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Life as we know it

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“My favorite exercise is a cross between a crunch and the lunge. It’s LUNCH!”

Anonymous

Shortly after we arrived in Canada three years ago the Kickass Canada Girl persuaded me that we should join a fitness class. Mercifully she found one at our local leisure centre entitled “Fabulous over Fifty“, so was able to convince me that there was a chance that we (or to be more specific, I) might not actually die as a result of our efforts. The class was run by a fearsome female Japanese Ninja who also works out the Canadian women’s rugby sevens squad in her spare time.

What could possibly go wrong?

Well – three years later I am still doing the class, though I and the indomitable group of ladies who have somehow agreed to put up with my solo male presence are now categorised as ‘advanced’ (clearly only in relative terms!).

The Girl – being now gainfully employed – no longer has time for these sessions, though she does undergo her own rigorous regimen of Pilates, Yoga and her own fitness training in the early evenings.

It cannot – in all fairness – be said that I like or enjoy exercise. I do, however, like being alive and this seems a pretty good way of remaining so for as long as possible.

As part of a recent progress assessment I was able to record the following:

  • holding plank position for 3 minutes and 17 seconds
  • performing 34 squats in 30 seconds
  • managing 36 press-ups in 30 seconds

The InterWebNet suggests that – for a man in his mid-sixties – this does demonstrate that I am still alive and kicking (to quote the song).

Having said which – I am now about to take the summer months off from my regular visits to the gym. I find that I need to let my body recover from repeated exercise every now and again and besides, there are things of a nautical nature upon which to focus.

In the meantime I will happily raise a glass and wish you all ‘good health’…

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“Creation from chaos is natural. We’ve come to a place where we’ve realized that we have this actual physical need to create things. We’ve discovered that we hate people en masse, we’re sick of homogenized culture, and these realizations have left holes in our hearts. We create to fill those holes, to be able to sleep at night knowing we’ve done something, even a small something, to confront the manufactured culture that is currently being churned out.”

Renee Rigdon

Those who touch base on a regular basis with these mildly mischievous meanderings will be in no doubt as to my personal views with regard to the necessity – the urgency even – of the creative process to the health, happiness and fulfillment of our spirits and souls. Whether or not we might – as Renee Rigdon suggests – actually ‘hate people en masse” it is quite clear that our creativity – shared or solo – enables us to connect with one another on a considerably more intimate and joyful level – to come to know each other through that which matters most to us.

We are blessed in this corner of the world to have a burgeoning arts scene and an abundance of those for whom the practice of creation is woven deeply into their existences. In communities such as these the commercialisation of creation – whilst naturally still a factor in some cases – is of considerably less import that it is in the big cities. You might demur – suggesting perhaps that my spectacles have lenses of a rosy hue – but that is how it seems to me.

This past weekend we entertained The Girl’s mother – she having driven down from Nanaimo and hopped over on the Mill Bay ferry. It was also the weekend of the ArtSea Spring Studio Tour – a community arts council event for which artists local to the northern reaches of the Saanich peninsula open their studios and processes to visitors. We determined to venture forth to discover what might be on offer.

I have made previous mention of MacTavish Academy of Art – which splendid re-purposing of a redundant elementary school is but a short hop from us. They were hosting an eclectic assemblage of artists and crafts-people for whom opening their own premises was not an option and included in that number were friends of ours; a mother and daughter – Wendy and Sarah Simpson – who are both jewellery designers and fabricators. We spend a most happy half-hour with them chewing the fat and investigating the wares on show at the various booths before moving on.

Crossing the peninsula to the west side we visited Jerry Anderson’s wood carving studio, where up to a dozen carvers regularly assemble to create life-size wooden replicas of birds and wildfowl. Mr Anderson had been a boat builder by trade before retirement and he showed us a number of wonderful scale models that he had built – including that of a 45 foot ketch upon which he and his wife had at one time lived.

The Girl’s parents were themselves great sailors and it amused – though not surprised – us to discover that Mr Anderson was well acquainted with the builder of their last traditional wooden sailboat. Like them he and his wife had also been residents for a period on one of the Gulf Islands and we enjoyed a most pleasant conversation that covered birds, boats, island life, shoes, ships and sealing wax – and all manner of other things.

If this gently meandering post can actually be said to have a point I feel sure that it is this: there is something about corners of the world such as these that attract those for whom creativity is a key part of the process of discovering themselves and their relationships with others. For the most part these explorations are carried out with the utmost gentleness and lightness of touch… all of which makes community life is such parts most rewarding and enjoyable.

