Snuggly Cement

City Mouse failed to say anything about her first trip home in 7 1/2 years.

It was nuts. It was soooo good. It was therapy.

I couldn't believe how it made me cry like crazy, even taking the highway exit that led to my childhood home, seeing all the landmarks, parks, businesses that I remember, familiar signs, familiar homes, fences, schools, cracks in the road that I remember from 20 yrs ago.

Every thing is familiar.

I fit in! A trippy experience after 12 years of being a Martian. (total years in Canada - 4 in Toronto, 8 in Nova Scotia) I was driving on the highway, with this strange sensation in my chest, thinking, "I feel like me again." I forgot what this felt like. I loved it. It was like going back in time. I felt lighter, freer, smilier, bouncier, at peace.

I realize now, all these images form the backdrop for all my childhood memories. For all the people, interactions, and happenings I remember, this was the background. They are so inextricably linked with the comforts, the things nearest and dearest to me, simple pleasures of that time of innocence and foundation for all that I am now. A crumbling brick wall that hasn't been fixed since I was 10 brought tears to my eyes, it and so many million other little things like it just brought back a flood of memories and feelings.

It was intense. I loved it. I miss it very much. I am a fish out of water here, but hey.

I took Anna with me, left Niamh at home with Daddy. She was Daddy's girl anyway, but this 10 day one-on-one sealed the deal! They bonded over their common passion, tractors.

But oh my, I think I have a city girl on my hands in the eldest! Anna LOVED it. She loved the Plaza. Loved the fountains, stores, sidewalks. She was like an aboriginal taken from the middle of the Serengeti or something and dropped in downtown Hong Kong. A little culture shock. She looked down at the sidewalk and exclaimed with big eyes, "WOW! What is that?!? It's so cool! You don't get muddy!"

I know. Amazing, eh? It was the invention of the wheel as far as she was concerned.

Anna took this beauty, capturing the lilies and mint my mom cultivated outside the house in which I grew up. Still there and giving joy to the observer! I hope the people of the house and neighborhood weren't too freaked out by my photos and videotaping. I'm fairly confident the police must have gotten a phone call or 2 about this strange entourage spending a little too much time walking back and forth on the street, staring at random houses for no apparent reason.

My little fashionista loving a Plaza fountain.

I think my dad took this one of me in the antique district by my old neighbourhood. I spent many's the day riding my bike and taking walks with mom up and down these streets.

Think the sweater and boots look too warm? It was a couple months ago, don't worry. We were still chilly. Of course Anna wasn't, because she is a Canadian polar bear. One chilly evening at a public playground, another family had bulging eyes seeing Anna running and playing in pure bliss wearing a tank top while their son had on a puffy winter coat. Anna kept insisting, "I'm fine! I don't want my jacket!" Hilarious.

"She's Canadian," I leaned over and assured them.

Knowing nods followed.

There were many tears as we boarded the plane to come home, and they weren't mine.

Anna didn't want to leave. She sobbed on my lap saying, "I wish this was the first day we got here again and we were just getting here!"

I know Baby, believe me.

Drive'er Herbie!

Anna got the culture ball rolling today with her question,

"Mommy, do you know what an orchestra is?"

Wow. Yes Dear, I sure do.

So I introduced my girls to Beethoven's 5th, as conducted by Herbert van Karajan.

Thank God for Youtube. I would so love for them to actually experience a live orchestra, but the nearest symphony I know of is at least 3 hours, and a hundred dollars away. Hasn't happened in my 11 years in Canada and likely won't anytime soon*. At least this way, thanks to the univerality of the internet, they got to wow at the size of a double bass, see that many fiddles (as Anna called them) all in unison, puffy-cheeked tuba players, etc.

What a different world that once was mine. Pit, chamber, ragtime, and baroque orchestras, string quartets, fancy dresses at potentially pretentious but exceptionally beautiful performances; airports, shuttles, subways, green rooms, rigorous practice and exhausting rehearsals, sweaty chin-rests, commondering conductors' batons, auditions, late nights.

