Last fall and early winter, this was my driving-to-tap-class album. The dance studio is far enough away from our house that I can listen to an entire album on the way there, and another on the way back. Tap was on Monday nights and while the album on the way back would vary, on the way there it was always Don't Wait For The Movie.
The first couple songs were me setting the speed, getting to the highway. By the time I got to the first city lights (I skirt two cities on the way in and enter the third), Fly Eagle Fly would be starting.
Here the magic began. Not so much the song (it's actually kind of a really cheesy song), but the visual... velvet black nightscape dotted with oncoming headlights and the streetlights of the city up ahead. And as I took the ramp onto the main highway, Convertibles would always start to play.
Let The Children Play and King George would mark my time on that highway, following the streetlights for part of the way, and then as I approached the second city and got onto the exit for the ring road I would get to listen to No Apology, and then Maybe Today would always just start as I went under the first overpass on the ring road and into the beginning of the curve. It was always a glorious sort of moment, not in that it was a big dramatic thing, but because the tinkling intro and the quietly-soaring keyboard backing Mark Gersmehl's brooding vocal seemed to be so, so perfect with the glittering streetlights in the endless Alberta night sky. I think this moment was the reason I always, always chose this album on that drive.
As I got to the halfway point on my trip on the ring road, Dr Jekyll And Mr Christian would start, and it would always just be ending as I was coming up across from the second city's skyline. (About halfway through the tap session I noticed that and holy crap I almost had a heart attack the first time I saw it... It was all lit up and so so beautiful -- red and green and blue and purple and streetlight off-white. I hadn't realised you could see the skyline from that road.)
And then I would exit off into the third city (well, not technically a city, though it's big enough to be one) during this, the final song on the album, to kind of calm me down and gently lead me into the dance school's little parking lot. Often I would pull into the parking lot with one chorus left to go, and if I wasn't running terribly late I would stay out in the rattletrap and let the song finish.
Title: How Many Times (Seventy Times Seven)
Artist: White Heart
Album: Don't Wait For The Movie
Year: 1986
Label: Sparrow Records
iTunes here; YouTube here.
This album so quickly became my soundtrack for winter night city driving, following the string of streetlights along the highways, stars against a black sky. Several times it was snowing during the drive and I seem to remember one time where it was raining. Once the fog was just so that it caught the streetlights and scattered the light everywhere, lighting up the entire road and the sky above it. It was almost -- though not quite -- like driving in the daytime, so spread around was the light. There was one section on the ring road that randomly didn't have streetlights (still can't figure out why not), and driving through there that night was almost terrifying... the rattletrap isn't exactly known for its great headlights (actually, it's not really known for its great anything, but I digress), and without the light to scatter around, the fog pressed in and blocked the streetlights ahead and the streetlights behind almost completely from view. It was almost completely dark there for about a minute.
Oh, the song? Well -- Rick Florian. That should tell you everything you need to know. It's a good lyric too:
How many times
Have You wept from the anguish of all my shame
How many times
Have I nailed You up on that cross of pain...
It starts out with the concept of protagonist trying to come to terms with the concept of forgiving someone who's wronged him -- knowing it's what Christ has commanded, but struggling to lay aside his pride in order to do so.
But then after the interlude (a lovely simple keyboard bit that capitalises very well on the 'quiet struggle' mood of the song), the protagonist's point of view shifts to his precious Christ on the cross -- did Christ not forgive me of things far more grievous? Who then am I to withhold the grace that shouldn't have even been mine?
The ending is gorgeous. Protagonist is still wrestling with his desire to not forgive and is halfheartedly trying to convince God that 'no really, this is unforgiveable' when he knows better. And to each one of his arguments, a soft voice comes back to him: Seventy times seven.
And finally he is silent in the face of the reminder of simple, powerful love.
Seventy times seven.
(For those wondering what 'seventy times seven' has to do with anything... once, Jesus' disciple Peter asked Jesus how many times he should forgive somebody who's wronged him. Peter asks, "Is seven times enough?" Jesus (God in the flesh) says, "No, not only seven times, but seventy times seven." The term 'seventy times seven' has since come to be, for better or worse, a 'sacred buzzword' of sorts, a code phrase within the church meaning 'forgiving.' You can read the account of Peter's question and Jesus' answer in Matthew chapter 18, starting at verse 21.)
Showing posts with label snow. Show all posts
Showing posts with label snow. Show all posts
27 March 2013
Life (A Long Rambling Update From The Creative Mind)
You may or may not be wondering by now -- besides geeking out over eighties music, what else have I been doing lately? (In other words, I just realised I haven't posted anything other than Music Day for... months.)
To answer the question... more choreography. Give me a second to look through my stacks of notes and I'll tell you what I'm working on.
*removes half-inch thick stack of paper from clipboard and shuffles through it*
Okay, here we go...
Eighth Wonder (White Heart): Back in December I was asked to compose and perform a ballet solo for the local dance team. I was originally going to perform my choreography for David Meece's One Small Child, but after some rehearsing, discovered that the stage in my mind is much, much bigger than most stages are in real life (unless we're talking hockey arenas). Since we aren't quite booking hockey arenas at this point, I would either have to re-work One Small Child or come up with something else. I chose Plan B, and Eighth Wonder was pretty much entirely choreographed within a week. Performances start in May. (I say this so casually, but inside I'm jumping up and down and squealing like a five-year-old.)