Much more than this one cannot not reasonably ask…

 

 

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Homeward Bound, Albert Pinkham Ryder, c. 1893-1894, oil on canvas mounted on wood panel - Phillips CollectionThere came a moment – just over an hour and twenty minutes into the opening night of Paul Simon’s ‘Homeward Bound‘ farewell tour in Vancouver on Wednesday last – when the most excellent fifteen piece band brought an exuberant rendition of ‘You Can Call me Al‘ to a juddering close and the great man himself stepped forward to acknowledge and bask in the applause of the devoted crowd – when a sudden startled stir rippled through the arena. Was that it? Had a mere sixteen songs from Simon’s extraordinarily extensive back-catalogue been all that we would be left to remember him by?

It was not enough. Not by a long chalk…

Three extended encores (featuring ten further songs and lasting for a full fifty minutes) later we reluctantly let the man go. He is – after all – seventy five years of age and this was the first night of a long tour. Perhaps he was testing the water – investigating what was possible and seeing how far he could push a voice that – whilst it sounded a little tenuous at the start – warmed up more and more as the evening progressed.

Were we satisfied? Well – of course we were – though much of the talk afterwards was of classic tracks that had not been included. There was no ‘Kodachrome‘ – no ‘Train in the Distance‘ – no ‘Only Living Boy in New York‘…  but I guess that is the inevitable side-effect of having such a voluminous inventory of classic compositions from which to choose.

Simon ended alone on stage singing – along, it seemed, with the entire crowd – ‘The Sound of Silence‘. My view (widely shared of course) that the man is a complete genius was again borne out by the recognition anew that his music – even that dating from the mid-sixties – has really not aged at all – neither in its poetry nor its melodies. This is surely a true mark of the enduring legacy that this great artist has gifted to us. He makes us sing – he makes us happy – he makes us dance – he moves us to tears (at least three times during Wednesday night’s show).

More than this we cannot ask – though should his tease that he had only billed the tour as his farewell so as to be able to push up the ticket prices turn out to be true – I have no doubt at all that he would be welcomed back to the West Coast with open arms.

Genius! ‘Nuff said!

 

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It is no secret that we have now entered my favourite time of the year – a subject on which I have almost certainly waxed lyrical any number of times in previous postings (at around this time). There are many reasons to delight in the season… nature reborn – the first hints of the summer to come – the warmth anew upon one’s shoulders – the fresh aromas on the balmy breeze – that strange golden light in the sky!…

My first instinct is to break out the trusty Fuji and to document the nascent spring/summer season as I have done so many times before. As the photos attached below will attest I am not about to refrain from so doing on this occasion either.

It is also time for the first Intrepid Theatre festival of the season – ‘UNO Fest’ – a feast of one man/woman shows which aim to amuse, inform, to move and to set the tone for the rest of the year. I am once again on airport/ferry pickup duty – an endeavour that brings me into contact with fascinating artists from around the world – and what’s not to like about that?!

Finally – in response to Aeroplan threatening to expire our precious points should we not have used them by the end of the month, a short but expedient trip has been arranged. We leave on Thursday for Montreal – a city that I have not yet visited but which am very much looking forward to seeing – before heading back to Vancouver early next week in time to catch the Paul Simon farewell concert that was the subject of a previous missive.

Further photographic images are bound to follow…

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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Image from Pixabay“Music is the universal language of mankind”.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

One of the fascinating aspects of life post-(semi)-retirement here in Victoria has been the unexpected number of music acts that we have seen – many of them British and a fair percentage that I had not seen live before (regardless of having had many opportunities so to do in the past in the UK).

I have previously waxed lyrical about seeing Ringo Starr’s All Star band and my joy at being able to experience Peter Gabriel in Canada – something that I had really not expected – was unconfined.

In but a couple of week’s time we will be in Vancouver to see Paul Simon on his retirement tour. He is another that I have never gotten around to seeing and am chuffed at the opportunity so to do before it is too late.

The Proclaimers will be in Victoria later in the year and we have tickets! I have not seen them before either and would not perhaps have thought so to do were it not that I recently saw a fascinating documentary about them (narrated by David Tennant) that filled me with admiration for their ethos and work ethic.

I have long been a Simple Minds fan but have as yet – you’ve guessed it – never seen them live. I was recently listening to one of their greatest hits compilations and decided to look them up online to see if they are still active. I quickly discovered that they have recently released a new CD and are touring Europe during the summer. Sampling the new tracks online I was delighted to find the band back in vintage form. I rapidly purchased the album – lamenting the while the fact that the band’s tour did not extend to North America.

The very next morning The Girl received an email notification (she is massively organised in such matters) that the Minds had extended their tour and would be closing it in Vancouver at the end of October!

No prizes for guessing who now has a ticket!

 

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidBack in the UK I worked for a number of years either side of the millennium at a prestigious and venerable independent boys’ boarding school. It is the sort of school at which all of the pupils are obliged to board and only allowed to go home for a couple of weekends each term. There are twenty five boarding houses in total with around fifty pupils in each, under the close supervision of the Housemaster and the Dame (a sort of ‘Matron’).

