Life, the universe and opera costumes

2 days of sitting around waiting for life to catch up with me again (after a period of working too hard) and life got interesting and stimulating again yesterday. I spent some time working on the NZ Poetry Society's annual anthology (I've got the 160 poems I really like whittled down to 40 I love, and am still figuring out how to fit just one more in without sacrificing a whole page of haiku), and then went off to the opera.

Frankly, I'm not an opera fan. Dad took me to 'Madame Butterfly' when I was very young - too young to sit through the whole thing, but he was an incurable optimist - and I went and saw 'Hansel And Gretel' about fifteen years ago. I don't really remember why, but it might have been a Festival event that my kids' school had cheap tickets for. I can't think why else I would have gone, and it wasn't the best use of my time, even in hindsight.

So when Sylvia (Costumier extraordinaire) mentioned she'd be on stage with the stage manager and other department heads on the opening night of 'Don Giovanni', I was reluctant to commit myself. Wally had no such reluctance - he committed immediately to not going. But then I remembered she still hurts because none of us went to 'Titus Andronicus' (too gory) and I said I'd go if Jennifer would. That turned out to be unfortunate because opening night was at the end of a day when Jennifer was shifting house (as reluctantly as I was going to the opera), her current one being on the market. But she said she'd go, so I said I'd go and eventually I discovered how much it was going to cost me but I booked anyway, because I'd sort of promised.

Jen was knackered, as you'd expect.We took nap shifts - me in the first half, and her in the second - so between us we saw the whole thing. But guess what: even though it seemed a bit flat to start with - Don Giovanni himself was slow to warm up - we both enjoyed it. I was indeed surprised. The singing was in English so we understood most of it, and that helped a lot. There was one singer (Sylvia described her as "deep opera") whose enunciation took second place to her impressive vocal skills, so I've no idea what she sang about, but by and large it was entertaining and I could follow the story. It was actually quite funny - who knew?

The costumes, needless to say, were amazing, especially given that I know what the budget was. In those terms they were miraculous. Sylvia did the sort of job that makes no-one (except her loving family) say, look at those costumes. Had she not, she would have been blamed (by any critics who might have been there) for the production's uneven visual qualities, but as it is she probably won't get any kudos. The costumes just worked, to make the production seamless. I'm so proud of her.

And after I dropped them both off I still had Prime's delayed broadcast of the Bledisloe Cup to look forward to. The opera was lo-o-o-ong (3 hours, including intermission), and I wasn't sure I was going to get home in time, but I did. Wally and I each had a Pineapple Lump every time the ABs scored some points, and we got through the whole bag (though we prematurely had one before Retallick's dive over the line was ruled no try). We ate the last few to celebrate a win of massacre proportions. Given how many players were injured, that's not entirely metaphorical.

As life goes it was a good day.

Don Giovanni, Hannah Playhouse, Wellington; 20-27 August

http://www.eternityopera.co.nz/

Catching up

It's been a strange day.

My daily horoscope asked me when my life became a Tarantino movie. Apart from the fact that a horoscope is supposed to tell me stuff, not vice versa, the first image that popped into my head was Uma Thurman snorting heroin, thinking it was coke, and passing out with blood pouring from every orifice. It wasn't that kind of day.

It was the kind of day when everything moves in slow-mo. I went for a run, for example, that took 10 minutes longer than usual, for no discernible reason. The cats took their time turning up for breakfast. A travel agent said she'd ring me back in a few minutes, and I ended up tracking her down through the 0800 number after 40 minutes, because I was waiting to make more phone calls. My computer was so slow that I'd already booked accommodation (by emailing the property) for the funeral we're going to in Taupo next week by the time I got through to the price comparison website, where I discovered I could have saved $50.

By 4.30, when I usually turn on the telly and watch Buffy (Channel 16, The Zone) while I cook dinner, I was exhausted. After dinner we watched 'Puss in Boots', recorded late last year, and I could barely stay awake. Which means that when I do eventually go to bed (soon) I'll probably be wide awake for the first hour, then I'll come back downstairs, make a cup of Sleepy Tea, and read my new 'Green Ideas' which came in the mail today. I don't think I've read the last one yet. Not even sure where it is.

