A Word or Two...

Two years after reading, "In Spite of Myself" for the first time, three months after reading it the second time, part way through my 3rd time, and six months after purchasing my ticket, I saw "A Word or Two" at Stratford.

I had a day alone in Stratford (nice change, but left alone with my thoughts, no one to bounce things off of). Thanks to excellent timing by a client (who had the baby a few days early - she was due the day of the play), I was able to take the whole day off. I saw Henry V for the 3rd time at their matinee. I am finally starting to believe that Henry does love Kate. It took me long enough.

I love Tom Rooney and Lucy Peacock. I mean, I truly do love and admire them. I first saw Lucy perform at Art of Time in Toronto (same production that introduced me to Cara Ricketts). She can ACT.  And, even though Andrew Borashko said that night he hired someone who wasn't primarily known for singing, she can SING (http://youtu.be/CbnmMB_LUwc).

These 2 are in Henry V - Pistol and Nell. They are divine in their roles. Perfect casting by Mr. McAnuff. This show also has a LOT of swords, and a few pretty dresses, and 1 naked lady (I guess that makes up for the Shirtless Wonders in Cymbeline?). Fair enough. The use of flags in this production is awesome. A funny thing happened at the end of this particular show during the curtain call. I won't give away the surprise, but it made for juvenile, inappropriate jokes that I had to share right away (thanks, Lisa).

After the show, I ate at York Street Kitchen (not on York Street). I saw Tom McCamus ride by on his bike, Julius Sermonia walk his bike past, and one of my favourites, John Vickery picking up his order - all in about 5 minutes. But, for the 1st time, no Kevin Yee was seen (I adore Kevin). The conversations at the tables around me were all related to the current plays, or the theatres themselves (everyone loves the Tom Patterson). Stratford is a great town (or city, depending with whom you are speaking).

I'd say it felt like home - but it was visitors to Stratford that made me feel that way: I was asked 3 times that day for directions to places. I guess I'm feeling more comfortable in the town and it shows?

I walked to the Stratford Exhibition. It was my 3rd time there. Traci recognized me from the Martha Henry presentation. Well, let's be honest - she asked me if I was "that girl in the pink dress - Cordelia's" mom. That's ok. She told me Cordelia was very well behaved. I enjoyed hearing that. All the staff at the Exhibition are wonderful - I learn new things from each one. I love the maquettes and hearing the stories about the designers. One day, I want to go and just listen to all the videos they have there. I think I've only seen Frank the Monkey the entire length. Great pictures of William Peterson (aka Grisholm from CSI) when he was in Streetcar Named Desire. Woohoo!

I walked through the Festival store a wee bit and talked to Bruce. Now, Bruce is my favourite Theatre Store employee. One day, when I brought Luke to see Charlie Brown at the Avon, Bruce practically gave Luke a private tour through the store. He was as excited as a kid in a toy store - let me say that I meant to have said BOTH of them were as excited as a kid in a toy store. Excellent service.

A dear friend had given us money in January with which we had to spoil ourselves - bill payments not allowed. Everyone in the family purchased their treats that month, but my treat was a ticket to A Word or Two for this August. I would like to say I was patient, but that would be a lie. Knowing Mr. Plummer's age (3 weeks older than my dad) I was getting nervous that ... well.. that the show might not go on. When I heard about his book signings being cancelled, I became more anxious.

But, alas, my night arrived. I had purchased a box seat (I fell in love with them when I saw Phantom as a girl). My seatmates were fantastic! They were a mom and daughter team. Mom lived in London. The daughter lived in Ajax. The daughter and I both did nothing with our history degrees and both got into the medical field. Me - midwifery and breastfeeding. She - EMS dispatch. She got her love of the theatre from her mom, too. They were perfect for me.

The set on stage was fantastic: simple, elegant, and refined. From our seats, we couldn`t see the birch trees on stage left, but no matter.

Looking back on the show (today is August 30, show was August 22), I wonder if I had built it up to some grandiose heights. I thought I would cry more. I thought he`d cry more.

