You are currently browsing the monthly archive for August, 2008.
We just flew in from Canada and boy, are our arms tired.
We saw 13 plays in 8 days: 9 at the Stratford Festival and 4 at the Shaw Festival. We are overdosed on the theatre.
Our favorite at the Stratford Festival was “The Trojan Women” by Euripides. It is about women waiting at the end of the Trojan War to find out what will happen to them; who will own them now. They were queens; now they are spoils of war and will be slaves or concubines to the Greek victors.
It was a timeless piece; the setting could have been Kosovo or any other nowadays place. It was heart wrenching to see how one of them has her young son taken from her; he is thrown off a high wall to prevent him growing up and taking revenge for Troy. The mother points out that all of Troy could not defeat the Greeks, and now the Greeks are fearful a boy of 4 years old will do so? She is taken away before the boy can be buried.
Our favorite show at the Shaw Festival was a reading of Sondheim’s “Follies”. The actresses sang good renditions of “Broadway Baby” and “Losing My Mind”. The song “I’m Still Here” always cheers me up.
Hearing “I’m Still Here” was apropos. I have been going to these two theatre festivals for over 25 years now; it is comforting to go back to places so familiar – and remember. We always go the last week of August – one last hurrah of the summer. It is always August in Ontario.
Niagara-on-the-Lake is in the heart of Ontario’s wine country. So we had a lot of good wine.
Anyway I missed you all and hope to get caught up in my blog reads this evening. I hope everyone was well.
Dear Spo-fans:
We are off to Ontario (Land of Theatre).
We fly to Detroit (Land of the Ancestors) and drive to Stratford. We attend the Stratford Festival; we will see maybe 5 or 6 plays.
Afterwards, we drive to Niagara-on-the-Lake for the Shaw Festival for a few more shows, including a reading version of “Follies”.
I don’t know if I will have time internet access so this maybe my last entry until Labor Day Weekend.
If I can, I will post what we are doing and what we are seeing etc.
Some time next week my counter will pass 75,000.
Can you imagine?
75,000 people dropping by what started to be a mere curiosity to learn more about the internet.
I apologize I won’t have time to read up on my blog buddies.
I will miss you!
Michael
In England the word ‘pudding’ is used to describe desert.
“What are we having for pudding?” You may get pudding for ‘pudding’ but any dessert can be ‘pudding’.
In our house we have ‘small chocolate cone’.
When we were kids, a summer afternoon’s family outing often ended with a trip to the Dairy Queen. My brothers and I would want something as large as possible or something not tried before.
In contrast father always ordered the same thing – a small chocolate cone. It was never vanilla, and never a medium or a large. It was always small, chocolate and self serve.
It was enough.
We thought him boring for always having this. Occasionally we would order a small chocolate cone ourselves to see if we could do so without laughing. We would ask father “Can we stop on the way home to get a small chocolate cone (knowing he would be more likely to go if SCC was mentioned). At family dinners we all ask in chorus what are we having for small chocolate cone!?
Even Someone has picked it up. “Hey bud, let’s go out for a small chocolate cone (meaning Cold Stone Creamery).
Hurrah for small chocolate cone!
When the old man goes, I want to serve small chocolate cones at his funeral.
Now that we have the indoor projects completed, Someone and I are looking at improving the yard.
Most homes in Phoenix have some sort of watering system, especially if they have grass or palm trees. The previous owners (curse them) put down a patio on top of some of the irrigation system so when it is running water bubbles up underneath the cracks. If we turn off the water, the citrus trees wither. So a new watering system is priority #1.
We need new lights for the outside. The front has no walkway lights and no ‘spotlights’ on some of the trees and bushes. This is Priority #2.
Priority #3 is putting down some new plants. Normally I would do this myself but I am not familiar enough with cacti and palms to know what to buy and how to place them properly. We need more greens in the back; when we look out back we mostly see ‘wall’.
We can more of less do what we want in the back, but the Gestapo Home Owners Association limits what we can do in the front.
As a bonusm Mr. Landscaper is designing a raised bed in which to grow some vegetables in the winter and autumn months. Wouldn’t that be marvelous to grow vegetables again! I must restrain myself from too many dreams – the damn thing isn’t even up yet.