And this is retirement. Or would be, if I could just tell the rest of the Poetry Society committee that I don't want to do it any more, thank you. Someone asked me today who it is that keeps drawing me back in. I think that's obvious. It's me. I've been telling everyone (except the committee) for the last 14 months that I don't want to do it any more, and yet I'm still at it. Answering emails, reconciling the Xero account, processing the snail mail.

I get lots of amazing feedback from people who thank me for all I do for poetry, but that's not why I keep doing it. I don't get paid, so it's not that either. I've already promised various people (other than the committee) that I'd stop on specific dates. So far it's been November 2013, August 2014 and November 2014. I could try that again, but it's not really working, and we all know the definition of madness.

So here's what it is: shame.There are lot of undone things that I would be leaving behind for someone else to sort out if I simply stopped, as I keep meaning to do. I haven't filed anything for 2 years. The books don't balance (this is not a fraud problem - there's MORE money than there should be, if I'd been getting the bookkeeping right). There's paperwork in 3 rooms of my house. The to-do pile keeps falling over. I have a list of catch-up work that I look at every day and ignore, because I'd rather be out on the garden, or working on the quilt I'm making for my daughter's 10th anniversary, or writing poems. I'm not even getting the annual competition under way, because the committee decided to include a new section - this year only - themed on Gallipoli. A sensible idea, but more work than I usually do.

If I quit, here and now, never go to another committee meeting, skip the monthly meetings, stop opening emails, collecting mail, writing cheques and updating the membership list, the Poetry Society is going to be in deep shit, and I'll be terminally embarrassed at the mess I've made of things.

If I'm in a Tarantino movie, it's 'Reservoir Dogs' and I'm in a Mexican standoff of my own making.

I need help.

Atlas Shrugged - and I don't blame him

I have been reading Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged for 5 years. Well, 3 weeks, but it feels like 5 years. My second-hand Kindle tells me I'm 40% through the book, and I've turned to Terry Pratchett for some light relief.

I started with Zac's copy of Lords and Ladies because the Mensa Annual Gathering Dinner had that title as its theme, accompanied by a pretty picture I thought was something to do with Hunger Games but was actually Game of Thrones. Both have the word "Game" in them and are ridiculously popular with some of the people I mix with, so you'll understand my confusion. I was planning to go as Granny Weatherwax, but the opportunity to dress in velvet and wear a tiara won out in the end. Wally went as Lorde.

We were the only ones who dressed up.

But I digress. The thing about Pratchett is that I find the Discworld both more realistic and a lot more entertaining than Rand's amorphous People's State of America, which she never actually names; the fact that a lot of "action" (I use the word loosely) happens between Colorado and New York is a clue.

I thought there might be some excuse if she were writing in support of the rampant anti-Communist times of McCarthyism, and indeed the book was published in 1957, so there is an element of that, I suspect. That unpleasantry was largely over by the time the book was released, and McCarthy died in 1957.

Nevertheless, Wikipedia tells me the book "includes elements of science fiction, mystery, and romance". I'm slowly seeing hints of the first, agree with the second, and can only assume (regarding the third) that she had some very passive relationships, if there is anything remotely autobiographical here. Again, though, that's probably the times.

As I see it, the main problem with the book is that she has used a nominally fictional vehicle for disseminating extreme views - hence its reputation as a right-wing manifesto - but it's really boring. You wanna read dystopian, Margaret Atwood is the go-to to go to.

In discussion with Jennifer (who hasn't read it), we thought that maybe she needed to write her manifesto as a frankly political book and get it out of her system before turning to fiction. It might have given Karl Marx a run for his money, though what I've read of him (Chapter 33, actually) wasn't that entertaining or enlightening either. So maybe not such a good idea. And besides, it turns out it was her fourth novel.

There are actually some good things in it. I particularly liked the sermon, dressed as conversation, that outlined a very cogent and coherent view of money as a tool, rather than being intrinsically evil in itself. I find convincing the argument that excessive government intervention stifles entrepreneurial effort and production - "excessive" being the operative word.

