yearning for my boyfriend to whisk me to a cozy bar for hot toddies after a frosty walk, whereas he is trying mightily to squeeze money out of his <a href="http://www.tribalspiritgallery.com/" target="_blank">online gallery </a> and ship out last-minute parcels before business drops off. I can sit on my bed drinking Bailey's, blogging, and listening to Vince Guaraldi's <i>A Charlie Brown Christmas</i> album for the eleventy-millionth time by the light of my adorable Christmas tree (true fact: I am doing all of those things <u>right now</u>.) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But hey! My sweetie managed to squeeze in some time with me today, and we took an ear-freezing walk along the Fraser River while the sun and the temperature went down together, and airplanes roared across the river at the airport. We even managed hot, alcohol-spiked coffees at the Milltown Bar. Because you know the best thing that's happened so far this Christmas season?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Well now, hold up. We have to backtrack a minute. You see, every Christmas aficionado has a very specific list of things that make their season perfect. For example, some people's Ideal Christmas List might include: </span><br />
<br />
<ol>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Listening to Mariah Carey's "All I Want For Christmas" on repeat, plus swooning over every Christmas album Michael Buble ever made</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Watching <i>Love, Actually</i> with a box of Kleenex at the ready</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Getting 'lucky' at the office Christmas party</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Plastic christmas trees that fold up neatly into a box for the other 11 months of the year</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Spending Christmas Day surrounded by every.single.member. of their extended family, even though they don't actually like many of them, because It's Christmas And That Is Tradition </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Flying off to a hot country where Christmas may or may not be celebrated at all.</span></li>
</ol>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And while I am not here to judge you for any of those choices (just kidding! I am <i><u>so</u></i> judging you right now!) <i>my</i> Ideal Christmas List includes:</span></div>
<div>
<ol>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Listening to Wham's "Last Christmas" on repeat (even <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K2N63tdV21I" target="_blank">this version,</a> which is twisted magic), and also lots of classical Christmas carols from the land of my people, which is England, of course. Because other than Wham!, Christmas music should have stopped being written at around 1920.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Are you fucking kidding me, <i>Love, Actually</i>? This movie is so gross on so many levels that I won't even go there. (<a href="http://jezebel.com/i-rewatched-love-actually-and-am-here-to-ruin-it-for-al-1485136388" target="_blank">This Jezebel article</a> <i>does</i> go there. Brilliantly.) My favourite crappy Christmas movie of choice is <i>The Family Stone</i>. Diane Keaton being tough and funny and tragic! Sarah Jessica Parker as an uptight, neurotic bitch! Rachel McAdams as the tomboyish family rebel! The gay couple consisting of a deaf guy <i>and</i> a black guy who adopt a baby for maximum political correctness! As you get drunker: <i>Scrooged</i>. If you <i>really</i> overdid it:<i> Bad Santa. </i></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I don't mean to brag, but <i>my</i> office Christmas party was spent <u>not</u> with Bob-from-Accounting drunkenly trying to slip his tongue in my mouth under the mistletoe; but instead with some of the coolest musical cats in town. My boss told me repeatedly how great she thought I was; we ate a shit-ton of delicious nibbles; and the night culminated in a drunken jam in which I played the ukulele bass, the vibraphone, and the djembe, because my 'office' is a kick-ass music school. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I want my tree to smell so good, the cats are drawn to it like moths to a green, needly flame, compelled to nibble at low-hanging branches until I forcibly eject them from my room. Plastic's what your credit card and yo' mama's face are made of. Not my tree. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This year, my Christmas Day will be spent with my boyfriend, and my boyfriend's female BFF, a cool kitty who pours the vodka with a terrifyingly liberal hand. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My roommates/brother and sister-in-law have actually done the tropical-country-Christmas-thing on several occasions, and they loved it. I admit I was in Hawaii one December, and really enjoyed watching the Christmas deccos vying for attention with the palm trees, but when I jetted back home into a cold snap (this was about 3 years ago), I was delighted. Christmas means one thing. <i>And guess what we got this year? </i></span></li>
</ol>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>SNOW. </b>In Vancouver. Can we take a moment to appreciate just how rare this is? </span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m4rTOu8940I/WFIRwmTgbiI/AAAAAAAAHNE/IdvTV-OW8Pg8mc-2ZlGMF2XMTzNhexIiACEw/s1600/20161214_154935.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m4rTOu8940I/WFIRwmTgbiI/AAAAAAAAHNE/IdvTV-OW8Pg8mc-2ZlGMF2XMTzNhexIiACEw/s400/20161214_154935.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jay takes a moment. While standing on some snow. In minus-4 degree temperatures.<br />
A huge sacrifice on his part, this walk, considering he was a) incredibly busy and<br />
