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Next week I run with 3 others from work in the YMCA corporate challenge relay. The relay race takes place at Toronto's Exhibition Place next Wednesday on June 5 at 7:00 p.m. Well, today we had a 5 km practice race. Geez, I walk 3km in the morning and jog 3km in the evening and do about an hour's worth of aerobic activity each day on the weekend. Still that didn't make me the fastest. Hmmph, maybe I will blame it on my tiredness. I drove out to Cambridge yesterday evening to pick up a desk for my son from my aunt and uncle's. So I didn't get to bed until almost midnight. And then there was a thunderstorm in the wee hours of this morning. Yeah, and today was pretty muggy. Of course, it didn't seem to slow my teammates. Sometimes you just need to be humbled, I guess.

I hear there will be 900 teams which I make out to be 3600 people competing. Sure will be a big crowd at the Ex. I am glad I will be running anchor, i.e. the fourth person, perhaps the crowds will have thinned. And it is only 5 km after all. Somehow I don't think I will be doing it in under 15 minutes like Olympic atheletes do. Stay tuned. Next week will be busy with two Bell'Arte Singers' rehearsals and a concert as well as this race.

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"If you breathe," warns an article in the May issue of Australian Good Health News, "you breathe in billions of oxygen molecules that can cause cancer, arthritis, degenerative diseases and premature ageing."

Best give it up, then.

Source: New Scientist

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Our "professional-amateur" group of singers said goodbye at last night's rehearsal break to an older man who left the choir last fall. I was glad to see him go finally because, even with his hearing aid, he wasn't hearing nor singing the music well. He was also getting, well, eccentric. I tried to avoid him when he was at choir practices because he'd tell me about this and that scheme to make lots of money. "A great opportunity" he would say. Before the concert last fall, he "self selected" himself out of the choir via his own embarassment. For a change the men's concert dress was black dress shirts and pants — he showed up in his tuxedo, with a white shirt, the usual men's concert attire. He left before the concert and, a couple of days later, sent an email to everyone saying he was "retiring".

Nice words were said about this man during the rehearsal break last night and then he was given a chance to speak. Well, his few words, included a near proselytization about "Noni" juice and how the company marketing it was growing "faster than IBM". Again, we were all glad he had decided to leave the choir of his own accord. Obviously, his music talents have been superseded by a saleman's fervour. Maybe men change in their 70s, I know my Dad just started living with a single mom about my age. However, I will leave that topic for another day's ramble. I won't mention any names because this man means well and is nice person, but, like an overly sweet confection, you can only take him in small doses.

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It's been one of those days. The IT people changed the IP address on my Windows NT workstation and broke several scripts and server connections. And my VPN connection to an outside company also broke so they had to fix that. Now it appears I can't reach my home box anymore either. At least there will be a Bell'Arte Singers (BAS) rehearsal this evening. Though I ended up spending my lunch hour correcting the "IP damage" to my FreeBSD box instead of practicing the Hebrew words to the Chichester Psalms. It looks like I will have to go out to Cambridge on Tuesday evening to pick up an office desk from my aunt and uncle. They are moving and the desk takes too much room. My son would like it but he is even busier than I am. I hope my uncle has a cold beer anyway. Now I am off to my Mom's for supper as she live near where the BAS are practicing this evening.

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It was cool and windy today so I was looking for physical activity in the garden. Turning the compost came to mind. It really has been a mild winter as my three(!) compost bins kept on working (i.e. the pile subsides) over the winter months. I even found worms in the middle of the compost which is unusual. I dug out enough compost from the bottom of the "Soil-saver" compost bin I use for the "final" stage to sift and fill four 5-gallon pails. Other than sticks, pine cones, fruit "stones" and corn cobs, the only other recognisable items were fruit stickers, probably from banana and orange peels. The latter I throw out but the other chunks make great mulch under shrubs. I use to try and throw them back in the composter; however, this chunky stuff doesn't appear that it will break down in my lifetime. Next, I moved some of the "fresh" and partly rotted matter from the other two plastic barrel bins to the final stage bin. Some of this smelled, obviously needing a bit of air in the mixture to promote aerobic bacterial decomposition. Usually I do this chore once a year; however I predict that 2002 will be a rotten year so I will be able to harvest as much or more top soil later this summer.

Now I have 40 gallons of sifted compost in the garage waiting to be used for transplanting and top-dressing. The old clayey soil I dig out when I transplant goes into layers on the compost and gradually gets worked in with the humus turning it into rich topsoil. It has taken several years to achieve a more or less self sustaining cycle. Oh yes, last fall I bought a mulching leaf vacuum. The chopped leaves break down much faster in the composter and they also provided a nice winter mulch on the gardens around the Trapper Estate.

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I have been house sitting this past few days up here in Aiyansh. A couple I recently met asked me to care for their house, dog, and cat while they went on a business trip to Prince George. I don’t know the cats name. But the dog is named Mollie.

I have never lived with a dog. Dogs are different than cats, an animal I am much more familiar with. Dogs, if Mollie is a good example, are way simpler in their behavior. Mollie, apparently, waits with slavish devotion for me to suggest what our next activity will be. Clearly she hopes it will be walking, or tennis ball throwing, or wrestling around, or eating, or some kind of treat. She looks at me with her head cocked to one side with doleful eyes and silently hopes.