Raging Of The Moon (White Heart): I've been dreaming about this one for a long time, probably from the second time I ever heard this song. I'm finally working out some visual motifs and I've got formations and basic choreography figured out until about the three-minute mark. It's a lot like what I did with Speechless (big epic formation dance with intricate visual 'harmonies'), only this one will be actually danceable by humans. I'm excited about this one. It's going to look so cool.
Hollow Man (Daniel Amos): I'm hoping this will actually become a joint choreographic venture with myself and the other two choreographers on the dance team, the idea being that each of us choreographs our own part in a different discipline from the other two, and then we put the individual parts together on the stage. This would be an attempt to build on the haunting almost-discord of the song -- it looks amazing in my head, but it remains to be seen what real life will do to it...
Montana Sky (White Heart): I haven't touched this song in over a month. It started out slow anyway, but the actual dance was turning out rather nicely. I just seem to have lost my ambition for this one. I'd still like to finish it sometime, as it was shaping up to be really pretty (soft, gentle ballet trio), and I was already past the halfway point anyway...
Shedding The Mortal Coil (Daniel Amos): I kind of doubt this will ever get staged. It's bubblegum Junior Jazz One at its finest. But it's so much fun...
(Yes, the linked video does cut it off, but there's only like five more seconds in the song after that. Basically he holds the note for 'coil' and the guitar reverberates for a few more seconds.)
Going Public (Newsboys): Seriously, does this song not have 'tap dance' written all over it?
Answering Machine (Prodigal): I'm not seriously working on this (yet), but the other day I was brainstorming ideas for it and I think there's some potential for this one. This would be another tap dance.
Other stuff I've been doing...
Photography -- just did a snow photo shoot with my sister yesterday. I waited nearly a week for cloud cover before I finally gave up and figured I'd just have to make it work with the sun's harsh glare coming off the snow (before it all melted away). Those pictures had better have turned out (I haven't looked at them yet).
On a side note, I, unlike everyone else in this province, am LOVING the snow. We got a mild blizzard here last Thursday... it was awesome. Except for the people in the 100-car pileup, but it sounds like they were all pretty much okay anyway. (If the idiots in this province would just learn that the speed on the highway is 110, not 300 gazillion, this wouldn't have been a problem.) Since I'm on my soapbox anyway, listen Albertans, you have no right to complain. It's MARCH, people. March. You have no right to be whining about missing spring yet. For crying out loud, it's March! What do you expect? Crocuses in your underwear drawer? Spring around here comes in May. IT. HAPPENS. EVERY. YEAR. Do you people not pay attention?
*gets off soapbox*
*abruptly changes gears*
So to make a long story short, I just became aware of a really cool old abandoned house literally a two-minute drive from where I live. Can you say 'video/photo shoot location?' Only one problem -- it's being demolished in two and a half weeks. But I really, really want to get something artistic out of that house before it's destroyed and forgotten. There isn't too much there for a photo shoot, but it has the best music-video lighting ever, especially in the basement.
At first I was thinking of doing a 'music video' for the dance to the aforementioned Hollow Man. However, as I thought about the logistics of choreographing, perfecting, and shooting the whole thing in two weeks, I was forced to admit defeat. There is no way I'm going to be able to pull that off, even with the other two dancers on spring break. I kind of doubt I'll ever be able to not regret getting that committed to film while I had the chance -- that basement, that lighting, is so so perfect for the mood, the sound, the dance of Hollow Man. I had camera angles figured out and everything.
So now I'm considering (hopefully) the next best thing: an already-choreographed piece that requires only one dancer -- me. Eighth Wonder. It won't pull as much creative awesomeness out of that basement as Hollow Man would, but under such a tight deadline, it'll have to do. I just hope someday I'll find another basement as aesthetically brilliant as that one with less of a deadline on it.
There's really only one problem with doing Eighth Wonder in there -- well, two -- but both would have been present no matter what dance I picked. One is I need someone to run the camera. I know almost exactly what kind of camera work I want, but I also need to be doing the actual dance. (What I really need to do is clone myself. That would make this whole creating-art thing so much easier because I would know what I want and I would always be available the same time as I am and then I could be in two physical locations simultaneously.)
The second problem is the fact that the basement floor is unprotected concrete -- a bit of a dancer's nightmare, and especially for one who's already showing signs of knee trouble. (And guess what makes the lighting in that basement so amazing? Yep... the light-conducting properties of bare concrete.) I have a bit of a temporary floor solution in mind (though it might kill the lighting a bit), so if it's possible to get in there and get the footage at the exact angles I want without any superfluous messing around, I should hopefully come out of there mostly unscathed. But it's gotten me thinking -- at what level does safety trump aesthetics/perfect lighting/space/opportunity? For me, just me, that's one thing. If I want to be potentially stupid and trash my knees, that's my problem. But even when I was seriously considering doing Hollow Man, I couldn't get it out of my mind -- would it really have been fair to ask two other dancers to risk it?
The Twitter-friendly version of that wall of words? 'Creative brain is exploding.'
And that's what I've been doing lately. How about you?
To answer the question... more choreography. Give me a second to look through my stacks of notes and I'll tell you what I'm working on.
*removes half-inch thick stack of paper from clipboard and shuffles through it*
Okay, here we go...