It`s not that I didn`t cry, but the show (even after me obsessing about it and reading practically every review) was not what I envisioned it to be, thank goodness. It was better.

Maybe it was his candour. Perhaps it was the language. Perhaps it was my seatmates. I don`t know what it was....but I felt, from the beginning, that I was being enveloped in a favourite blanket by a fire and being told stories by ... well, my dad, or a favourite uncle.  Give my uncles some beer and they could go on for hours! I miss those uncles. I miss being surrounded by French and not knowing what they were saying. I just felt loved.

There were direct quotes from his book (I`ve read parts enough to recognize, I guess). He was very easy-going - no conceit seen. He even seemed to not like the clapping which continued when he walked on stage.

When he began, I found myself easily leaning onto the railing of our box to sink into his words and stories. I didn`t feel like I had to act stiff, or stay still, or sit pretty. I leaned on the railing, and just relaxed.  I can honestly say that was the only show in which I felt that particular feeling of relaxation. I loved it.

One of my favourite moments was a French song (if you have been reading me for a while, you would know that my dad is French Canadian). That song, of which I will write phonetically, `fe doe doe` blah blah blah blah doe. Fe doe doe..blah blaheee`. My dad sang me that song. My dad sang that song to my cousin we fostered when I was 8. My dad sang that to all my babies (well, maybe not Luke since we were in BC for most of his infancy). Now, Mr. Plummer was singing it to us...my blanket wrapped around me tighter...but I didn`t cry. Why was that? I saw myself in baby pictures, all the babies he sang that to...and yet I didn't cry. Misty-eyed, maybe...

Isn't it funny that what I got out of the play most was the memory of my dad...

[To skip ahead in this story's vein - I told my dad about the song when they were visiting this week. I said that Mr. P sang the same song - and I sang it to him just as I wrote it up above - and my dad sang it back to me, in perfect French. Yep - same wonderful French song.]

It is sad, I must say, that it took me seeing this play to understand exactly how much of a talented actor he really is. I know - weird.  I feel so full, knowing that I have seen him in person play Cyrano (I love that play - thank you Ms. Coady - my OAC English teacher who also helped me love A Midsummer Night's Dream)  We saw him play many wonderful roles that night. I had never heard him in such a New York or southern accent before. It was thrilling!

Intermission was so funny - about 3 seconds long.

Just like Shakespeare, I learned more about the authors Mr. P wrote about in his book. Mr P's intonation, his accents, his joie de vivre (I had to put some actual French in here), made the language, the words, seem alive - like the Festival Theatre stage Ms. Henry spoke of)! Leacock's writings are still as funny today. Shaw (my first playwright at Stratford which I saw - how ironic) became real.


By my rules, during the school year, we turn off all electronics (tv, video games, ipods, phones - well, I keep mine in case a client texts me) between 6 and 8. This year, if the padawans and younglings (padawans are 17 and almost 15; younglings are 8 & 11) have no homework, we will work on the Kids4Bard, or read...read MORE.  All the children would love Leacock!! Why did it take me so long to discover him?

Like I've said many times in my blogs, that I read Mr. P's book because it has expanded MY mind and my literary purchases. On Monday, I bought a collection of Ibsen plays, Thoreau writings, and The Life of Pi. I guess this shows how far behind and shallow my reading has been - maybe. I still read Shakespeare for fun.

When I walked out of the Avon that night, I couldn't go straight home. The play is short (honestly, my only complaint). I drove to the Festival Theatre, parked and sat by the River.

To say I felt emotionally drained would be inaccurate. To say the play perked me up, again, would be inaccurate. I wasn't 'full' of emotions, either. Full of thoughts, yes. I thought about how far I have come in the last year...the past couple of years. I was in counselling for part of those years. Therapy should be a starting point, not the end result. The end result is .... I'm not sure...feeling safe in yourself, your decisions, your place in life...but there really is no end. Good counselling will keep you progressing throughout  your life. I am of the opinion that everyone should have a mental health check in with a counsellor once a year. Wouldn't that be great?