It is interesting how the seasons in our lives come and go. I can look back to that season as if it were glamorous, and in its way it was, and I didn't know how good I had it. But there are things about my current season, that are certainly enviable, though certainly not glamorous. All of them collectively will amount to a lifetime of diverse and treasured memories.

After watching Karajan's Beethoven, she added, "I want to be a conductor someday!"
Their interpretive dances were priceless as well.

Without my prompting, my girls truly seem to prefer and engage with classical music to other styles. So much for 'inaccessible"!! If a 2 yr old has sufficient attention span for and can engage in it, why can't an adult?

Here is a semi-relevant picture of my high school orchestra with a guest conductor, David Barg. Takes me back. :) I'm sitting principle 2nd violin. At least 4 of the players in this photo are still actively involved in music, 3 of them full time. (I'm the part-timer). 2 or 3 of 4 have their MA in Music: one is teaching and playing full time in symphony and chamber groups; another is performing all over, and has recently been SOLO at Carnegie Hall, thank you very much; another is busy around Boston and greater New England area with various fusion groups and small ensembles. I perform in annual summer concert series, as well as ceilidhs here and there throughout the year, and have weekly piano and fiddle students. At the time, I'm sure our instructors had to wonder if any of their efforts would stick as I wonder with my students. At least for some of us, more than they could have known.

*may I clarify to my American friends/readers that not all of Canada lives in the cultural wilderness as here described. It is a geographical issue, not a reflection of national interest or lack thereof. Canada has its equal share of the world's top artists in every field, indeed, and makes a valuable contribution to global creativity and expression.

Expat City Mouse

... would like some cheese with her whine.

When the City Mouse moves to the country, a few things change for her. Or maybe it is more accurate to say, a few things stay the same. Most things change.

I have found myself with a crazy desire for art and beauty. While reading Peter and the Wolf to Anna last night, and explaining to her the difference between a clarinet and an oboe, and describing a bassoon (which with the help of my new best friend Youtube, she was able to hear a proper demonstration) I realized it had been soooo long since I had seen any of these exotic wonders in person. I used to see them on a daily basis in high school during orchestra rehearsals. Now all I see is fiddle, guitar, piano. Ever.
So Youtube is my friend because I am able to watch classical concerts and ballets and modern dance recitals in the comfort of my own home.

Jenni trivia: Did you know I never actually wanted to play the violin? As a wee bairn I always dreamed of playing the flute or cello. But never violin. I enjoy it now and all, but it wasn't my first choice. Neither was Irish. I wanted to speak French. God had other plans I guess! A French- speaking flute player is more how I envisioned myself.

City Mouse misses all the fancy city stuff from her home town- er- city. She misses museums. She really misses classical concerts. Because of my connections I was able to see the KC Symphony almost on a weekly basis, for only $4 a concert. I told myself I would attend some concerts when I was in Toronto, but at $75 a pop for nosebleed, I said nevermind. Also on a near-weekly basis, I attended concerts of the top chamber musicians doing international tours. I was so spoiled, and I had no idea. My church had fantastic musicians and enthusiastic parishioners. My family thought I was a marvel and a wonder. I visited indie coffeehouses and indie rock concerts with great regularity as well. I read books, attended museums, poetry readings and festivals. I had dozens of friends in university, from every nation I ever heard of and many I hadn't.

Now, I sit home 6 days a week, I haven't laid eyes on a wind instrument live in 6 years, and thank God there are a few Africans visiting the university here that attend my church or I would forget what black people looked like. The only art I see is in the medium of crayon or play-doh. The only international cuisine I get is what I attempt. My 7th day outing includes the same 2 buildings every week: church, grocery store. Drive straight there, straight home. You can imagine my thrill when I stop at the beautiful coffee shop on the way home. Not often do I do this, for reasons of time and money. But I enjoy it immensely when I do. So I generally see 4 buildings: my home, my mother in law's, church and grocery store.`

I dream about Toronto. Although my hubby would prefer a Lucifer's Lake of Fire Cruise Ship vacation to visiting there, it puts a smile on my face every time I think about it.

In my desperation for some fine art culture, I started practicing some classical music on my violin. I even did some improv along with some solo classical piano recordings: the closest I've had to playing in a chamber ensemble in a long while.