The woman can write well when she's not being didactic, but that's not often enough. She has a lovely turn of phrase about every 10%, and can describe the beauty of individual achievement with elegance, when she thinks of it. But mostly (so far) she seems to be criticising any human element in business decisions. Anyone who might be remotely sympathetic to the plight of the 'working man' is portrayed as pretty wimpy and a general waste of space.

It doesn't help that the female protagonist's surname is the same as one of my cats, but that's not her fault.

So my original question, posted on Facebook, as to why this book is on 'must read' lists remains unanswered by the book itself. Perhaps I have to finish it and find out what happened to all the disappeared industrialists before I can make a final attempt at judgement.

If you want to read it, so you can tick it on those lists that appear periodically on Facebook, I suggest you start with the Wikipedia entry. It makes more sense than reading the book, and I wish I'd read that first.

And don't, as most people seem to, condemn it on the basis of its reputation as being in support of a libertarian economy (which is kind of is, but not entirely). Its worst crime is basically how tediously it's written.

Now, back to Hogfather. 

 

September 9th: Holiday's almost over - just the technical matter of getting home from Auckland Airport. Ottawa and Vancouver airports have unlimited free wi-fi; Auckland has allowed me to sign up for a free half-hour. Somehow I'm leaving here with lighter bags than when I arrived. I didn't eat much of the gift foodstuffs, honestly. I'm pretty sure I'm over the worst of the jet lag, and I'll be able to answer emails properly soon. By tomorrow it'll be almost as though I was never away, except that I have an awesome collection of good times with Ursula and Penelope to hold on to. And quite a lot of maple syrup. Post script: Oh, PC with big flat screen that I can read, and a keyboard that actually fits my fingers - I love you. I won't go away again (soon). Except for the weekend of the 21st when Sylvia and I go to Auckland to see 'Wicked'.

September 5th: Day 5, Vancouver Airport: battery about to run down, only enough money for 1 more donut, and I'm going off air for 3 days. I'll be at the Mensa NZ Annual Gathering in Auckland, talking, eating, talking, playing games, talking - until I drop from jet lag. See y'all back in Welly next week.

September 4th: Vancouver, Day 4: shopping. I know, I've already bought all the gifts, the shoes, the hat, and a forest of maple syrup products. But we went to the sewing shop. THE SEWING SHOP, people. The 5 heavy glass jars of Vegemite that are staying in Vancouver have been replaced by some essential quilting equipment that is WAY cheaper here. And another hat (with attached paws). And possibly an egg-shaped kitchen timer that hatches a chicken when the time is up. And some more maple syrup stuff because you can never have too much maple syrup, right? What we couldn't find today (and we tried really hard) was Beavers' Tails. Just not a Vancouver thing :( I have officially spent all my cash and quite a lot of my savings, as represented by next month's visa bill. I have just enough coins left to buy either a cup of tea or a maple-dipped donut at Tim Horton's when I go to the airport tomorrow. Since Air NZ will supply me with tea... Had dinner with all the home stay students tonight - French, Japanese and Brazilian - after their first day back at English Language School, so that was interesting. They're downstairs in my bedroom, otherwise known as the rumpus room, playing pool tonight. I might join them. Or I might read some more quilting books. I love being on holiday.

September 3rd: Vancouver, Day 3: a rest day. We had a quiet day at home, having a guided tour of Helen's quilts and looking at quilting books. If it seems like that wouldn't take all day, it didn't. I slept really late. Rodney's gone to Las Vegas for a conference, so it's just me and Helen at home, along with the tenant in the basement apartment and the three home stay students, all of whom I have now met. School starts again tomorrow, so they've all returned from their assorted holidays. Dinner at Elliot's (offspring number 2) tonight, and it was a lot of fun getting together with the boys again. Elliot is a musician/composer and a member of several bands and one of his musical associates was at dinner too. They're all incredibly smart and talented, with just the right kind of crazy sense of humour I enjoy. So now the only one I haven't caught up with is Meta, the oldest, because she has been at Burning Man and probably won't get back before I leave. Still no kittens, though I had the pleasure of watching them leaping around inside their mum today.