b) is one of those Vancouverites who actually loves the warm and rainy weather. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The morning it snowed last week, I actually got dressed and went out at 7:30am just so I could coo over the freshly-fallen white stuff and stumble around in it for 90 minutes. The fact that it's still here, kept here by a freakish cold snap, is a bloody Christmas miracle. It won't be here by the 24th, I've reconciled myself to that. But it's enough that it came, and that it stayed around for a while, which warms my Ontario-born heart even as it freezes my fingertips. </span><br />
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<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But wait! It gets better! Is all this Christmas making you jaded? Are you feeling frazzled? Spending too much time at the mall? Lost the magic? Auntie Alison has some suggestions for you:</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Music?</b> Watch my friend (and fellow-Reptiles band member) Noah Walker drift moodily around Metrotown Mall while lip-synching his song, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RcEgH3sCJp0" target="_blank">"Shortest Days of the Year"</a>. This one's for all the cynics, as Noah sings lines like "It's just the shortest days of the year/That's all this ever really was", and other myth-busting reasons why Christmas is really NBD, all while sneakily shooting a music video in one of Vancouver's busiest malls as passers-by do the totally Canadian thing and studiously ignore him. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Also? <u>live music, people</u>. I saw a carol concert by <a href="https://www.musicaintima.org/" target="_blank">musica intima</a> last night that just blew me away, and they have several more concerts this month. Do yourself a favour and buy tickets now. I have several friends who dislike Christmas carols because they have no faith and dislike organized religion. To me, they're missing the point. I <i>know</i> that Christianity has visited terrible atrocities on the world. It's also given us some of the most incredible art, architecture and music in existence. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0j2JRcC6wBs" target="_blank">This</a> is the sound of pure wonder. Is it diminished because I don't happen to believe in the mythology that inspired it? Not to me. </span></div>
<div>
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<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Decorations?</b> IMHO, few stores do Christmas better than <a href="http://www.welks.ca/" target="_blank">Welk's</a> on Main Street. And if you're looking for genuine vintage touch, slip across the street to Baker's Dozen Antiques and pick up a few slightly battered glass ornaments from the '40s, '50s and '60s. </span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0A8em9GC31A/WFIRwGcl_WI/AAAAAAAAHNE/NTaojcM0NnAqSJ_6wlpYRZqQatbb5C4jgCEw/s1600/20161213_152347.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0A8em9GC31A/WFIRwGcl_WI/AAAAAAAAHNE/NTaojcM0NnAqSJ_6wlpYRZqQatbb5C4jgCEw/s400/20161213_152347.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shiny balls at Baker's Dozen. You know you wanna.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Performances? </b>Vancouver is lucky enough to have two productions that tip their hats to tradition while also being straight-up wacky Vancouver. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><a href="http://vancouvermovingtheatre.com/" target="_blank">Bah! Humbug!</a> </i>sets Dickens' <i>A Christmas Carol</i> in the Downtown Eastside, which would be genius enough. Add in beloved performers like bluesman/actor Jim Byrnes and sets designed by local artist Richard Tetrault and you've got grubby, gritty magic. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://thecultch.com/events/an-east-van-panto-little-red-riding-hood/" target="_blank">The East Van Panto</a> has also become a tradition, skewering all our east van obsessions: yoga, biking, organic food, political correctness... the list goes on. With music by east van's Queen of Quirk, Veda Hille. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Shopping?</b> I know. I haven't walked around in your shoes, 'cause I just have to buy prezzies for a couple of people. Literally. But dude. If you're still buying 30 presents you've gotta ask yourself <i>why</i>. And if you really can't cut back on the number of gifts you have to give, then for god's sake do the duty-buying online (I love <a href="http://www.thinkgeek.com/" target="_blank">these guys</a> for fun stuff) and get thee to a craft market for all the stuff you're buying for peeps you actually love. There are so many, all around town, starting in November. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FNF0A1ndxKs/WFI2RSeDFkI/AAAAAAAAHNM/DjRgcs2cL8Y_BkXGWYgWKThtyaB9wWVIACLcB/s1600/winterscene.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FNF0A1ndxKs/WFI2RSeDFkI/AAAAAAAAHNM/DjRgcs2cL8Y_BkXGWYgWKThtyaB9wWVIACLcB/s400/winterscene.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heaven. For me, anyway.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I have friends who are indifferent to Christmas, or even actively hate it. They have really good reason to, some of them. They've been traumatized by abuse; worn down by family obligations/discord or by overwork; made weary and wary by loneliness and isolation. I acknowledge their distaste/loathing, but while I hope I can be sensitive to their feelings, I will not be ashamed of mine. </span></div>