Mollie is a large size dog, and just a little portly. But, despite her heft, she lacks nothing in enthusiasm for her favorite things. For instance, she loves BIG sticks. Sticks 2-3 inches thick and 6-8 feet long are just right. Throwing these sticks for Mollie brings to mind the Scottish caber toss. Great fun for me is throwing these logs into thickets and watching Mollie attack the job of getting them out. For, you see, she grabs the stick roughly in the middle and then has a trial getting through the thicket with a yard of stick flanking out on either side.

Not fun is when I have gone ahead, enjoying a moment respite from Mollie’s deep breathing enthusiasm, and Mollie comes barreling up behind me with spar in mouth and buckles my knees with her mouthpiece. “Now, where is the next thicket?”

Also left in my charge is a DVD player and a sizeable stack of good movies. It took me a while to figure out which of the three remotes, each with more buttons than a typewriter, operated which machine. In fact, I am still not sure which does which. Still, I can make the movies run and that’s all I ask.

I notice that married couples without kids, each on their own career path, have way more stuff than married couples with kids. The universal gym in the basement, all the latest in electronic entertainments, impressive cd and dvd collections, fancy sewing machines and all those tools they advertize on Canadian Tire commercials. And the food! Talk about well stocked fridge and cupboards. “Help yourself,” they said. And I am, but I’ve hardly made a dent in my grazing of cashew nuts, fine cheeses, fancy jams, and so on.

I don’t feel guilty about helping myself. They aren’t paying me to look after the animals. And Mollie’s pitiful look as I leave for school in the morning does exact a psychological toll upon me. In the morning, as per instructions, I do throw her the tennis ball a few times off the back porch. After a couple of throws Mollie will stop to do her business and I can feel good that I am leaving an emptied dog in the house. But the cost in tennis balls! Mollie goes careening off to retrieve the yet to be launched ball and I, being a novice with the no-hands-on-the-slobbery-tennis-ball-flinger, may send the ball in an entirely different direction to Mollie’s flight. Mollie arrives to no tennis ball and all my shouting and finger pointing seldom avail to direct Mollie to the mis-thrown object. She circles and sniffs hopelessly about in arcs that seldom even encompass the lost ball. Generally I then have to wade out into the muck which is the “backyard” to retrieve the ball myself. Often, as I do so, I find other balls which have been lost in similar incidents.

I took my grade 8's outside for the later half of their Friday class today. With the good weather they are keen to be out playing. And why not? I hold this treat over them and make them work all the more productively in the first half of the period. We went out behind the school and played a kind of cumulative tag in the woods there. When you get caught you join those who are “it” in pursuit of those not yet caught. I volunteered to start as “it” in one game. And boy those kids are fast! Anthony, who I had in my grasp, charged into a pile of fallen saplings. As I reached for him I tripped and landed on top of him. He scraped his elbow but soon joined me in the hunt. Another class of grade 8's, passing at the time, greatly enjoyed my fall. Is there any greater joy in life than the ungainly downfall of an authority figure? In a couple of weeks I have organized a field trip for the grade eights to the site of the volcano which, 270 years ago, buried the Nass Valley in lava. I’ll tell you more about this in subsequent letters.

Love Y’all, Tom.

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"Consultants have credibility because they aren't dumb enough to work at your company."

Scott Adams

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I took some images in the garden last night and tried out a non-table, table using CSS and some help from these tips.

Double kerria

Forget-me-nots

Front garden

Thorny shrub

The thorns

Viburnum

White tulips

Wine rack

Double kerria

The double kerria is putting on a great show this year as its branches didn't die back over the winter as they sometimes do.

Forget-me-nots

It started off as a few Forget-Me-Nots — and now they are everywhere.

Front garden

In the front garden, the azalea in the foreground is starting to bloom as well as the bleeding hearts towards the back.

Thorny shrub

I'm going email the Rec. and Parks people to ask them to remove these shrubs, they're thorny and their roots are invasive.

The thorns

You need full body armour to prune these guys!

Viburnum

The viburnum buds are just starting to flower.

White tulips

I like white flowers — you can see them in the evening. These tulips also contrast nicely with the violets.

Wine rack

Happiness is a full wine rack and happy is the gardener.

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"According to a study by the National Science Foundation, 70% of Americans do not understand science. Here's the real scary part: 30% don't even know what 70% means."

Jay Leno

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Earlier this month I had thought about taking the Friday before the Canadian May long weekend. However, we took our project manager out for his big 5⋅0 birthday and the forecast wasn't very good (coolest Victoria Day weekend in 35 to 50 years depending on the newscast) until Tuesday. So I stayed home today. I had forgotten that our cleaning person comes every other Tuesday but that got away from the computer and out of the house earlier anyway. And a beautiful day it was: for cleaning the garage, heavy pruning, and mowing the lawn — slightly overcast and about 12°C.

I pruned some of those thorny shrubs (Russian olive) in the path behind our backyard using my new 1½ inch loppers. Damn those thorns are sharp and can be up to 4 inches long. As I have been maintaining those shrubs and pulling the weeds for the last few years I think send Rec. and Parks Mississauga a note to have them removed. Then I could plant something more "pruner-friendly", like perhaps some more double kerria which looks like a marigold bush. It's putting on a great show this year because the past winter was so mild.