I had to get all this negativity out before American Thanksgiving. Maybe this is Canadian Ungrateful Day. Maybe this blog entry is how I celebrated it. Weehoo! What a celebration! Do I know how to party or what!!??

All this being said, folks, you know i will be back around to chipper and thankful in a matter of hours. You just hit the blog-timing jackpot for crummy content.

I am super excited to report, that I get to go out of town this weekend. I'm really looking forward to it, as you can easily ascertain from this blather.

back from vacation

I wish. In reality, I am beginning the third week of not leaving my house.

But I am here to say, you know what one of my favourite things is about having kids? Cause there are a number of them:

One of my favourite things is how being around them takes you back to my own youth, and I can remember feelings and experiences that would otherwise have remain untriggered, pushed into some old storage box in the attic of my brain.

I love remembering the feeling of no schedule or time limitations. Remembering being so unconscious of self and unafraid of men's judgments on you: such freedom. Exploring the veins in a leaf for as long as I felt like laying there in the grass. Listening to an entire symphony on headphones, giving my attention to nothing else, eyes closed, absorbing every nuance and colour. I probably sang along too. I'm sure that was brilliant to observe.

I would put on a 2nd Chapter of Acts or Phil Kaeggy album and dance around my house like a nut job. I loved it. I thought I was amazing. I would play air piano along with the band on the coffeetable. Actually, that`s not true. I played air piano on the top of this big stone elephant that I assume was a plant stand, I don't know what else you would do with it, except play air piano that is.

Fun times.

techno world part 2

I remember renting VCRs. We only became the owners of one when I was maybe in grade 6. We would go to our local grocery store and rent a couple videos and the silver monster of a VCR for the weekend of movies.


You had to be kind and rewind, because pushing play didn't automatically start you at the beginning.


If you jogged with your walkman, you might get a bruise on your thigh from it slapping against your leg, and you couldn't even attempt in with the discman, because it would do nothing but skip, and you would be lucky if you could get through one whole cd without having to change the batteries anyway.

I remember the days PG (pre-Google), going to the library when you had to do a paper, looking through the card catalogue, then searching the rows of shelves for the number of the book you found, on the paper card. A book, made with paper, and a reference number scotch taped to the bottom of the side binding. Be quiet, go sit down and read a while only to find this book talks about your topic, but only aspects totally unhelpful to your specific paper. Rinse, repeat: like ten times.

Now it's just - Google it. You only have to ferret out your search results, scan a few irrelevant web pages. But you don't get to hold and smell any books in this process.

Speaking of doing a paper, I remember how completely shell-shocked I was when. in university, I learned I couldn't hand in hand-written papers anymore!!!! What? You're kidding, right? How can they possibly say that? What is happening to this techno world. How can I do that. I don't even own a typewriter... hmph.

I was talking to a friend recently who was shocked that my mom didn't have Internet. "How does she get pictures of Niamh?" she queried, full of concern, and slightly confused. I told her I print them out, and mail them to her. In a paper envelope. "Oh. Right."

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I have another speech brewing. It will likely never come to fruition as I will never find answers I'm satisfied with sharing. Right now it is just these questions:

Why do we have less time with all these supposedly time saving "conveniences"?

Why, with so many more means of communication, do we truly connect less, and have less community?


The discrepancy between what they did in the old days compared to what I do today is mind blowing to me. I personally know a lady who raised 13 kids, had an alcoholic husband (safely assume, not a big help around the house or with the kids), no indoor plumbing, grew and ground their own flour for the bread that she baked, you name it. She says she built a big wooden box into which she would throw the children when she had to make the trek out to the well for a bucket of water, so they could only hurt each other and nothing else while she was gone.


How in the world did she manage? I can't comprehend accomplishing that much every day.

Of course she didn't blog. But I really don't spend that much time blogging. Once or twice a week max, 30 minutes-ish. Sometimes I go a couple weeks.

I don't have to scrub my laundry on a board, or spend an hour or more hanging it out to dry. What/Who/Where is the real time bandit? Where does the guilt fall for the great Black Hole of Time?