<br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I am also very aware that all this...joy and indulgence is a huge luxury denied most of us; also that things like drinking water, safety, and basic human dignity are things denied many of my fellow humans while I go to carol concerts and get misty-eyed over manipulative seasonal commercials. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I am hesitant to suggest too many organizations without being better-informed, but I donated to <a href="http://www.msf.ca/" target="_blank">Doctors Without Borders</a> this year, and I hope to be able to negotiate the thorny path of charity more often in the future, as my own earnings modestly increase. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">At heart, I am a pagan. I worship lights, music, friends, food, trees, mulled wine, lazy days off, snow... and the sense of wonder and magic that lies underneath all of those things as we fight through the coldest, shortest days. If those things don't do it for you, don't summon a shiny feeling in your soul, then I wish you the strength and the imagination to find something that does. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Merry Christmas, whatever that means to you. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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EastVanAlliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13338277463392417722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5374894361040382294.post-36784670183944869342016-12-03T20:39:00.000-08:002016-12-03T21:23:53.419-08:00A Day In The Life: 3/12/16<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I sleep long enough, but wake up tired and headache-y. One of those days when my body feels...off. There have been too many of those this fall. My body is getting slammed with one malaise after another; a disadvantage of working with children. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I've set myself a goal this month: run 30 minutes a day, <i>every</i> day. Even Christmas. It's Day Three, and I want to bury myself in blankets and pretend it's still dark, but my back is too sore to stay in bed anyway, so up I get. At least it's not raining, for a change. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I decide to run south, which means that the outward-bound part will be hard (all uphill), but the return will be easy. I decide to sweeten the pill by ending the run at my favourite coffee bar/breakfast joint, Matchstick, where the poached-eggs-on-toast are just perfect. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I simply cannot get up any speed this morning; my legs feel leaden but I keep running anyway, and at least I am warm. Up to 28th, across to Fraser, back down to Kingsway, with a little detour to add time. Finally my timer pings and I gratefully slow to a walk. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Eggs, toast, black tea. Expensive, and I don't care. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Walk to work, because I need to use their computers to write the music for a documentary I am scoring for a friend. A detour to the mall because he needs a bit more time to edit the film. Buy some fuzzy pants at Ardene because they have foxes on them. Buy some slippers because everyone needs more warm slippers this time of year. Get to work- can't get in because the front door is locked. Seethe with frustration because my damn cel phone can't get a signal within a 2-block radius of work, for some reason. Finally manage to contact my angel boss, who is in the neighbourhood and lets me in, bless her. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Wait some more. Fiddle with the music. Put on the new slippers. Get the new cut. Talk to the filmmaker; suggest changes. Wait for another cut. Make tea, raid the cupboard in the office for the cookies we serve to the ukulele students. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Edit music, slide around tracks until they time up with the new cut (the actual composing was done last Tuesday). Talk it over with the filmmaker; change some stuff, send it off again. Suggest changes to the grammar in the subtitles, because I am as passionate about good english as I am about good music. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VDuUjmfv2xM/WEOdAyzSIsI/AAAAAAAAHJc/l4Q6nsIFOugsobR7pyYeOtfnRngNwtG1wCLcB/s1600/IMG_20161203_143419.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VDuUjmfv2xM/WEOdAyzSIsI/AAAAAAAAHJc/l4Q6nsIFOugsobR7pyYeOtfnRngNwtG1wCLcB/s400/IMG_20161203_143419.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still life with fox mug and Garageband. Yes, I scored a film on Garageband. Suck it, music tech snobs. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Five hours after I arrive at work, I am done. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Stop in at a local clothing shop and spend more money. Leggings, big sweater. Basically the same clothes I was wearing in 1993. Everything old is new again. Hungry again- the local pizza joint is calling my name so I give in. Cocktail, delicious thin-crust pizza with leftovers for tomorrow. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-40hvolu1hz8/WEOdmQCyf7I/AAAAAAAAHJk/L0zCOZ94Pq0T3YcewG2VJJXzWVlZjQM1ACLcB/s1600/20161203_172129.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-40hvolu1hz8/WEOdmQCyf7I/AAAAAAAAHJk/L0zCOZ94Pq0T3YcewG2VJJXzWVlZjQM1ACLcB/s400/20161203_172129.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Get in my mouth, pizza with arugula & gorgonzola. I ran today- I can eat whatever I want. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Home to my room. Saturday night, and I'm wearing the fuzzy fox pants and folding laundry. Love is out of town and the Christmas parties don't start until next weekend, that's my excuse. Put off prepping for work tomorrow teaching the preschoolers from hell. Put off prepping. Put off- Dammit. Time to prep. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v-JZrk9PpgI/WEOdJRs4i3I/AAAAAAAAHJg/M595i-z510gN8Xq1vFpX4dSoCrGV-nfhQCLcB/s1600/20161203_181514.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v-JZrk9PpgI/WEOdJRs4i3I/AAAAAAAAHJg/M595i-z510gN8Xq1vFpX4dSoCrGV-nfhQCLcB/s400/20161203_181514.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And yet, I'm <i>still </i>not prepping. Fox pants, BTW- are you sensing a theme here? </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Body still feels tired and- wrong, somehow. Like it did all day. Anger, frustration, just a little too close to the surface. Some days are just like that. Be thankful that there was no one around to unleash that frustration on. Be grateful that you got to make some art in a quiet room wearing new slippers. Some days, that's the absolute best thing you can do.</span>EastVanAlliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13338277463392417722noreply@blogger.com0