We plan to include in the landscaping plans the erection of our snow meter. It is a metal pole consisting of large numbers. You look out the window to see how many inches of snow are on the ground.
It may be broken as we haven’t seen even one inch of snow.
Next week we will be back in Canada for our annual trek to the Stratford and Shaw Festivals in Ontario. I have been going to the Stratford Festival for over 25 years.
I have Canadian roots on my father’s side. I am a closet Canuck, for which I am very pleased. Overall Canada is a more civilized country than the USA. I feel more at ease in Canada; if I achieve retirement I fancy living there.
Unfortunately I’ve been spoiled most of my life with a good exchange rate. I remember it used to be 2:1. Now I get LESS Canadian dollars (pronounced dole-ers) for my American dollars (pronounced doll-ers). Between the expense to get there and the exchange rate we will not be doing much shopping, much to the chagrin of the local economy.
Mr. Martin the old meanie canceled the GST return. Bum.
Here are some things for which I am looking forward –
1) a decent cup of tea upon the asking
2) my annual meal of bruchetta and wine at the Café Down the Street in Stratford
3) Tim Horton doughnuts.
4) Seeing “Love’s Labor’s Lost” – it is the only play in the Shakespeare repertoire I have not seen. After this I can state I have seen them all.
5) Getting the hell out of Phoenix
Anyway there is a lot of work prior to getting out this Saturday. Stay tuned.
Most people are flabbergasted when I tell about my childhood.
I never saw my parents fight. Ever.
They never even bickered. At most I saw my father angry at rambunctious kids and my mother ‘cross’ at housework (Oh, why can’t I keep anything nice!) but that was it.
As kids we thought this odd. When he heard everybody else’s parents fought, we thought something was must be wrong with our family. I recall we even tried for a time to egg our parents into fights but this never occurred.
Even my brothers and I got along – they are still my best friends whose company I prefer to anyone else. Happy WASPs all of us.
The reason I bring this up is it left me with no experience how to have a good fight. In contrast Someone grew up with fighting (after all he had a sister) and he gets fracas in his line of work. He has plenty of experience ‘how to do it’.
One of my therapists was shocked at our lack of fighting and would encourage me to try some. I’ve had dismal success. I can’t even seem to get the right words out. And I feel foolish. I end up sounding like the fellow in the Monty Python’s “Argument Clinic”.
I’ve taken some tiny steps towards bickering.
But I envision some typical night when Someone puts down the usual dinner fare and instead of smiling and thankyou dear I throw up my hands and say ‘hey, I’m a sicka this stuff!” and we duke it out in words or possibly throw things or roll on the ground like demented crabs or call the cops on each other but this never happens.
It must be tedious for him living with a man with insipid Midwestern WASP traits who sees all emotions as something to process.
“And do you Michael, promise to make whatever mutually satisfactory accomodations necessary to reduce tensions and arrive at whatever previously agreed-upon goals both parties have harmoniously set in the appropriate planning sessions?”
Apparently I said “I do!”
It is Sunday night and I am feeling melancholy. I often feel this on Sunday night; the weekend is over and I have the ‘going back to work’ blues. We’ve had a busy week putting the house back together. Our jobs were even more wearing than usual. We’re pooped.
On Sunday nights I feel a general disappointment that is in my life. Most of the time I don’t pay much attention to the ‘Where am I going/what am I doing/am I content with my life?” emotions. On Sunday night they are harder to dismiss.
I am getting older. My joints ache a bit. I’ve reached the age where the night is meant for sleep. I don’t have a clear vision of the future. Who I am and what I do and what is accomplished feels not quite ‘right’. There is a nonspecific feeling I have missed something by only a few minutes – if I had been just a little faster I would have had the fortune to ‘have made it’ whatever the hell ‘it’ is.
So I am not feeling at-ease this evening. I have the satisfaction the house is finally back in order. My paperwork is done. We saw friends on Friday and we gave a successful dinner party on Saturday.
And yet there is something missing.