When the Stratford season began, I fell into it heart first - it is my other form of therapy. I have friends, acquaintances, who do not understand that.

I'll say this: throughout the winter, I listened incessantly to Kevin Spacey's Nancy Hanks Lecture over and over again ( http://community.ovationtv.com/_Kevin-Spacey-Speaking-at-the-Nancy-Hanks-Lecture/video/1559613/16878.html). It brings me peace. He describes the power of the arts in ways I felt, but could not explain (especially in regards to the Presidents Kennedy and Lincoln).

In these past few weeks with my trips to Stratford, I haven't needed to listen to him as often. The Stratford Festival plays have helped me purge negativity, increase my patience, enlarge my thoughts, helped me be a more patient mother, a more grateful daughter, a fuller human being. I don't have the eloquence of Kevin Spacey, nor the wordsmithing of Shakespeare...but what I speak and write come from my heart.

My thoughts and language will catch up..in a word or two.

Day 24

Pow wow weekend on Six Nations and I brought "Chris" along with me, again. I was not as busy as yesterday, but a couple friends/clients needed a shoulder, and an ice pack. I am glad I was there for them.

I finished the end of "book 1" and started "book 2". Reading the death of his mom hit hard.

There's a quote from the book (which I can't pull out right now because I'm in bed and others need to sleep without a light) about why it isn't until the end of someone's life that you realise you need them so terribly. And one other one about just waiting for death to come. Or maybe, that's how I read it.

The last time I read this book was a few months after the kids granda died (Jeff's dad - long bout of cancer). We were called to his bedside 3x telling us that it was his last night. How bad/good/terrible it was that he made it through those bad nights. When he did pass, they weren't there, Jeff and Ken. The other was, though. And his beloved wife. Oh, how they loved each other!

I won't delve into family politics for fear of being sued, but it was tough on all of us. Our brains/emotions/mentalities were still traumatised from the fire and the fallout from it. It was rough but we got through. Or, for Jeff, still getting through.

When Mr P talked about the funeral, I know a bit of how he felt. When my mémé passed away, I was pregnant with my oldest. She died quite suddenly. What finished her off was flesh eating disease. When that was diagnosed, she gave up. I don't blame her. She was 94. Good French Canadian blood!

Our "family" church was St Anne's in Tecumseh, Ontario. I had been to many a family wedding, first communion, Stations of the Cross, and funerals there. Then a new priest came in.

He didn't know mémé. At all. What he said in his speech was static, plain, English (not that I would have understood French, mind) but mémé was Québécoise to the core. She used to be the cook a lumberjack camps when she was 16, in the bush in Québec. That's where she met Napoléon, my pépé. She was so proud when, at age 10, I won the very first French student of the week in my class. She was perfect with children of any age. Her home canned pickled beets were the best. Still are. And her baked beans & ragoût. Aaaahhhh. They are still my favourite meal. She sewed on a push-pedal sewing machine, never told me to be quiet, always had an extra hug. At the end, after I was married, she would turn to Jeff and say in French, "You are a lucky man. She is beautiful."

But also being near the end and her memory going, she would ask about her children, some of whom had already passed onto the other side. She would grieve them all over again

The priest didn't know this. He talked with some family members and write his talk from that info. But it was cold, no heart. He didn't know her, how could he speak like that, so lightly, of one of the most important people in our lives?

They did play my dad & my & (I think) mémé's favourite hymn as we followed the casket out: "How Great Thou Art." we left halfway through the second verse with me still singing/crying. Jeff didn't like that - my continuing to sing part.

I sang that hymn at his dad's funeral with our niece. I told his dad I wanted to sing it at his funeral. He said that alone was a reason to stay alive! We had a unique and quite honest relationship, when we were alone. As Jeff's illness got worse, our immediate family's relationship with him and his wife slowly disappeared. Just like with my parents. It's just easier not to talk when all you want to do is complain. And complaining gets us nowhere.