Eighth Wonder (White Heart): Back in December I was asked to compose and perform a ballet solo for the local dance team. I was originally going to perform my choreography for David Meece's One Small Child, but after some rehearsing, discovered that the stage in my mind is much, much bigger than most stages are in real life (unless we're talking hockey arenas). Since we aren't quite booking hockey arenas at this point, I would either have to re-work One Small Child or come up with something else. I chose Plan B, and Eighth Wonder was pretty much entirely choreographed within a week. Performances start in May. (I say this so casually, but inside I'm jumping up and down and squealing like a five-year-old.)
Raging Of The Moon (White Heart): I've been dreaming about this one for a long time, probably from the second time I ever heard this song. I'm finally working out some visual motifs and I've got formations and basic choreography figured out until about the three-minute mark. It's a lot like what I did with Speechless (big epic formation dance with intricate visual 'harmonies'), only this one will be actually danceable by humans. I'm excited about this one. It's going to look so cool.
Hollow Man (Daniel Amos): I'm hoping this will actually become a joint choreographic venture with myself and the other two choreographers on the dance team, the idea being that each of us choreographs our own part in a different discipline from the other two, and then we put the individual parts together on the stage. This would be an attempt to build on the haunting almost-discord of the song -- it looks amazing in my head, but it remains to be seen what real life will do to it...
Montana Sky (White Heart): I haven't touched this song in over a month. It started out slow anyway, but the actual dance was turning out rather nicely. I just seem to have lost my ambition for this one. I'd still like to finish it sometime, as it was shaping up to be really pretty (soft, gentle ballet trio), and I was already past the halfway point anyway...
Shedding The Mortal Coil (Daniel Amos): I kind of doubt this will ever get staged. It's bubblegum Junior Jazz One at its finest. But it's so much fun...
(Yes, the linked video does cut it off, but there's only like five more seconds in the song after that. Basically he holds the note for 'coil' and the guitar reverberates for a few more seconds.)
Going Public (Newsboys): Seriously, does this song not have 'tap dance' written all over it?
Answering Machine (Prodigal): I'm not seriously working on this (yet), but the other day I was brainstorming ideas for it and I think there's some potential for this one. This would be another tap dance.
Other stuff I've been doing...
Photography -- just did a snow photo shoot with my sister yesterday. I waited nearly a week for cloud cover before I finally gave up and figured I'd just have to make it work with the sun's harsh glare coming off the snow (before it all melted away). Those pictures had better have turned out (I haven't looked at them yet).
On a side note, I, unlike everyone else in this province, am LOVING the snow. We got a mild blizzard here last Thursday... it was awesome. Except for the people in the 100-car pileup, but it sounds like they were all pretty much okay anyway. (If the idiots in this province would just learn that the speed on the highway is 110, not 300 gazillion, this wouldn't have been a problem.) Since I'm on my soapbox anyway, listen Albertans, you have no right to complain. It's MARCH, people. March. You have no right to be whining about missing spring yet. For crying out loud, it's March! What do you expect? Crocuses in your underwear drawer? Spring around here comes in May. IT. HAPPENS. EVERY. YEAR. Do you people not pay attention?
*gets off soapbox*
*abruptly changes gears*
So to make a long story short, I just became aware of a really cool old abandoned house literally a two-minute drive from where I live. Can you say 'video/photo shoot location?' Only one problem -- it's being demolished in two and a half weeks. But I really, really want to get something artistic out of that house before it's destroyed and forgotten. There isn't too much there for a photo shoot, but it has the best music-video lighting ever, especially in the basement.
At first I was thinking of doing a 'music video' for the dance to the aforementioned Hollow Man. However, as I thought about the logistics of choreographing, perfecting, and shooting the whole thing in two weeks, I was forced to admit defeat. There is no way I'm going to be able to pull that off, even with the other two dancers on spring break. I kind of doubt I'll ever be able to not regret getting that committed to film while I had the chance -- that basement, that lighting, is so so perfect for the mood, the sound, the dance of Hollow Man. I had camera angles figured out and everything.
So now I'm considering (hopefully) the next best thing: an already-choreographed piece that requires only one dancer -- me. Eighth Wonder. It won't pull as much creative awesomeness out of that basement as Hollow Man would, but under such a tight deadline, it'll have to do. I just hope someday I'll find another basement as aesthetically brilliant as that one with less of a deadline on it.
There's really only one problem with doing Eighth Wonder in there -- well, two -- but both would have been present no matter what dance I picked. One is I need someone to run the camera. I know almost exactly what kind of camera work I want, but I also need to be doing the actual dance. (What I really need to do is clone myself. That would make this whole creating-art thing so much easier because I would know what I want and I would always be available the same time as I am and then I could be in two physical locations simultaneously.)
The second problem is the fact that the basement floor is unprotected concrete -- a bit of a dancer's nightmare, and especially for one who's already showing signs of knee trouble. (And guess what makes the lighting in that basement so amazing? Yep... the light-conducting properties of bare concrete.) I have a bit of a temporary floor solution in mind (though it might kill the lighting a bit), so if it's possible to get in there and get the footage at the exact angles I want without any superfluous messing around, I should hopefully come out of there mostly unscathed. But it's gotten me thinking -- at what level does safety trump aesthetics/perfect lighting/space/opportunity? For me, just me, that's one thing. If I want to be potentially stupid and trash my knees, that's my problem. But even when I was seriously considering doing Hollow Man, I couldn't get it out of my mind -- would it really have been fair to ask two other dancers to risk it?
The Twitter-friendly version of that wall of words? 'Creative brain is exploding.'