These days the Housemasters receive considerable support from deputies, though this was not the case in even quite recent history. Since the Housemaster is responsible (in loco parentis) pretty much 24/7 you might imagine that the role can be a pretty exhausting one.

I was friends with several such fellows and used to tease them whenever they complained about what a hard life they led. I would point out that not only were they handsomely rewarded for their pains but that they also got to live entirely rent-free in really quite splendid residences – and to receive generous grants for decorating and furnishing the same.

At the end of each term the school (as indeed probably do all schools) would exhale a deep collective sigh as all the little treasures trekked off home in their parents’ plush automobiles, leaving the staff to relax abruptly and to try to get their lives back into some sort of sensible shape.

All except the Housemasters that is – who would at this point must needs write for each of their charges a detailed and considered report on their progress and well-being, such that the grateful parents would feel that they were truly getting their money’s worth. This task would keep these poor souls busy for another two or three days following the departure of the student body, whilst everyone else got on with the onerous burden of having fun and ‘chilling’!

What makes me think of this now? Well – I have spent much of the last three days marking homeworks, grading lab sessions, evaluating term projects and scoring the final examination papers of my recent students – who are doubtless all eager to know how they have done. I still have about half a day’s work to go and I am now really looking forward to the task being completed.

Strangely, I now feel considerable more sympathy for my former colleagues…

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidWhen I wrote this piece back in June 2015 – on the occasion of the closing of the final term of my final academic year at the illustrious London boys’ school for which it was my privilege to have worked for getting on for a decade immediately prior to retirement – I certainly did not expect that I would find myself almost three years later experiencing yet another term-end.

Neither – of course – did I envisage myself ever working again. This post was to have signaled a final farewell to all that!

Never‘ (according to the wisdom of American football coach Jon Gruden) ‘say never to nothing!’. A swift perusal of the InterWebNet reveals that he is far from alone in offering this opinion.

So – my first term back at work finished last Friday, with just the final exam to come tomorrow (Monday). I then have some marking and course development to attend to before my term contract expires at the end of April. I have already been approached several times about doing some further teaching in the autumn (fall!) – which would actually suit me rather well. Indeed, I was asked if I would care to go full time – at which I happily drew the line.

My current thinking is to try for a contract for the autumn term and then see if I can also get one for the spring term of next year (the which Canadians somewhat pessimistically call the ‘winter’ term – though perhaps in other parts of Canada that is more apt!). By that time my state pension will have kicked in and I will probably feel that enough is enough…

But as the man says – “Never…!

I have found myself enjoying this experience to an unexpected degree. I have always taken pleasure from teaching and with post-secondary students there are few issues of discipline or motivation. I only work two days a week and even then they are not consecutive. I am left very much to my own devices and have been pleasantly surprised by just how much knowledge I seem to have accumulated over the decades – even if I were not consciously trying so to do at the time. On top of everything, being in a unionised post (and I find myself almost accidentally in a union for the first time in my life) my qualifications and experience all count toward my remuneration – which is as a result not to be sniffed at.

Well – I will certainly not be doing any sniffing!

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Organising myself to pen entries for this eclectic journal has proved a challenge of late, largely because so much of my time is going into the two days a week that am I teaching Computer Literacy to post-secondary students at a local college.

Since I am teaching an existing course I am – thankfully – spared the necessity of creating a curriculum from scratch, or of having to produce the considerable quantities of material involved. I am obliged, however, to acquaint myself each week with all that is necessary for the delivery of two classes, for two ninety minute lab sessions and for homework assignments. I must – in addition – mark all submitted coursework and maintain office hours on campus so that students may avail themselves of my good services should such be required.

Had I started on this endeavour with a little more lead time than I did I might have been able to prepare further ahead. As things stand I am having to pick up each week’s material just ahead of time and to run through it all at home on the days between taking it into the classroom. I am as a result probably actually working nearer three to three and a half days a week.

This week I have had also to devote time to the ‘delightful’ task of preparing (thankfully not from scratch) a Mid Term Exam paper, which my doughty band of apprentices will be facing tomorrow. Stout-hearted they may be but they are also a somewhat motley crew. Who knows how it will turn out?!

I must admit to finding myself – somewhat to my surprise – rather enjoying teaching again. Putting to some good use forty years of acquired knowledge in the realm of information technology does compensate to a degree for returning – however temporarily – to a field from which I had gratefully retired. As things stand I will certainly consider doing another term in the autumn (fall) and maybe one more next spring… if they will have me. That would probably be enough however, even though I would firmly expect such subsequent terms to prove a considerably easier ride.

 

Though we are just passed mid term at the college my first season of theatre workshops at our neighborhood academy of arts is approaching its final week. I realise – looking back – that I have thus far written but little about this, probably for fear of jinxing the project. I promise that I will make amends in a future post.