In this section of the book, we also read about the fall of the English Quebecers. The rise of the proud Québécois. We read how Montreal's mayor did not want to be a part of WW II.

The rise and fall of radio plays was an interesting tidbit on CBC history. How he met William Shatner, Oscar Peterson. Incredible!

I didn't know Toronto was such a boring city at that time.

Mr P was also a shy fellow. Even if he did have a relationship with a married woman. He writes of being completely clothed listening to a completely naked Ms Barrymore who was laying on a bed.

He writes of the strong women who led his life in literature, music, sports...I think I would have loved to have their influences in my life. They seemed well-rounded. His mother and aunt guided him into acting, getting him backstage to meet the stars.

Hmm, I wonder if that's a thing my kids will say about me...I'm trying. Stratford - there's been a couple do backstage tours, meet & greets with cast. I also helped Dakota get into a Simple Plan video and Braeden backstage for Barenaked Ladies twice. I think Luke and Cordelia are set on meeting everyone and anyone at Stratford Festival. That is turning out to be a nice surprise. I didn't think they'd get this into it. I'm very pleased. I guess holding a bloodied sword & a severed head by the lead (Graham Abbey in Cymbeline) helped clinch it for Luke. Plus, Graham said he'd been on the stage for the first time at Stratford when he was Luke's age (then 10).

I also learned in today's reading that Québécers became priests to dodge the draft. That these priests also were incredible skiers down Mount Royal. And so were he and his mom.

When the reading stopped today, he was leaving radio to move to Bermuda to work at a year round rep company. Not a bad gig.

And, lastly for tonight, he talked a out great jazz. I love that jazz. See previous posts (with YouTube links).

I drank 2 cokes at the pow wow I worked at today. I can't sleep!

I shall try again. Nite.

25 Days and Counting

I am going to see A Word or Two in 25 days. It will be a day by myself in beautiful Stratford. A treat, to be sure. A trip to the Exhibition is in store, too.

It's been far too long since I solemnly declared that I was back. It is a busy household in which I live. My younglings in Willy Wonka were fantastic. Luke, as Mr Bucket, and josh, as Charlie Bucket, brought the house down each night with their swinging duet of, "Think Positive.". Or, at least made me cry each show...

Cordelia was an Oompa Loompa. She had that certain je ne sait quoi. Claire, the director, said after most shows, someone invariably would come up to her and say, "Who was the one Oompa...?" "That would be Cordelia." She put her heart into each song each performance. Which is saying something, too, because the week it opened, she had 2 dress rehearsals (ballet included), a preview, show Friday & Saturday night, matinee Sunday then ballet recital Sunday night. I had no idea they were going to be the same weekend. They also had 2 shows Tuesday and Thursdays for the local schools. She rocked it every night.

I became the unofficial photo-documenter of the rehearsal and shows for Willy Wonka. Thousands of pictures. I loved it.

Dakota was also on stage at school. He was in The Music Man and The Laramie Project. I loved both, but Laramie was exceptional. Dakota's best friend at school is lesbian. Her sexuality is not an issue at their school. Awesome. Not so in Laramie. It was heartbreaking.

Braeden also made his flute debut at the spring concert. He has a gift. I can't believe he was only playing since February. I played for year's before I sounded that good.

I became an official photographer for the local SNAP newspaper (Halimand/Norfolk). No pay. No matter. I'm having a blast meeting people, going to social events. My intrepid assistants usually attend with me (younglings). I'm having a blast.

I have been published a few times, too. In yummymummyclub.ca and for TheSilo.ca. Check them out (ie google).

I have been to a few shows in Stratford this season. I wish I lived closer and could go more. So far, I have seen: You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown, Cymbeline, Pirates of Penzance, 42nd Street, Machomer, and Henry V. I can't pick favourites. Sorry. Singing men vs Shakespearean men? That is far too close to call.

But, I love men who can sing.

And recite Shakespeare.

See my issue?