And that's what I've been doing lately. How about you?
03 March 2012
Music Day
So, um... I have no idea what to write because my brain thinks it's Thursday and it's trying to accomplish choreography before I go to bed tonight which has to be before one o'clock because I have to get up early for a funeral tomorrow... so in lieu of me rambling about memories associated with the song, today I will post a picture:
And now the song:
Title: In The Light
Artist: Charlie Peacock
Album: Love Life
Year: 1991
Label: Sparrow Records
iTunes here... not on YouTube.
Most people probably know this song from the dc Talk cover of it in the late nineties, but this is the original -- Charlie Peacock is the composer.
 |
| IT FINALLY SNOWED! :-D Photo and editing by Kate. |
And now the song:
Title: In The Light
Artist: Charlie Peacock
Album: Love Life
Year: 1991
Label: Sparrow Records
iTunes here... not on YouTube.
Most people probably know this song from the dc Talk cover of it in the late nineties, but this is the original -- Charlie Peacock is the composer.
26 December 2011
Stranger
His stupid car had broken down at work again, forcing him to undertake a twelve-block trek to get back to his house. There were only two blocks to go, but the snow attacking his face at seventy kilometres an hour had gotten unbearable.
Then he saw the parking lot filled with cars and people trickling into the community hall.
Probably some old Southern Gospel Christmas concert going on, he thought, but his desperation drove him inside anyway, if only for a few minutes to thaw a bit and catch his breath.
As he stumbled into the lobby, a tall man with a large belly and glasses passed him on his way out the door and said, "Evening, sir".
He nodded acknowledgement at the large man as he left, then turned and slowly climbed the stairs. That guy had seemed a little young for a gospel concert, he thought, but hey, different strokes for different folks...
He peeked in around the door.
The smell of hot turkey and stuffing washed over him. Laughing and talking swirled around him. A couple of kids darted past him with hardly a glance.
This was no gospel bluegrass/country concert. To be sure, he scanned the room, but there were no instruments, no old guys in tuxedos, not even a microphone on the little platform in the corner.
He took a step inside.
It looked like a family here. The more he looked around, the more he began to think so... except that no family could be this large. There had to be at least a hundred people here.
But there was no doubt that these people knew each other, he could feel it. Perhaps it was all the smiles. They all seemed so comfortable here. He'd been to office Christmas parties before, the kind where you know all the people, yet you tread so carefully to keep up the appearance you've spent years cultivating.
There was none of that stiffness here.
Their obvious familiarity awakened a little pang in him. His family, before the trial, had been all of five people. Since then they had split five ways.
He saw a cooler at the other end of the hall and suddenly realised he was thirsty. After a moment's hesitation, he straightened his shoulders and began to stroll across the room as if he belonged.
In the back of his mind he knew there was no possible way he could make it across, get his drink, and get back without somebody calling him out -- not if they were all this familiar with each other. Any moment now, someone would say 'Hey, what are you doing here?'... 'who are you, how dare you interrupt our private party, who cares how cold it is outside?'...
It came as a rather disproportionate surprise when he arrived at the jug without being questioned.
He glanced around as casually as he could to see that no one was sending disapproving glares his way, then pulled one of the disposable cups off the stack, stuck it under the hole, and pressed the button.
A sort of orange punch came out that he couldn't immediately identify. No matter... it was wet and his throat wasn't. He took a swig.
To call it liquid sugar would have been an understatement. It was like pure maple syrup straight from the tree with chemical colour and even more sugar added. The force of the sweetness nearly knocked him back a step, but he took a breath to reorient himself and drained the rest in three consecutive swallows.
Then he turned and saw the table.
A huge table of food, rich and hot -- some of it still steaming in fact. The stragglers were just finishing filling their plates.
His stomach gurgled. He hadn't eaten since eleven that morning and it was nearly six o'clock. His eyes caressed the bounty before him.
Steaming turkey slices, bowls of cranberry sauce, piles of sliced bread at the end of the table, a rolling landscape of stuffing spread between several glass bowls, a vat of mashed potatoes...
Would it be stealing to take a little -- just to energise himself before venturing out again? After all, what was dinner at his house?
Kraft dinner, most likely. Eaten in front of the computer while playing Facebook Tetris... again.
Turkey and potatoes sounded a whole lot better than mac and cheese for the thousandth time.
He hadn't seen any indication that there was a fee for dinner, but he pulled a twenty out of his wallet and slipped it through the serving window into the jar on the kitchen counter labeled 'Help us keep up our family account.'
Then he got himself a paper plate from the stack and gave himself small helpings of all the salads and cooked vegetables and turkey and potatoes... it all looked and smelled so good.
No one seemed to notice him filling his plate and no one seemed to notice when he went over to an inconspicuous corner and sat down with it.
So he began to eat. And to observe.
It had been a long time since he'd eaten around other people, never mind a crowd like this. It was kind of interesting to look around and watch them all -- the starry-eyed couple leaning against the wall by the dessert table talking as the young man stealthily slipped cookies off the plate at the edge of the table into his mouth; two grey-haired men, three younger men, and a middle-aged woman playing some kind of game with pool cues and what appeared to be wooden checkers; a kid playing a Game Boy beside a severely overweight man in a torn red t-shirt who was talking to an old wrinkled bald man in a suit; six young people playing what appeared to be a ridiculously fast-paced card game; two boys by the juice jug he'd just left having an animated conversation about what must have been weapons based on the nature of their actions; dozens and dozens of other people all seemingly enjoying each other's company.