I am looking into it. I'll let you know what I come up with. I just started a good book (made of paper) that will help me with this at least a little bit.


Input?

techno world

I've been reflecting lately on the techno explosion.
When I was in high school, nobody I knew of had a cellphone unless you were Posh Spice. If you were cool you might have a pager. I did, of course. Cause _I_ was cool!

I did not have an email address until after I graduated high school and got a job. My boss signed me up for the hotmail I still have. I didn't even know what email or the internet was. I remember hearing about the internet on the news and being suspicious of this new weird thing.

It's of the Devil, Massy!

Aahh, the days when you could count the number of emails in my inbox(s). Now there's also the social networking sites I'm embarrassed to admit to, Facebook and Myspace, even Goodreads. That's where you pretend to be intellectual and literate. At least I do, maybe other people really are.

I have already confessed to still using a walkman. Oh, and a 3.5" floppy disc.

I saw a really funny cartoon that was a cassette dressed up like Darth Vader and it said,
"Ipod, I am your FAther."

About half the people my age I know are at least moderately computer competent, being able to do some light programming. The other half laugh and say, I'm not good with computers! hehe

I know very few of my parents' generation who can program even enough to post a layout on their blog or myspace page. If they know what those are.

I know NO one of the younger generation who can't do that stuff. They all have cell phones, ipods, laptops, jump drives, and whatever else I don't even know exists.

I sound like my grandmother. (read with gravelly voice) "When I was a child, we played tag outside til the streetlights came on. We didn't spend time on the computer or check our email cause we didn't HAVE email or know how to turn on a computer. "
Since when am I old??

Memory Lane #1

For Auld Lang Syne, or old time's sake, as the song recommends, I'm making a new recurring segment, which may or may not recur more frequently than the other recurring segment which is yet to recur.

This segment is A Walk Down Memory Lane, in which I tell some old story from my life that you may or may not know or be bored with hearing, and you can chalk it up to either having nothing of interest to report in my current life, or having genuinely exciting stories from earlier in my life than bear repeating, y'know, just like old people. Which is, by the way, a category I now fit into, depending on whom you ask. High school and uni kids now think I'm old cause, I mean really, I have kids and EVERYthing... I must be at least thirty, right?

Anyway, we won't go there.

Today's story is from my summer in Ireland. I spent a couple months there, lived with an Irish speaking family for a month doing Irish immersion. This host family put up students wanting to immerse from all over the world. In the house while I was there were also 2 Polish girls, a German lady, a Dubliner and an old guy (no really, he had turned 30 more than once... working on his 3rd round) from Texas. It was interesting, to say the least.

I had been looking for a copy of the Bible in Irish to no avail. Finally after one mass I approached the parish priest to ask him if he had any idea where one could be obtained. I thought it would be great for me to be able to combine my Bible study with my language study. He seemed quite surprised to meet a young lady who actually read the Bible, and who was so interested in both God and Irish. He had no information on how to locate an Irish Bible, because, as he said, it has been out of print for some time. He saw my disappointment, but we agreed that I could keep trying the used bookstores.

A few days later, our transcontinental crew was all sitting around in lazy recovery mode after the satiating supper, and there was a knock at the door. The woman of the house answered the door and after talking a moment came in and quietly called for me to come to the door.

"Jennifer, the priest is here to see you."

However, between her soft tone and the blaring Gaelic football game on the television, she was misheard by us all, and with huge eyes and gaping gobs all the girls were looking at me, "the POLICE??!?!" What did you DO?!?!?"

What?? I didn't do anything!!! I swear! I can't think of anything anyway!

Of course my fear was alleviated when I saw the priest at the door and understood the misunderstanding.

The others, however, continued to whisper furiously back in the living room theorizing about what trouble I might be in.

The priest had come, believe it or not, to give me his own personal copy of the Biobla Naofa . (I didn't know about this site at the time) I could not believe it. I argued with him about it, but he had made up his mind.

To this day, it is one of my most prized possessions. I still want to track him down and tell him that it is actually in use, it isn't just some expensive souvenir, or token that has gone to dusty waste on a shelf somewhere. That little girl still is pursuing both God and Irish.