Cymbeline was awe-inspiring. The best fight scene I have seen to date. It was exquisite. Luke and I went to the stage door where Graham Abbey proceeded to give Luke a tour of backstage (and I) including holding the bloodied sword, a cut-off head, and seeing the crew start to change the scenery from one show to the next. We also saw the laundry being taken to the wash. Every part of a production is important. The acting is only what we see.

The kids and I also started a group I've named, Kids4Bard. Where the idea germinated was from Bard on the Bus. They are a travelling group from Driftwood Theatre who visit towns and cities to perform. This year was A Midsummer Night's Dream. My favourite! And Lear.

My idea was/is to take a play and break it down. We started with characters. Then we did scenery. I want them to see something other than the final acting performance.

We read about them and designed costumes based on what we learned. Braeden also designed a now and sword. They looked great.

On our second night, we had 3 others join us: Sharon (one of my midwife co-workers), and 2 of her daughters (one 5, the other over 20 who went to Emily Carr for art). They helped us with our scenery and our paper dolls.

Instead of us acting them out, I thought we'd start just acting with the puppets.

We didn't get done as much as I would have liked, but on July 19, we took or sets (on bristol board), and people that were finished or cut out, to see Driftwood's production. Dakota and Braeden volunteered as ushers. We added another child to our numbers, too. It was great.

The show was spectacular. It was a musical. A brilliantly acted and sung musical. I can't say enough good a out it. I ordered the cd and bought a shirt. I love men who can sing. Oh, sorry. But they were SINGING Shakespeare!

We spent what was supposed to be a few minutes with the cast, but turned out to be around 20 minutes with most of them. They loved the sets and our "cast" of dolls. I was told by a few of them that it was great to be doing this with them. If they weren't interested , I wouldn't be doing it with them.

One of the cast is an assistant fight director (swords) who Braeden immediately loved, of course. It was a wonderful night for all of us.

Kids4Bard is now on twitter and Facebook. Follow if you would like. We are open. Also, we have the gmail account Kids4Bard@gmail.com.

In there, I also took part in a webinar with the RSC about teaching Shakespeare to kids. I learned so much. Most importantly, I learned what I had to do to get out of myself to help the kids. Namely, as the wonderful Sean Arbuckle would call, movement (not dancing). In time, we will get there.

My kids have also been sending questions to the Stratford Q&A's on Facebook. We have learned so much! It's been great watching the wheels in their heads turn to think of something new to ask. Nya:weh to Lisa and Christi for reminding me of the days and members.

Which brings me back to my 25 days. I am reading Mr P's book again. I will blog everyday about what I read. The last time, I looked for authors and actors, this time will be on Mr Plummer himself.

Tonight's reading showed me that I am not related to him on my maternal grandmother's side. My dad's family is from Quebec and the Jesuits knew how to keep records! We will see what happens when I do my paternal grandfather's side.

Mr P is an only child with much maternal/womanly influence on him. But this influence also included an aunt who was a world leader if congenital heart defects in the early 20th century. These women were not passive. They were acclaimed sportswomen, too. And well read. Very well read.

They were rich. They went to concerts, and theatres. They listened on the radio to operas from the USA. Such a simpler life than 100 cable stations which show rare value.

Reading this book has not only inspired my love of reading, but in turn, is helping my children's love of literature grow. Kids4Bard has been a great past time for them, for us, this summer. I'll continue as long as they want.

And Braeden will love to read Mr Leacock (whose book I have misplaced, again). He loves the oddness of life. The books will be perfect for him.

Poems, plays, and prose

TUESDAY, JANUARY 3, 2012

Poems, plays, and prose

This is copied from original blog.  I had too many problems with it, so I'm moving posts here.

Hi.  I’m Stephanie.

I’m not a poet.  I’m not a writer.  

Thanks to my mom, I was immersed in the arts while growing up - theatre, free concerts in the park (big band was my favourite, but that was my dad’s influence), art galleries.  I was on stage when I was 11, in the children’s chorus in “Fanny”.  Yea - I still haven’t heard it being produced since. I grew up hearing my mom talk about seeing Christopher Plummer in Romeo and Juliet at Stratford (Ontario). However, due to his great acting, I didn’t know he was Canadian until I was about 20. Still, going to Stratford at all seemed like the pinacle of theatre.  