Part of him felt acutely alone, but part of him smiled. Just being a part of a happy family put a warm feeling in his chest, even though nobody seemed to see him here.
And that was just as well. He didn't want to intrude. He'd just finish his turkey and leave.
And what good turkey it was too. Cooked to perfection, splitting perfectly as his plastic fork touched it and the gravy... oh, the gravy was heavenly. Like butter. Its warmth mixed perfectly with the cranberry sauce as they slipped down his throat hand-in-hand. And then there were the crisp Caesar salads and the smooth mashed potatoes and the tender mixed vegetables and the most delicious slightly seasoned stuffing... whoever was the mastermind behind all this should get their own cooking show.
He picked at the loaded plate for nearly twenty minutes, trying to stave off the inevitable return out into the blizzard. It was so warm and 'friendly' in here. Sure his house would be warm, but the loneliness where there once had been love and laughter was so haunting...
Usually he pushed those memories out of his mind, but now, surrounded by loving people, he wondered if he should. There had been good times... why was he trying to erase them from his mind and focus instead on the emptiness?
He pushed the memories aside again, but promised himself he would revisit them when he returned to his house that night.
He looked down at his plate. Only a few bites of stuffing remained.
He sighed. Well, all good things have to come to an end...
He poked one of the smaller lumps with the fork and brought it to his mouth. Then the next. Then the next.
Two minutes later, only the smallest crumbs remained on the plate. He was full of food, but still lacked the desire to go back out into the blizzard.
Ah well. He'd already intruded more than he should have.
He stood up and scanned the hall, looking for a trash can. As luck would have it, there was one only a few steps away rather than across the hall and past all the people again.
He dropped his paper plate and utensils into it, then began to button up his coat.
As he did he heard something -- a weak voice, almost plaintive, as if calling for something.
He glanced over his shoulder.
An old, old woman in a wheelchair sat at the opposite end of the table he'd just dined at. She had to be ninety-five, likely nearer a hundred. Her face was puffy and sagging, with age spots and wrinkles -- the sort of creases that result from decades of smiling. A plate sat in front of her, and another, half-finished, at the empty seat beside her. No cups at either setting.
The old woman was looking directly at him. She beckoned.
"Come here," she said.
He blinked. She certainly didn't look like the sort who would give him what-for for eating some of the food... and even if she did, she was obviously much too old and weak to get out of the wheelchair.
What did he have to lose? He took a few hesitant steps closer.
The old woman smiled and beckoned again. He continued and finally stood beside her.
"You're going to leave without a hug?" she said. There was a happy sort of 'twinkle' in her voice.
He had no answer.
She held out her arms. He shrugged, knelt down, and accepted the hug.
"How are you?" she asked.
"All right."
"You're not really, are you?" she asked.
He blinked again. Was this woman psychic?
She continued without waiting for his answer.
"Ah well. I will talk to the Lord for you." She patted his hand.
"Um... thanks."
"Merry Christmas," she said.
"Yeah... to you too." He stood; hesitated.
"Thanks," he finally said.
She smiled.
"You're welcome."
He turned and left.
"Mum? ...Who was that?"
The old woman smiled as her daughter placed a cup of juice in front of her.
"I don't know," she said. "But I think he needed a hug."
~
In memory of my great-grandmother, who passed away August 2011 at the age of 102. As far as I'm aware this story is fictional, but I think she would have given a hug to a stranger off the street.
Then he saw the parking lot filled with cars and people trickling into the community hall.
Probably some old Southern Gospel Christmas concert going on, he thought, but his desperation drove him inside anyway, if only for a few minutes to thaw a bit and catch his breath.
As he stumbled into the lobby, a tall man with a large belly and glasses passed him on his way out the door and said, "Evening, sir".
He nodded acknowledgement at the large man as he left, then turned and slowly climbed the stairs. That guy had seemed a little young for a gospel concert, he thought, but hey, different strokes for different folks...
He peeked in around the door.
The smell of hot turkey and stuffing washed over him. Laughing and talking swirled around him. A couple of kids darted past him with hardly a glance.
This was no gospel bluegrass/country concert. To be sure, he scanned the room, but there were no instruments, no old guys in tuxedos, not even a microphone on the little platform in the corner.
He took a step inside.
It looked like a family here. The more he looked around, the more he began to think so... except that no family could be this large. There had to be at least a hundred people here.
But there was no doubt that these people knew each other, he could feel it. Perhaps it was all the smiles. They all seemed so comfortable here. He'd been to office Christmas parties before, the kind where you know all the people, yet you tread so carefully to keep up the appearance you've spent years cultivating.
There was none of that stiffness here.
Their obvious familiarity awakened a little pang in him. His family, before the trial, had been all of five people. Since then they had split five ways.
He saw a cooler at the other end of the hall and suddenly realised he was thirsty. After a moment's hesitation, he straightened his shoulders and began to stroll across the room as if he belonged.
In the back of his mind he knew there was no possible way he could make it across, get his drink, and get back without somebody calling him out -- not if they were all this familiar with each other. Any moment now, someone would say 'Hey, what are you doing here?'... 'who are you, how dare you interrupt our private party, who cares how cold it is outside?'...
It came as a rather disproportionate surprise when he arrived at the jug without being questioned.