For now I can report that though our troupe of young thespists is yet small they are all clearly keen to be with us and have thrown themselves enthusiastically into the sessions. Further, both they and the academy have indicated that they want more, so a second term is being planned and is scheduled to start in April. This will hopefully all build slowly until the point at which it takes on a life of its own and sails off happily into the sunset.

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Image from Pixabay“We are such stuff as dreams are made on”

William Shakespeare

I have always dreamed vividly!

Such is – I would hazard – true of many people. Indeed, it is likely that the only real variation is in the intensity of the dreams themselves and in how much of them we can remember upon awakening.

Now, I don’t have much truck with the analysis of the meaning of dreams – certainly not in the ‘if you dream of falling/flying/marrying your mother etc that means xxxx‘ or like manner – though I do have a certain amount of time for Jung’s thinking on archetypal symbols. The business of dreaming itself is of considerable interest, however. I am fascinated by the repetition within dreams of images and memes that date back many decades. Why should those particular notions seem so constant when many other similar ones have faded?

I am also curious about the structure of dreams; of the way in which disparate elements conflate and apparently incongruous situations merge into one another. I find myself wondering (as have many others, of course) what mechanism could possibly be responsible for such apparently ‘real’ sequences and as to what purpose they truly serve.

The other night I dreamt that The Girl and I were in Edinburgh at festival time. We have both separately visited Edinburgh (many times in my case) but I have not attended the festival since the mid 90s. In the dream we had entered an old church which was clearly in use as some sort of venue – a common enough experience during festival time – and I was aware that we were on our way to meet other people. Down at the front of the space there was a group of young people and it was clearly they with whom we were to convene.

It rapidly became apparent that they were all once members of the youth theatre that I helped facilitate back in the 70s and 80s in the UK and I realised (as one mysteriously does in dreams) that they now held regular reunions in Edinburgh during festival time. It was good to meet again people that I had not seen for decades and the occasion was a joyous one. What was odd about the encounter (though not so strange in dream terms) was that these young people were all exactly as I remember them… they had not aged at all!

The Girl and I – on the other hand – had certainly done so!

Now that’s somewhat spooky!

 

 

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There are many reasons to look forward to escaping from our semi-subterranean hidey-hole and taking up residence again on our newly renovated main floor. This recent experience is just one more such to add to the list.

Our basement does have a kitchen – of sorts! It is quite small and the equipment is – er – ‘old’ to put it mildly. Like some other old things in the house it does not always function as efficiently as once it did – many, many years ago when it was still full of life and charged with the vigour of youth…

Ahem! – sorry about that!

Anyway… a couple of days ago I was roasting some vegetables in the antique oven downstairs. The temperature therein always seems on the low side so I had pushed it up a notch. Unfortunately when the cooking time was up and I opened the oven door a billow of smoke was released into the room – and into the ceiling-mounted smoke detector.

Now – when we purchased the house back in 2015 we inherited with it an alarm system. An eye-watering cancellation fee persuaded us that we should stick with it. The service – which is I believe monitored from somewhere in northern America – not only provides break-in sensors on doors and windows and motion sensors throughout, but also fire and smoke alarms on each floor. When an alarm is triggered a disembodied voice hails one through the console outside the master bedroom, endeavouring to establish whether or not this be a genuine incident.

On this occasion the alarm sounded and I had to rush upstairs to converse with the distant operative. I cancelled the alarm on the console and informed the enquirer that it was a false alarm. I was obliged to give details such as my first and last names and to quote the secret password – to prove that I was not in fact an arsonist who had broken into the house. All this time the smoke was wafting around downstairs.

As the conversation finished the alarm was again triggered. I cancelled it once more and assumed that the distant overseer would recognise that this was in fact the same incident. I went back downstairs. As I was dealing with the oven I heard a call coming in on my cell phone in an adjacent room. I did not get to it before the caller rang off but was informed that a voicemail had been left. It was from the alarm company enquiring about the second alarm. I called them back at once and patiently talked the lady at the far end through the sequence of events. After a couple of minutes of conversation she asked me if I wanted them to cancel the call to the fire brigade. “Yes!” – I exclaimed urgently, somewhat perplexed that it had taken her this long to ask.

At that moment the doorbell rang. It was a fireman! Outside in the road I could see an appliance and a couple of other fire service vehicles – lights a-flashing. I patiently and apologetically explained that there had been a false alarm and that I had cancelled it and spoken to the alarm service. Apparently they had tried to reach me over the console again after the alarm went off for the second time but I was clearly already flapping about downstairs by that point.

I suppose that I should be grateful that we are this well covered – particularly given that this is a wooden framed building – but I can’t help feeling that a little common sense on this occasion would have saved a fair bit of panic on all sides.

Hey ho!

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