I was a fine student, in high school; a better than average student in University where I received my BA in History and Native Studies.  (I’m part-Mohawk…other part French Canadian). It was the editing of my essays which did me in. I love research and I loved (well, let’s be honest, who really loves doing all of their readings for school) the readings, and participated well in our small group tutorials (classes of 10 in 4th year were incredible).  I was offered to get one of my final papers published, but, I was about to get married, and didn’t want to edit it again.  I regret that.  A lot. To be a published author, even if it is in a very small market of Aboriginal Studies…sigh

Ten years as a stay-at-home mom to my 3 boys, and then Cordelia, I went back to school and became an Aboriginal Midwife.  Four years after that, I passed my Lactation Consultant exam (this past October).  I swore off full time studies for a long, long time.

During the past four years, since I’ve been working, I’ve been attending Stratford, at least one show a year.  This past year, it was more than that due to my lucky and fortunate place amongst the Stratford Tweet Club. I’ll be posting more about that as time goes on.  It was my escape….

Two years ago, I read, “In Spite of Myself,” by Christopher Plummer.  I used to tell my co-workers I was having my date with Christopher, take his book, and read it in my vehicle during the heat of the summer.  For about a month, the book didn’t leave my side.  It was in my office when I was called away, almost last minute, to assist at a birth.  It was with me during many breastfeeding classes.  It was with me at home, while hubby was having bipolar episodes.  It was with me, in a massive thunderstorm, during the Six Nations Champion of Champions Pow Wow.  My tent was almost blown over.  I saw many old clients (midwifery and breastfeeding), made new ones.  I wonder how Mr. Plummer would feel if he knew how many pairs of breasts his book has been around?

I was lucky to have the book inscribed by Mr. Plummer, after a performance of “The Tempest”.  It was well-read.  Mr. Plummer, in all honesty, did not look quite impressed with it being worn, when most of his other fans were bringing brand new hard covers from the Theatre Store for him to sign. I explained about my dates with Christopher which made him laugh.  Being a previous King Lear (and my daughter’s reason for naming - Shakespeare, not him) I asked him to inscribe it to my Cordelia.  The reasons were many, but I had to hear Lear say Cordelia. She and Dakota, my oldest, were with me when I met him.  I hope they pass the story onto their children, too.  Dakota also saw the Tempest with me that year, and we were at a taping of it.  Another story for another time.

The book also survived our house fire: wet and mouldy, but still, it survived.

As I read the memoir the first time, I remember thinking how absolutely pitiful my english literature education had been to that time.  Although, I will mention that I had heard of some of the authors mentioned, most came out of left field. But, where does one hear of all those plays if not a drama major?  Or an English Lit major?  I took a Victorian Era english class at Trent University but it, um, was not the romantic class I had envisioned.  Plus, my prof was (a) Dick, and he allowed us to call him so (he preferred Dick to Richard).

I put getting my English Lit degree on my bucketlist last year, after reading the memoir.  I slowly realized I could not wait that long to complete that goal.  I thought about just attending English courses at McMaster, but that’s an hour’s drive, plus the parking fees. 

This week, I had an epiphany.  I decided to use “In Spite of Myself,” as a textbook of great literature.  As I read it, I will look up all literary quotes mentioned and, hopefully, read them in their entirety.  It will be my personalized english literature degree.

I hope anyone who comes across this blog will be inspired to read and become immersed in the poems, plays, and prose I will be reading and discussing, thanks to Mr. Plummer’s book.  I don’t know how often I will be posting but please, bring your own ideas of what I’m reading and let’s discuss. Words can be misunderstood or understood a myriad of ways.  They can mean different things at different times in our lives.

My nose will appreciate a new copy of the book this year (from the fire, I have a difficult time stomaching the smell of smoke and mould), but this book holds far too many memories to hide in an attic.  Yet.

Steph