He glanced around as casually as he could to see that no one was sending disapproving glares his way, then pulled one of the disposable cups off the stack, stuck it under the hole, and pressed the button.
A sort of orange punch came out that he couldn't immediately identify. No matter... it was wet and his throat wasn't. He took a swig.
To call it liquid sugar would have been an understatement. It was like pure maple syrup straight from the tree with chemical colour and even more sugar added. The force of the sweetness nearly knocked him back a step, but he took a breath to reorient himself and drained the rest in three consecutive swallows.
Then he turned and saw the table.
A huge table of food, rich and hot -- some of it still steaming in fact. The stragglers were just finishing filling their plates.
His stomach gurgled. He hadn't eaten since eleven that morning and it was nearly six o'clock. His eyes caressed the bounty before him.
Steaming turkey slices, bowls of cranberry sauce, piles of sliced bread at the end of the table, a rolling landscape of stuffing spread between several glass bowls, a vat of mashed potatoes...
Would it be stealing to take a little -- just to energise himself before venturing out again? After all, what was dinner at his house?
Kraft dinner, most likely. Eaten in front of the computer while playing Facebook Tetris... again.
Turkey and potatoes sounded a whole lot better than mac and cheese for the thousandth time.
He hadn't seen any indication that there was a fee for dinner, but he pulled a twenty out of his wallet and slipped it through the serving window into the jar on the kitchen counter labeled 'Help us keep up our family account.'
Then he got himself a paper plate from the stack and gave himself small helpings of all the salads and cooked vegetables and turkey and potatoes... it all looked and smelled so good.
No one seemed to notice him filling his plate and no one seemed to notice when he went over to an inconspicuous corner and sat down with it.
So he began to eat. And to observe.
It had been a long time since he'd eaten around other people, never mind a crowd like this. It was kind of interesting to look around and watch them all -- the starry-eyed couple leaning against the wall by the dessert table talking as the young man stealthily slipped cookies off the plate at the edge of the table into his mouth; two grey-haired men, three younger men, and a middle-aged woman playing some kind of game with pool cues and what appeared to be wooden checkers; a kid playing a Game Boy beside a severely overweight man in a torn red t-shirt who was talking to an old wrinkled bald man in a suit; six young people playing what appeared to be a ridiculously fast-paced card game; two boys by the juice jug he'd just left having an animated conversation about what must have been weapons based on the nature of their actions; dozens and dozens of other people all seemingly enjoying each other's company.
Part of him felt acutely alone, but part of him smiled. Just being a part of a happy family put a warm feeling in his chest, even though nobody seemed to see him here.
And that was just as well. He didn't want to intrude. He'd just finish his turkey and leave.
And what good turkey it was too. Cooked to perfection, splitting perfectly as his plastic fork touched it and the gravy... oh, the gravy was heavenly. Like butter. Its warmth mixed perfectly with the cranberry sauce as they slipped down his throat hand-in-hand. And then there were the crisp Caesar salads and the smooth mashed potatoes and the tender mixed vegetables and the most delicious slightly seasoned stuffing... whoever was the mastermind behind all this should get their own cooking show.
He picked at the loaded plate for nearly twenty minutes, trying to stave off the inevitable return out into the blizzard. It was so warm and 'friendly' in here. Sure his house would be warm, but the loneliness where there once had been love and laughter was so haunting...
Usually he pushed those memories out of his mind, but now, surrounded by loving people, he wondered if he should. There had been good times... why was he trying to erase them from his mind and focus instead on the emptiness?
He pushed the memories aside again, but promised himself he would revisit them when he returned to his house that night.
He looked down at his plate. Only a few bites of stuffing remained.
He sighed. Well, all good things have to come to an end...
He poked one of the smaller lumps with the fork and brought it to his mouth. Then the next. Then the next.
Two minutes later, only the smallest crumbs remained on the plate. He was full of food, but still lacked the desire to go back out into the blizzard.
Ah well. He'd already intruded more than he should have.
He stood up and scanned the hall, looking for a trash can. As luck would have it, there was one only a few steps away rather than across the hall and past all the people again.
He dropped his paper plate and utensils into it, then began to button up his coat.
As he did he heard something -- a weak voice, almost plaintive, as if calling for something.
He glanced over his shoulder.
An old, old woman in a wheelchair sat at the opposite end of the table he'd just dined at. She had to be ninety-five, likely nearer a hundred. Her face was puffy and sagging, with age spots and wrinkles -- the sort of creases that result from decades of smiling. A plate sat in front of her, and another, half-finished, at the empty seat beside her. No cups at either setting.
The old woman was looking directly at him. She beckoned.
"Come here," she said.
He blinked. She certainly didn't look like the sort who would give him what-for for eating some of the food... and even if she did, she was obviously much too old and weak to get out of the wheelchair.
What did he have to lose? He took a few hesitant steps closer.
The old woman smiled and beckoned again. He continued and finally stood beside her.
"You're going to leave without a hug?" she said. There was a happy sort of 'twinkle' in her voice.
He had no answer.
She held out her arms. He shrugged, knelt down, and accepted the hug.
"How are you?" she asked.
"All right."
"You're not really, are you?" she asked.
He blinked again. Was this woman psychic?
She continued without waiting for his answer.
"Ah well. I will talk to the Lord for you." She patted his hand.
"Um... thanks."
"Merry Christmas," she said.
"Yeah... to you too." He stood; hesitated.
"Thanks," he finally said.
She smiled.
"You're welcome."