I bought an electric chainsaw on Sunday. The best kind of Father's Day gift is the tool you buy for yourself. I have used both gas and electric chainsaws. Usually the gas ones need a tuneup, i.e., they're smoky or they cut out instead of idling and both kinds have usually been dull. "Oh, think I have a file here somewhere!" So, I bought my own so I can keep it sharp. I prefer electric for the pruning jobs I usually do. A 16 incher, "Pro" model should do it. The "Pro" model has the wrap around handle so I can use it sideways to cut off stumps and it also meant I had to put on the bar and chain myself. Got to know my tool, in other words. What I am leading up to is that I had told my neighbour I would prune her trees for her. Today I got to try out that chainsaw and the big loppers and remove a few lower branches from her locust tree. The other one will require a lot more work

mod_perl and Movable Type experiment — it didn't work. My 200 MHz FreeBSD box with 32Mbyes of RAM and 64 Mbytes ran out of swap space as it compiled the Movable Type modules. Oh well, I will have to look around for some extra RAM.

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I decided to install the latest ISC dhcp software from the FreeBSD ports so I can serve IP addresses automatically to PCs on my local network. The install worked fine but I ran into a problem with the script dhcpd.sh in /usr/local/etc/rc.d. dhcpd would start but then stop once the script exited. The actual program /usr/local/sbin/dhcpd would work when I started it manually. After some experimention I found the -q switch to dhcpd would tell the program not send messages to stdout. So I modified dhcpd.sh:

dhcpd_options="-q"  # -q required or dhcpd terminates when stdout closes
                    # at end of script
dhcpd_ifaces="ed0"  # internal network interface

Now my Windows boxes automatically get assigned an IP address.

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It appears that our internet server is down so, although I write this on the 18th, who knows when I will be able to send it.

I drove in to Terrace yesterday, where we do our shopping. Occasionally I get to make the drive myself because I drive in my friend Lyle’s family. They have a mini van, but Wilfred no longer drives because his sight has almost gone. Amy, Wilfred’s wife, doesn’t drive. Nor do Corlee of Rollie, their daughter and son. Both the latter are in their twenties. Corlee has resisted all family urgings to get her driving license. It would be helpful for her to have this since she would have this vehicle at her disposal and since she has two young children. Seems like this is a maturity thing, Corlee appears to lack confidence in herself. Her children are fatherless and she lives with them at home with Amy and Wlifred.

Rollie (I’m not sure of the spelling of his name) is a simple minded young man. He is lucky to have a janitorial job in this community where the unemployment rate is roughly 85%. Rollie, who also lives at home, takes great delight in spending his salary on toys and gadgets. Yesterday he bought a cell phone. With this phone he will be able to call home from his janitorial job - a 10 minute walk away. I suppose he can also call his friends. He spent the drive back chatting to anyone who would listen about his new cell phone.

In all there were 7 of us in the van, a full load. I like driving them into town, it gives me that father feeling that is I so miss up here. I get to take care of this motley family of three generations. Last time I took the whole crew in was the first time I had sat with them in a restaurant. Six small Indians and a big white guy. We drew a few looks, but I felt good about them obviously wanting me to be there eating with them. Yesterday was the second time playing out that scene. This time it is was at a Chinese restaurant. Corlee’s little guy, at two years old, was definitely out of sorts. He wanted to climb all over the booth and proceeded to wail like a skewered casualty when obliged to sit still. Corlee took him in the bathroom where, behind two closed doors, the entire restaurant continued to hear his heartfelt protests about the unfairness of life to two year olds.

I am accustomed now to the pace of these family town visits. For instance, they invariably finish with a fill up at a native-run gas station just outside of Terrace. With a status card, gas is discounted there. Although our reason for going there is to fill up with gas, and although the family has spent the day in various stores stocking up on food, we nevertheless spend about half an hour at the gas station because Corlee and Rollie feel impelled to fill a shopping bag full of junk food from the gas-station convenience store. So that sense of we’re-just-going-to-fill-up-and-go-home is an illusion best let go of. We don’t head home until we are on the road again. Even then there are usually grumbles from someone about some essential errand not done that will - sigh - have to be done on the next trip.

We were back on the road by about 9:15 pm. The broken cloud cover of the day had finally yielded to clear skies. The light stays around noticeably longer at this northern latitude. Full dark didn’t come until we were pulling back in to Aiyansh at around 10:45. The roads for the hour and a half trip back were clear and pretty much devoid of traffic. This road, after you get 15 minutes out of Terrace, leads only to the Nass Valley community. So, except at certain peak times, like Friday afternoon, when everyone from here is traveling to or from Terrace, there is seldom more than the occasional other vehicle on the road.

As we came back into Aiyansh it was dusk. And I was driving through frequent patches of low lying mist. I had to be on the alert to track to the unlined road through the failing light and fog patches. Also I had in mind the story of a couple of people who ran into moose along this road last week. (No serious human injuries). As I drove I pondered that although tales of hitting moose are fairly common, I had heard no stories of bear accidents. It is one of my pet peeves right now that I have seen as many moose as I have seen Sasquatch. None. But I have seen lots of bears along the highway.

Anyway, about 10 minutes out from Aiyansh, what should run out in front of our careening minivan but a big black bear? It was suddenly there, a black hulk darting out from a black roadside. I really could have done nothing to avoid it if it had made the dash a fraction of a second later. As it was it streaked across in front of me and my slight swerve to avoid it made no difference, it was gone and the family, and the bear, were safe and homeward bound. And that is all my news for now.

Love, Tom.

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I upgraded my blog software from version 2.0 to 2.11. The only minor glitch I found was that I forgot to execute mt-upgrade21.cgi. My category labels had disappeared. After a quick check of the MT web site I found the problem. I later tried to use mod_perl to speed things up but I get an error after logging in which seems to be a bug. I reported this to the MT support forums and we'll see what happens.