Tomorrow the usual Monday routine begins again and I will be too busy to sit still and wonder about what haunts me this night. It will return next Sunday night; my Sunday night companion. If I could pinpoint what it is I could perhaps confront it.
Perhaps it is merely the passing of Time?
I have a night-guard.
For those who don’t know these items, they are a plastic “U” shaped device placed over the teeth during sleep. They prevent teeth grinding. My dentist has been badgering me for some time to get one. I’ve balked – somewhat out of the suspicion he is merely trying to get more money out of me. To his defense, I have a history of teeth grinding, and I have worn a night guard before.
What I can’t clarify is am I presently grinding. My teeth may be worn down from grinding but is there evidence I am still doing so?
Being cheap didn’t beat out the trait I am overall a ‘good boy’.
I do what I am told. I consented to a new one.
They make an impression of your teeth using some goop that is beyond nasty. The first time I got an impression I choked and threw up. This time as soon as the slime hit my teeth I started to heave. Despite the fuss, I got my choppers impressed – 2 weeks later I have my new guard, made of clear plastic.
It feels odd to have something in my mouth while I sleep. It feels like some sort of medieval chastity belt for various mouth maneuvers (including breathing).
Ironically its presence makes me grind my teeth MORE– it feels like some sort of dental worry stone. I have to resist the urge to chew on it.
So far there is no sign of grinding marks. This is a disappointment.
I want to think my money went towards something worthwhile.
Any Spo-fans grind their teeth?
A couple of Spo-fans want to know how I got interested in the Tarot.
I didn’t consciously seek the Tarot out. One of my roommates in college had a deck; he was took some sort of one credit course on the subject. He didn’t have much skill for them; he couldn’t remember what the cards meant or how to read them in a spread. In contrast I had a ‘knack’ for them. I gave him continual assistance as he ‘practiced’ readings for me. When the course was done he pushed the deck towards me and said “Here, you take them. You have the knack.”
And I have been reading them ever since.
When I was in Jungian analysis, my teacher had an interest in the Tarot as a means of examining the archetypes and the unconscious. He used them with his clients to do active imagination and self examination.
People often ask me do they predict the future? Mr. Tom Robbins sums up the Tarot in his book ‘Half Asleep in Frog Pajamas”:
“Now you listen, honey, and listen good. Do you really believe that I could pick stocks that are gonna double – or winning lottery numbers or racehorses? Come on! I’d be styling and smiling in a nice little villa in the Himalayan foothills. You get the picture. And another thing; I cannot accurately predict your future. We need to get that straight, too. I can’t, no psychic can, and any that claim they can are swindlers.
A crystal ball, this is not, and you damn well ought to be glad about it. It isn’t tea leaves or goat entrails, neither. What it is is a highly refined, highly efficient system of symbolic knowledge. The symbols that were carefully chosen over the centuries speak directly to the deeper levels of the mind. The Western mind. In the East, the I Ching cuts the very same mustard, but with more, shall we say, intricate turn of the knife. Never mind that. The images here in the tarot will serve to open up and free certain aspects of your subconscious. I can read what the hell’s going on in the recesses of your pumpkin. I read your subconscious thoughts – they’re damn near as legible to me as The Seattle Times – but I don’t read the future. Comprende?
Now for one reason or another, your subconscious knows things your conscious mind doesn’t. Oftentimes it’s ahead of your conscious mind in regards to the direction you’re leaning regarding a particular situation or decision. So in that respect, the information I glean for you tonight may, at a later date, seem to you to be a prediction coming true. Anything I reveal to you tonight can be changed. You, of your own free will, can change it. Reverse it, redirect it, whatever. You can remove the blindfold and slow the hell down. Remember that.”
That is my approach to Tarot. It is like looking into the mirror, not into the future.
I collect decks not unlike others collect baseball cards or prayer cards.
Perhaps some day I will write about my dozen decks.
The Muses are not answering their email. My request for a topic goes unanswered.
If Spo-fans would leave me an idea, I will try to compose on them sometime soon.
Do you have any topic or item you want me to illuminate with my profound wisdom, Attic wit – or curiosity what the hell would I do with it?
Or as Kelly S. would say ‘whatya want to know?”