He turned and left.
"Mum? ...Who was that?"
The old woman smiled as her daughter placed a cup of juice in front of her.
"I don't know," she said. "But I think he needed a hug."
~
In memory of my great-grandmother, who passed away August 2011 at the age of 102. As far as I'm aware this story is fictional, but I think she would have given a hug to a stranger off the street.
18 November 2011
Music Day
(I think it's Friday... possibly... Between the discovery of more stupid mice in the house and my catching a cold and excitement over finally getting snow and a week of 3,500-words-in-an-hour-to-make-daily-quota-noveling my brain has basically fried. So if it's not actually Friday, please don't get upset...)
I can't stand any of this band's other material, but their Christmas album is actually really good. I featured my current all-time favourite from it last year, but this song was my favourite when I first discovered the album among my dad's collection when I was about eight or nine.
I love how they overlap the two at the end.
Title: Angels We Have Heard On High/Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee
Artist: Phillips, Craig & Dean
Album: Repeat The Sounding Joy
Year: 1996
Label: Star Song Records
iTunes here, and how can this not be on YouTube...
Enjoy!
I can't stand any of this band's other material, but their Christmas album is actually really good. I featured my current all-time favourite from it last year, but this song was my favourite when I first discovered the album among my dad's collection when I was about eight or nine.
I love how they overlap the two at the end.
Title: Angels We Have Heard On High/Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee
Artist: Phillips, Craig & Dean
Album: Repeat The Sounding Joy
Year: 1996
Label: Star Song Records
iTunes here, and how can this not be on YouTube...
Enjoy!
04 November 2011
Music Day
It's November!
Not only is that NaNoWriMo, it's also winter!
...Mostly.
You see, though I live in one of the snowiest places on Earth (apparently), today was only the first snowfall. Typically snow starts accumulating here around the second week of October. According to my father, this is the first year since 1962 (or was it 1963?) that there has been no snow accumulation in October in our area.
It's all rather depressing. (For some of us, anyway.)
But today...
Today was the first snowfall! It's not much, but at least it's white and it's still on the front deck well after noon.
Also today, my mother brought out her Christmas music!
And nothing says Christmas is coming like hearing this song:
Title: Overture/O Come All Ye Faithful
Artist: Michael W. Smith
Album: Christmas
Year: 1989
Label: Reunion Records
When you're talking about Christmas music it's hard to play favourites (especially with my mother's collection), but I have to say this is possibly my favourite Christmas album ever. It's timeless. You can listen a hundred times and it's still just as beautiful as the first time.
09 April 2011
Why I Hate Spring
According to the calendar and the sun-watchers here in Canada, it is now spring. This is a revolting development if you ask me. I hate spring. And here are the reasons why (in no particular order):
1. Mud.
I live in a very rural area. The only roads for the next four kilometres are all dirt. In the spring, this means industrial-strength mud. I have seen tractors get stuck in the stuff. No lie.
2. Melting snow.
I love snow. I don't even mind driving through it that much (in fact, it's preferable around here to drive through snow because you can at least follow the tracks other vehicles have left behind rather than dry your eyes out trying to see the centre line that hasn't been repainted for fifteen years).
One of the most painful things in the world is to watch the lovely pure white snow melt. Even more painful is to listen to people callously say things like, 'hopefully the snow melts soon' and 'finally some sun -- maybe the snow will melt.' It's like they actually enjoy watching something so beautiful shrivel up and die a horrible lingering death (see also #4).
3. Standing water.
While admittedly fun to splash around in if you're dressed for it, when you're not dressed for it the only parking space you can ever find anywhere is right in the middle of a puddle deep enough to rival Lake Winnipeg.
4. Inanely cheerful people.
No offense to my dear friends who like spring, but collectively you tend to get very annoying very quickly. Especially on Facebook. Few things are more irritating than logging in and having to wade through posts from 72 otherwise fairly mature people saying 'Sun, sun, Mr Golden Sun, please shine down on me.' (See #8.)
5. Chronically warm housemates.
I don't care that the calendar says spring. That calendar was most likely printed in California. If you haven't heard yet, they have a completely different seasonal schedule than we do in Alberta. Do not tell me to put on a sweater; in case you haven't noticed I'm wearing seven of them already and in fact do not own any more sweaters to put on.
Furthermore I do not care that the weatherman says there might possibly, maybe, perhaps, if you're lucky, be one ray of sun peeking through the clouds for about ten seconds. One ray of sun is not sufficient to melt the thirty-foot high snowdrift on your yard, so stop squealing like an idiot. Nor is it sufficient to warm the air to the point where one can wear shorts and a t-shirt and go barefoot. I have a news flash for you -- it is still minus fifteen out; SHUT THE FLIPPING WINDOWS!
6. 'Fresh' air.
In the city, spring means fresh air. Like actual fresh air that I really don't mind breathing in because it's nice.
In the country, however, spring means fertiliser. Fertiliser means animal dung. Spread all over the abundance of fields around here. And trucked back and forth and back and forth across the roads you live on to get to said fields. Also, the increase of sun (see #8) means an increase of heat, which leads to an increase of smell.
Even more intolerable are the people who have been in the country long enough that their brains have been permanently warped by the smell and claim to enjoy it. These unfortunate folk will actually roll down windows, stick their heads out and breathe deep whenever they pass a fertiliser truck or a tractor fresh from the field. Then they will spend the next ten minutes asking if you were dropped on your head as an infant because you still have functioning olfactory glands.