I decided to look at using mod_perl again to make the blog editing / comments part run faster. Still got errors complaining about missing modules not found in @INC, perl's library path. Aha, I said. Why don't I symlink the MT library into one of the "standard" library paths. So far this seems to work.

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My wife's Aunt Laura passed away early this morning at the age of 87. She had been in a nursing home for the past 16 years due to the stroke she had suffered. My mother-in-law sounded devastated when she called: First it was her eldest daughter, Corinne, who succumbed to cancer last November and now her older sister has passed away.

Laura Gauthier always had a cheerful disposition and loved to flirt with the men she met. We'll miss her.

The visitation at the Giffen-Mack Funeral Home in Scarborough is from 2 to 4 and 7 to 9 p.m. on Monday. The funeral, at the same location, takes place at 10 a.m. on Tuesday.

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On Easter Monday I added yeast to two batches of wine. Today I bottled them at Mosto Vinho here in lovely Mississauga. Now there's 30 bottles of an Australian Shiraz which, I'm told could age for four or five years. And I have 30 bottles of an "European Select" Pinot Noir. Each batch also had a glass extra. Tonight I'm sampling the Pinot. Not bad even now but a month of aging will make it that much better.

And, now that that Aïda is over, I have time to read again. So a trip to the library was quite in order after the bottling. Especially since it has been another mostly rainy day. Good thing I scrambled out and mowed the lawn, trimmed the edges and planted some perenials yesterday evening.

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Mahatma Gandhi, as you know, walked barefoot most of the time, which produced an impressive set of calluses on his feet. He also ate very little, which made him rather frail and with his odd diet, he suffered from bad breath. This made him .... what?

A super calloused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis.

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Let me tell you, this AGM of the Oakville Choral Society was pretty good. Of the many GM's I have attended over the years I can only remember two: one, where the agenda item was to allow blessings of same sex marriages, and two, where the entire Ministry and Personnel Committee had resigned because of a minister's actions. Anyway this AGM was quite short. There was the usual treasurer's report, president's message and music director's report. The music director gave the president a "Hero's Medal" for service above and beyond the call of duty of a volunteer president of a volunteer choir. As I reported our president had to work quite a bit to calm down the "Monstro" of Opera Mississauga. The business part also included "service" awards for 5, 10, 15(?), 20 and even 30 years with the OCS. A nice touch I think. Anyway, the meal was OK — Chicken breast with pretend real mushroom sauce, veggies, and potato balls. Dessert was whip cream in a semi-sweet chocolate cup. Thanks to Sheila I had two. My table companions were an excellent bunch I might add. Then it was on to the entertainment.

Unfortunately, Lee, our original emcee was taken ill with manly plumbing problems, so James, the funeral director, took over. First up was Helge, our octogenarian, with a couple of little ditties, "You are the mustard on my hot dog" which begs to have a next line "and the mayo on my weenie". However, Helge was born in a different age where songs were pure of meaning. This song is so old that I couldn't find it on Google. His second song, a 1933 piece called "The Pig!", I did find on the Internet. Jane sang the Sinatra song "I've Got a Crush on You". Rosie sang about her "Favourite Things". And James our emcee finally realized his ambition in life, that is, to sing the "Dentist's Song". I'm wondering if this is the one from the "Little Shop of Horrors". Mike sang an down east song whose title I didn't write down and forgot to ask about in all the excitement. Donna and Laurie performed a Maestro and Chorus Master skit — just what are we all going to do without Dwight and Gergely to talk about or make fun of? Ann led us in a rousing chorus from the Finale to Act II of Aïda to the words of "Mary had a Little Lamb". Have we flushed this out of system yet? And finally, the newly formed OCS Chamber Choir sang three selections.

Someone asked me why I hadn't sung a solo. Upon a little reflection I believe it's because I don't need to show off anymore. Besides with all my extra singing time taken up with Aïda I didn't have time to prepare something. Perhaps another year.

To all my friends in the OCS I have gotten to know much better during the course of Aïda rehearsals and performances have a great summer!

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How are these two events related? Hmmm, they aren't, but everyone in the GTA is celebrating the Toronto Maple Leafs quarter final victory over the Ottawa Senators.

The Oakville Choral Society had their (brief) AGM sandwiched between the cocktail hour followed by supper and entertainment. After work I will post details and commentary. Sorry, I won't be doing this at lunch time — the sun has come out after almost 3 solid days of rain. I brought my in-line skates today and I'm going to take advantage of the change in weather.

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Three guys are debating who has the best memory.

First guy says, "I can remember the first day of my First Grade class."

Second guy says, "I can remember my first day at Nursery School!"

Not to be outdone, the third guy says, "Hell, that's nothing. I can remember going to the senior prom with my father, and coming home with my mother."

Source: Funny Mailer

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Quite a busy weekend at the Service household. Our "home" choir the Bell'Arte Singers taped three works for attachment to a Canada Council grant application. Our director said the taping would take one and a hours "tops" but, of course it was probably closer to the two and half the rest of us were expecting. The BAS recorded:

• Srul Irving Glick's setting of the twenty-third psalm part of his "In Memoriam Lenny" suite
• "Requiem of Ice and Snow" composed by our own Benjamin Bolden part of an opera he is composing
• "Libera Me" composed by another BAS member, Victor Mio, in memory a BAS tenor, Phil King, who succumbed to brain cancer a couple of years ago.

Recording is quite different than singing at a concert. In both cases we have to sing our best; however, little details that an audience might forgive (or forget :-) such as loud page turns, a cough, pitch problems, ragged entries, etc are quite audible on tape. At least with digital recording you can re-sing the "bad" verse or do a couple of takes and interweave the good bits with too much pain. I remember taping a seven verse song with a choir twenty years ago with the old analog methods. Each time a mistake happened even if it was verse 7 the choir had to start all over again.

After the taping we picked up my brother from my Dad's second marriage, his wife and my adorable 5 month old niece and brought them to our place for a barbecue supper. We had a very pleasant evening. After we dropped them off we stopped off at my in-laws and put some flowers on the porch. It was closing in on midnight so we didn't knock on the door.

It rained all day. Boo!. I slept in 'til 9:30a. Yay! I am usually an early riser but the dull weather fooled my body. Anyway my older son and girlfriend (our daughter, but that's a story for another day) invited us to their friends' (another young couple who have just bought a house) place to have a Mother's Day party. We had already met their friends mothers at their open house in April. The kids cooked a fine meal of burgers, corn-on-the-cob and Caesar salad. Our "daughter" baked a delicious 3-layer, inch thick iced strawberry cake. Yum!

I can hardly wait until Father's Day!

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On an evening when dark thoughts fill my brain it is hard to know what to write. These dark thoughts will pass and a brighter day will dawn, so I do not want to dwell on them.

To shelter myself from this storm I have been taking refuge in a tomb of a book, THE COUNT OF MONTE CHRISTO. This book gives quite a ride for your read. On the eve of his marriage the young Edmund is whisked away on false charges and thrown in the dungeons of the French version of Alcatraz. After 14 years in this hell, and after befriending the elder inmate in the next block (whose escape tunnel mistakenly took him to the adjoining cell), our hero makes a remarkable escape. From simple fisherman, then inmate, Edmund transforms himself (via the tutoring and buried treasure of his deceased prison patron) into the fabulously wealthy and enigmatic Count of Monte Christo. Noone (well almost noone) knows that Monte Christo is the forgotten Edmund.

Talk about a reversal of fortune!

What is remarkable about this book is the character of the Count. With his keen powers of intellect, overbearing personality, multiple intrigues and disguises, and unlimited resources, he sets out to utterly destroy and vanquish the lives of the four men who conspired to falsely accuse him. Vengeance!!! And, I must guiltily confess, vengeance is a delicious driving force for this tale’s plot. Yah! Let’s get ‘em!

But, of course, things are not so simple as that. It turns out that these culprits, three of whom have gone on to great fortune themselves, have wives and children. The Monte Christo one man wrecking team encounters compassionate complications.

Moreover, it becomes clear that the forces driving our good Count are a prison of a different form. Rather than being trapped within stone and steel, this man is trapped within his rage. Hence the book is driven at its deepest level by the healing process which the Count experiences. The mighty wave of his rage crashing in upon the polite society of upper crust Paris is met by an overwhelming return wave of compassion breaking back upon the Count. It turns out that revenge is not the sweet cure which he craved. The count, ultimately, and unknown to himself, longs to find a loved place in the world again, free of both outer and inner bondage.

Dumas is as perceptive as he is conceited in his unabashed praise of privilege. Only the wealthy, it seems, can attain full fledged humanity. The common lot minor characters throughout this novel are moral dwarves, mindless servants, or sloppy miscreants. Even to be truly evil, it seems, one must have a flock of servants and maids at one’s beck and call. Being an eighteenth century novelist, I suppose, one must forgive Dumas this conceit. Even Tolstoy’s WAR AND PEACE is peopled only by the upper echelon of Russian society, and Tolstoy is said to have been a socialist.

Yes, this letter was a change of pace. No news of the Nass tonight. Tonight everything here reminds me of my dog. Take care all.

Love, Tom.

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[At long last I have an email via my Mom from my brother Robert (a.k.a Bob to the family) who's teaching for a couple of years near Chiang Mai, Thailand. It appears his hotmail account has been acting up (sound familiar?). Anyway, there's great news that they will be back in Toronto for a while this summer. It'll be much cooler (relatively speaking, of course) for them here. BTW, "Ah" is the name of their Thai nanny.]

Hi Mom

I'm switching from Hotmail to premmail because Hotmail is more trouble than it's worth I can't even get into it tonight and copy my address book so I can't cc this message to Jim,Tom and Jane. If you don't mind feel free to forward it. Also because of Hotmail this is my second time writing this message; a royal pain in the butt.

We managed through the wonders of the internet to line-up an apartment for the month of July. It's a three bedroom on the second and third floor of a 1882 Parkdale house. The owner is off to England for two months and wanted to sublet. As luck would have it she just needed to get someone for July. We found the apartment through the UofT faculty newsletter classifieds. Chrissy at first found an old issue then I managed to find the most recent one. We sent out 4 emails to those that i) were in our price range, ii) in an area we liked, and iii) had email addresses. We heard back from all 4 and 3 of them were possibilities. [Name] is the woman we're subletting from and I'm going to give her your name and tel. number because she wanted a Toronto contact/reference. We still haven't got flights arranged, but we're going to let the school handle it as they say they can do it cheaper and it is their money. I'll let you know when plans firm up.

The shitty news now. Crawford is well on his way to becoming potty trained. Three poos in a row have gone in the potty. He's also going pee more often than not in the potty. He hasn't peed on the couch or floor in about a week. Yesterday, when he and Chrissy got back from a walk he immediately ran to the potty and peed. Unfortunately he hadn't taken his shorts off yet, but such are the hazards when learning a new skill. Today when Ah and Crawford were visiting with Sue and Roger's nanny Crawford said he had to go pee. Ah held him over the toilet and he went. As you know we were just a little discouraged while you were here, but things are now progressing wonderfully.