7. Bugs.
I despise bugs. We don't get that many here in Canada (I'm told from those who have been Stateside), but the ones we do have are massive and seem to have an unnatural love for my bedroom. When you require three hours and a cement block larger than your dog to kill the three-inch-round spider on your wall, you have a problem. It's 1 to 4 am. You should be sleeping.
You also have a problem if a moth the size of a semi trailer gets caught in the fluorescent 'twisty' light bulb and literally burns half to death but can still fly fast enough to evade your cement block.
8. Brighter (and longer-lasting) sun.
I don't mind the sun -- to a point. However, when you spend an average of an hour a day driving into the sun, you get a pounding headache very quickly. Add to that logging into Facebook and finding an abundance of brainwashed robots singing the sun's praises (see #4), and it all makes you want to go out and buy yourself a firearm.
I'll admit that I'm one of those famed 'night owls.' I do my best work in the dark. The longer lasting sun forces me to stay up later to get anything of worth done and thus I oversleep the following morning. Mornings are bad enough without having everyone biting your head off because you're late for everything. (Also see #9.)
9. Daylight Savings Time. Enough said.
There are many other reasons why spring simply should be skipped over, but I'm sure you get my drift. Spring sucks, winter's cool, and that's all I have to say. Thank you for your time and attention to this very pressing matter.
1. Mud.
I live in a very rural area. The only roads for the next four kilometres are all dirt. In the spring, this means industrial-strength mud. I have seen tractors get stuck in the stuff. No lie.
2. Melting snow.
I love snow. I don't even mind driving through it that much (in fact, it's preferable around here to drive through snow because you can at least follow the tracks other vehicles have left behind rather than dry your eyes out trying to see the centre line that hasn't been repainted for fifteen years).
One of the most painful things in the world is to watch the lovely pure white snow melt. Even more painful is to listen to people callously say things like, 'hopefully the snow melts soon' and 'finally some sun -- maybe the snow will melt.' It's like they actually enjoy watching something so beautiful shrivel up and die a horrible lingering death (see also #4).
3. Standing water.
While admittedly fun to splash around in if you're dressed for it, when you're not dressed for it the only parking space you can ever find anywhere is right in the middle of a puddle deep enough to rival Lake Winnipeg.
4. Inanely cheerful people.
No offense to my dear friends who like spring, but collectively you tend to get very annoying very quickly. Especially on Facebook. Few things are more irritating than logging in and having to wade through posts from 72 otherwise fairly mature people saying 'Sun, sun, Mr Golden Sun, please shine down on me.' (See #8.)
5. Chronically warm housemates.
I don't care that the calendar says spring. That calendar was most likely printed in California. If you haven't heard yet, they have a completely different seasonal schedule than we do in Alberta. Do not tell me to put on a sweater; in case you haven't noticed I'm wearing seven of them already and in fact do not own any more sweaters to put on.
Furthermore I do not care that the weatherman says there might possibly, maybe, perhaps, if you're lucky, be one ray of sun peeking through the clouds for about ten seconds. One ray of sun is not sufficient to melt the thirty-foot high snowdrift on your yard, so stop squealing like an idiot. Nor is it sufficient to warm the air to the point where one can wear shorts and a t-shirt and go barefoot. I have a news flash for you -- it is still minus fifteen out; SHUT THE FLIPPING WINDOWS!
6. 'Fresh' air.
In the city, spring means fresh air. Like actual fresh air that I really don't mind breathing in because it's nice.
In the country, however, spring means fertiliser. Fertiliser means animal dung. Spread all over the abundance of fields around here. And trucked back and forth and back and forth across the roads you live on to get to said fields. Also, the increase of sun (see #8) means an increase of heat, which leads to an increase of smell.
Even more intolerable are the people who have been in the country long enough that their brains have been permanently warped by the smell and claim to enjoy it. These unfortunate folk will actually roll down windows, stick their heads out and breathe deep whenever they pass a fertiliser truck or a tractor fresh from the field. Then they will spend the next ten minutes asking if you were dropped on your head as an infant because you still have functioning olfactory glands.
7. Bugs.
I despise bugs. We don't get that many here in Canada (I'm told from those who have been Stateside), but the ones we do have are massive and seem to have an unnatural love for my bedroom. When you require three hours and a cement block larger than your dog to kill the three-inch-round spider on your wall, you have a problem. It's 1 to 4 am. You should be sleeping.
You also have a problem if a moth the size of a semi trailer gets caught in the fluorescent 'twisty' light bulb and literally burns half to death but can still fly fast enough to evade your cement block.
8. Brighter (and longer-lasting) sun.
I don't mind the sun -- to a point. However, when you spend an average of an hour a day driving into the sun, you get a pounding headache very quickly. Add to that logging into Facebook and finding an abundance of brainwashed robots singing the sun's praises (see #4), and it all makes you want to go out and buy yourself a firearm.
I'll admit that I'm one of those famed 'night owls.' I do my best work in the dark. The longer lasting sun forces me to stay up later to get anything of worth done and thus I oversleep the following morning. Mornings are bad enough without having everyone biting your head off because you're late for everything. (Also see #9.)
9. Daylight Savings Time. Enough said.
There are many other reasons why spring simply should be skipped over, but I'm sure you get my drift. Spring sucks, winter's cool, and that's all I have to say. Thank you for your time and attention to this very pressing matter.
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