It's probably hotter now than when you and Phil were here. We've had some rain over the past week which has started to green things up but it has also added to the humidity. The rain is welcome though and most days it arrives or tries to right at the end of the school day.

That's it for now,

Love Rovart [Robert]

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"Although I can accept talking scarecrows, lions and great wizards in emerald cities, I find it hard to believe there is no paperwork involved when your house lands on a witch."

Dave James [from Clean Laffs]

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I took these pictures during the closing night's performance of Opera Mississauga's production of "Joe Green's" Aïda.

Images - On closing night the paparazzi among us could take pictures. [image]	Images - Amneris sung by Alla Gorobchenko, mezzo soprano.[ Too bad this striking woman could hardly speak any English. ] [image]
Images - Amonasro sung by Mauro Augustini, baritone [ According to an Italian friend, where this guy comes from in Italy they all talk very loudly. His voice would cause your ears to ring singing in a small room. ] [image]	Images - Maestro played by Dwight Bennett, seen here with Ms. Gorobchenko. [image]
Images - Senor Augustini was a very friendly guy. [image]	Images - Radames sung by Mario Leonardi, tenor. [ He's in the fancy costume to the right of the Maestro. ] [image]
Images - Behind Radames in the door way and partially obscured by a super is Ramfis sung by Franceso Palmieri, basso. [ He sings with the priestly chorus in the opera at one point. Quite a friendly guy except when someone accidently sang his part. ] [image]	Images - The King was sung by, Enrico Rinaldo, basso. [ The story I heard was that though he was born in Ottawa, when Senor Rinaldo was two, his father, an outdoor construction worker, lost his ear to frostbite and the family moved back to Italy. ] [image]
Images - Many of the women of the chorus bought wigs to help immerse themselves in their Egyptian people roles. Here is an OCS member who shall remain nameless for now. [image]	Images - One of Egyptian Ministers sung by Jim Service, first bass. [ I had another picture taken of me in this costume which my wife detested — she thought I looked dead with my arms crossed as if I were in a coffin. I hope she likes this one better. ] [image]
Images - Chorus Master played excellently by Gergely Szokolay (standing) [image]	Images - The Chorus Master silhouetted in front of the priestly chorus. [image]
Images - Yet another picture of the Chorus Master with unheaddressed priest in the foreground. [image]	Images - Bev Stainton (telephone number), director of the Oakville Choral Society. [ After experiencing the Maestro I'm sure the Oakville choristers appreciate his humour and tolerance all that much more. ] [image]
Images - The famous monkey of the triumphal Aï Grand Finale scene. [image]	Images - The priests and ministers offstage waiting their next chorus. [image]
Images - Here we are waiting for our next entrance. [image]	Images - It's hard work with a call at 6:30 p.m. and leaving at about 5 hours later after removing costume and makeup. [ First production I have been in though where you can have your costume laundered between performances. ] [image]
Images - After closing night many of the chorus headed over to Alice Fazooli's for some libation of an alcoholic nature. [image]	Images - Another party shot at Alice's. [image]

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I'm really easy to get along with once you people learn to worship me.

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At about 8:10 EDT the power went out in the entire building and it stayed out for about two hours. Eerily quiet: I didn't know computer fans and ventilation made up such a large part of the ambient noise. I wasn't feeling too well, perhaps it was something I ate. Once I called Ralph on the Big White Phone I felt better though I haven't eaten my lunch. We'll see if the banana stays down and I will continue to drink green tea. I wish I some of those "just add water" chicken noodle soup cups. Perhaps my body is missing Aïda — I haven't hummed a note or recited an Italian word for at least a day now!

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As usual the chorus met for a "warm-up", this time in the staging room, a very large, high room the area of the stage. This night I guess the heating had been turned off and the A/C wasn't either. The room was stuffy and hot and I fight sleep especially given Maestro's offerings tonight. Gergely warmed us up vocally a bit and just as the Maestro entered, one of the Oakville second basses who shall remain nameless though his picture appears somewhere at the side, asked if the Oakville chorus could go over something. We all shushed him. Besides, I thought to myself, this is the fifth performance, if you don't know it by now and haven't been studying the score with the CD at home then you'll never get it. Anyway, we certainly didn't want to provoke the Maestro.

That night's lesson was about two doors. One for the artist and one for the cynic. He read some quotes and some poetry and asked us towards what door were these things headed. This took some time while I got sleepier. Next, he extolled the features of the program. Yes, I agree it is nicely organized, with a synopsis, cast names, etc. However, I thought we were to be there an hour and half early to warm up our voices. By the way, attendance was taken. Finally tonight's theme was fire, i.e., we were to sing as if we were on fire melting the metaphorical ice of the audience allowing them to experience the music of Verdi through the right door.

It was the fifth and final night. A few mistakes were made but fortunately we won't have to suffer another pre-performance warm-up talking to from the Maestro. Especially since we might try and blame those mistakes on somebody other than the chorus, which is true, but would he believe us.

After the show many of went to Alice Fazooli's to have some refreshments of an alcoholic nature and generally wind down from an exhausting couple of weeks of rehearsals and performances. Gergely showed up as you can see in the pictures and we gave him a round of applause. No sign of the Maestro which was probably just as well.

As I was running today I thought about our experiences with the Oakville Choral Society (OCS) and the Maestro. The director of the Bell'Arte Singers, Dr. Lee Willingham did his doctoral thesis on, roughly speaking, the choir as a community. Maestro made a grave mistake attacking our community; whereas, Gergely joined us, so to speak. The OCS community resisted and sloughed off his criticisms we went on with the show despite his seemingly mean-spirited ways. Because we accepted Gergely attacks on him were also seen as attacks on the OCS community. He once said something about it being "professional". The OCS isn't. We are there to have fun and to learn some music. If professional is being a member of the orchestra, playing for 3 hours — no more no less, then I guess I would rather be an amateur musician, thank you very much. Here's to the OCS community's triumph over what the Maestro tried to throw at us. In the end he tried to join with us, too: too little too late I'm afraid.

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Here I am, back in New Aiyansh. I have spent the last couple of days in Prince Rupert, where the teaching staff of District #92 gathered for workshops, meetings, and general retreat. I enjoyed some good times. And now, as I said, I am back. And the force of my longing for Rosemarie and my girls is strongly with me again. This feeling never really leaves me, my mind is just more or less distracted from it by whatever else is going on. This palpable feeling of “missing” is not a bad thing. As a strong feeling it has done much to form my character. I have, for instance, become far clearer about who I am and what I like. Still, this feeling is overwhelming at times. I have tried scores of things to be rid of it, and for a time these things help. But when one craves the wholeness of being with loved ones, all the half measures imaginable cannot satisfy that craving. What my heart desires is not here.

The bears are back! Driving up to Aiyansh from Terrace today we saw three black bears along the way, one just on the edge of town foraging in a roadside ditch. It was the second bear’s situation which is remarkable. Doug gets full marks for spotting this one. As he drove in along the unpaved, Lava Lake section of the Nisga’a Highway he noticed a large black blotch in the treetops off to the left of the road. On slowing down to take a look this black blotch turned out to be a black bear. About 30 meters up in a 35 meter high alder tree this full grown bear was perched, reaching out front paws to pull in twigs and craning out its neck to sweep these twigs through its mouth - presumably stripping off the leaf buds. I cannot imagine myself, weighing less than that bear, climbing up that high in a fairly small and springy tree, let alone doing gymnastics up there to strip the top twigs of its budding greenery. We expected at first to see the bear come crashing down at any moment. But the bear’s obvious skill and comfort with this apparently ill-advised method of food gathering was an education. We could see the relation of these black beasts to pandas in their bamboo forests and, also, the bears mammalian relation to the four leg using monkeys. Tottering in the wrist thick upper limbs of an alder tree, it turns out, is a propitious place for a hungry big black bear to be.

I took a healthy step out of character last night and hung out in the bar of the hotel we were staying at in Prince Rupert. There were about twenty of our party there, with only a handful of us being non-native. I sat with, among others, Charity and Lillian. We were playing popular song bingo on cards that bar staff handed around. Those whose songs were played such that they filled up their lines, or three lines, or whole card, first, won a t-shirt. But mainly we sucked back beers, and worst, and engaged in the ridiculous, rollicking, and irrelevant conversation unique to bars. Lillian and Charity, fast friends and boisterous bar buddies, animated the evening with their good humour. Both are elementary teachers, mid to late twenties, married, mothers of four, solidly built, and of Nisga’a blood. I’ve liked Charity, who works in my school, from the first day I met her and she began her merciless teasing campaign. Oakily-Doakily she christened me. Many of the veteran teachers here remember Charity as a live-wire student. One of those students who gives teachers gray hairs by constantly talking during lessons but who, on the other hand, is a dynamo of initiation and participation in school activities.

Late in the evening (1:30 am?) Charity turned from her party spirit and began to speak her well lubricated but nevertheless lucid mind to me. She told me how the disparaging talk about student performance in the staff room hurts her, because it is about “her” people, often about students who are related to her. I try to steer clear of such talk, and was glad to have this support for my effort. Charity talked of having her first child when she was 16, and her second when 18. Now she is living common law with a fellow who brought two children of his own into the relationship. Charity mothers four children. Still, after high school she went on with her studies, taking courses offered through the University of Northern BC extension service here in N.A. She eventually earned her BA. The years of her education were hard she said, “we lived like pigs we were so poor.” Charity tried with her BA to find work in the Nass Valley, but could get nothing. Finally, she did one more year of school to become a teacher. “I didn’t want to be a teacher. There was lots of things I wanted to do. But what choice did I have?”

Charity is a good teacher, her students adore her. But she gets flack. It is a strange thing how a small community will ride the back of one of their own. I am held in awe because I am white and tall and a complete outsider. Charity says she hears lots of behind the scenes complaining about me and the other non-native teachers, but all I get is a kind of shy politeness and respect from parents. Charity and the other Nisga’a teaching staff, on the other hand, hear about their shortcomings in no uncertain terms. It is a kind of reverse racism. A lingering sense of cultural inferiority, founded on years of colonial pounding, inclines parents to idolize, distrust, and fear non-native teachers, and denigrate, distrust, and vilify native teachers. All this is just one side of the coin of course. While these attitudes do exist, so also do their positive opposites. And, ultimately, the poles will converge and education here will evolve into the “normal”, fractious, and profoundly flawed enterprise that it is everywhere else.

I wish you all well. If you can spare a prayer, cast an encouraging one our way as Rosemarie and I try to solve the dilemma about how to reestablish our family in one, prosperous place.

Love, Tom.

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Did the Maestro "get it" yesterday, was he lectured to, was he happy about a sell-out performance, did we actually almost meet his expectations at Tuesday's performance? For whatever reason, the Maestro behaved nicely towards us at last night's pre-performance chorus warm-up. We did a trio-numbering off exercise for a major part of the hour and not a lot of singing but at least no one was kicked out or yelled at. He deigned to acknowledged the Oakville Choral Society's (OCS) contributions to the Opera chorus. The unfortunate problem is that with human nature, being what it is, a right doesn't necessarily cancel a wrong (or wrongs). Likely, there won't be an association between the OCS and Opera Mississauga at any time in the future as long as he's the Maestro.

The performance went well from my perspective: The house was sold out. The audience, on a couple of occasions, seem to want to applaud the men's chorus. And I remembered most of the Italian words to the Act II, Scene II choruses. Apparently some of the (OCS) women have been grumbling about the lack of their exposure in the Opera. The men appear on stage in 3 scenes and off stage in 3 others while the majority of the women appear only in 1 scene on stage and 2 offstage. This really isn't news as we have been practicing the score since January and it was obvious (well, at least to me) back then. Next time around we'll get Verdi to add more women's chorus parts to Aïda. :-)

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If a man is in the forest, and there isn't a woman around, is he still wrong?

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Source: Clean Laffs

1. I left Montreal heading toward Quebec city, when I decided to stop at a comfort station. The first stall was occupied, so I went into the second one. I was no sooner seated than I heard a voice from the next stall:

   "Hi, how are you doing?"

   Well, I am not the type to chat with strangers in highway comfort stations, and I really don't know quite what possessed me, but anyway, I answered, a little embarrassed:

   "Not bad."

   And the stranger said: "And, what are you up to?"

   Talk about your dumb questions! I was really beginning to think this was too weird! So I said:

   "Well, just like you I'm driving east."

   Then, I heard the stranger, all upset, say, "Look, I'll call you back, there's some idiot in the next stall answering all the questions I am asking you."

2. My husband is wonderful with our baby daughter, but often he turns to me for advice. Recently, I was in the shower when he poked his head in to ask, "What should I feed Lily for lunch?"

   "That's up to you," I replied. "There's all kinds of food. Why don't you pretend I'm not at home?"

   A few minutes later, my cell phone rang. I answered it to hear my husband asking, "Yeah, hi, Honey. Uh..what should I feed Lily for lunch?"

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"Why is it that all of the instruments seeking intelligent life in the universe are pointed away from Earth?"

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As regular readers are no doubt aware, I am part of the chorus for Opera Mississauga's production of Aïda. Our Maestro continues to astound us with his seemingly callous disregard of our individual and collective emotions. His refrains include "Are you with me?" and "These remarks aren't meant to be taken personally." As I have ears and a brain, which appear act in a fundamentally different manner than our Maestro's, by the way, how else am I to interpret his remarks. Anyway, on with the 'Sauga

Tuesday's chorus warm-up call happened routinely enough. We gathered around the piano in the backstage corner, men down one hall and the women down the other. Chorus Master, Gergely, ran us through pitches, intervals and some choruses where one or more of the choral parts can go flat (in pitch). The Oakville first basses went over a chorus from the the Grand Finale scene where we sing a separate verse from our Opera Mississauga counterparts. Unfortunately we fumbled our words a bit. A this point the Maestro showed up. One thing he can't tolerate is chit-chat while he's in front of us and (I think) he tried to see if the ladies of chorus way down the hall would settle down. They didn't and I think he did a slow burn. He "ragged" on the various men's parts about which ones were flat or not. He asked if anyone had perfect pitch and then proceeded to tear apart the poor individual who "admitted" to it, "You are wrong! You were at least a quarter tone out." I certainly didn't want to be a peg sticking out higher than any of the others at this point or anytime the Maestro is around for that matter! He "fired" one woman. I'm not sure what the misdemeanour was, but she may have been talking when he glanced in her direction. Rule: Never talk when the Maestro is around.

Maestro had the assistant stage director call out the names of those men who hadn't signed in because he wondered "where everyone was". All the absentees from the Oakville chorus had been absent since before the dress rehearsals because of illness or business reasons. The incredible Opera Mississauga organization hadn't thought to delegate section representatives to keep track of these things. Anyway things got from bad to worse and Maestro dismissed us and called for the Oakville Choral Society president. Needless to day we wandered dejectedly away to the dressing rooms after this direct opposite of a pep talk.

About 10 minutes to performance time the men of the chorus were called to the backstage corner again. I thought, what now? If he "fired" all of the Oakville chorus, half the men and probably two thirds of the women would be gone. It he fired the chorus master it would have been the same result. But no, our choir president Lisa gathered us together[1]. Maestro was apologizing through her. Quite rightly our president told him to go play with the orchestra. I believe if he had tried a personal apology things might have gotten really nasty[2] and the performance would have suffered severely. We have to remind ourselves that our Maestro is just the traffic cop guiding the music from the cast, chorus and orchestra to the paying audience. Lisa also did repeat that phrase he said to her, "don't take his remarks personally".

From my Oakville Choral Society, first Bass centric point of view, this performance was probably our best so far. And the Leafs won, too!

Notes:

1. Where in the job description does it say that a community choir president has to practice extreme diplomacy and mediate between an AS-afflicted artistic director and ordinary choir members?
2. Seems to me that the Maestro has a classic case of Asperger Syndrome.