September 2nd: Day 2, Vancouver: went to the USA. Despite the fact that this is my Canadian holiday, Helen and I braved Homeland Security and crossed over to Washington. The wait in the room at Customs for a visa waiver (USD6) felt a bit like Kafka when everyone behind the counter pretty much got up and walked out at once, but it must have been a shift change, because they were replaced by another bunch of people who took over the job of doing nothing while we waited in line. It took about half an hour to get our passports back, and the Officer did make a wee joke, which was novel. We got lost after taking the wrong off-ramp and Helen finally agreed to let me use the GPS to navigate, having passed me a map book I'd never seen before and needed time to study, which was when we missed the correct off-ramp. Fortunately I enjoy taking the scenic route - my family's euphemism for not having a clue where we are. The nice lady's voice eventually directed us to a rural district outside Bellingham, and to the home of very talented haiku writer Seren Fargo, with whom I have been corresponding for several years, thanks to my fabulous job as Competition Secretary for the NZ Poetry Society. We all went out for sushi and talked heaps and got on really well and Seren and I are going to do some collaborative haiku next year while I am having a writing year, and she will hopefully have some housing issues sorted out. When we got back to Seren's house there were deer in her yard - awesome! It's a bit hard to see the last one leaving in the photo, but it's there. I didn't get much time to get the camera out and lined up before they took off. There were 3 out on the road already, and the last 2 passing through their regular trail in the yard. Back in Vancouver I had my first experience of smelling skunk. Not in the yard, but somewhere in the neighbourhood, and I was quite glad it wasn't any closer. It smelled like a bad musk aftershave that's been used to try and disguise the odour of an unwashed body after a week in the bush.

September 1st: Well, Air Canada has ripped me away from my lovely girls, and now I'm with the hospitable Helen (cuzzie) and Rodney in Vancouver. Not quite as hot here, but that might just be because of the lack of humidity. They've already worked out where I might be able to get my Beaver Tail fix. Tomorrow we're hoping to cross the border and visit a haiku penfriend in Bellingham, WA. Thanks for the lovely card, TeamUP - I just cried a little bit then watched a movie: 'Still Mine', with James Cromwell and Genevieve Bujold. It seems amazing to me that you can fly over a body of water for over an hour and it's just a lake! Lake Superior in fact, though I had to look it up. I knew them all many years ago (about Standard 4), but the knowledge has previously been of little use, so unreinforced.

August 31st: OMG I've changed my mind and I'm not going home. I'm going to stay here and live on Beaver Tails with Maple Butter for the rest of my life. It will be remarkably short on that diet, but totally worth it. In other news, when I got back to the flat there was a black squirrel on the grass outside. I stood perfectly still so he wouldn't see me and watched him bury a nut right in front of me. I know they're vermin, but they're also cute and fuzzy. Didn't have my camera! Time to leave my lovely girls :(

August 30th: The Ottawa Museum of Nature is amazing - interactive (we played the Water Cycle game and Nellie won) and there are live critters: tarantula, scorpion, a zillion stick insects, though no NZ ones, frogs, toads, turtles, fish and more. Best museum ever. It closed at 8 and we were too far from the Tea Party to get there in time before it closed so we had dinner at the Elgin St Diner. Food was good, though not as good as at Zak's Diner. Took our time walking home as the girls had their gift-buying to do and it was too hot to move fast. I can live with warm summer evenings out on the town. Shame it was my last one here. Tomorrow: Vancouver.

August 29th: The girls are at volunteer training today, so I went to the Rideau Centre (think Westfield Mall) and did a shopping montage. I probably shouldn't be allowed out unaccompanied, though to be fair it was (mostly) for gifts. Settle down family, I'm on a budget. Finished with maple-flavoured iced donuts - 2 because they're so yummy - and a cup of tea at Timmy Horton's; it's against the law not to eat there at least once when you're in Canada. This evening we're going to the Museum of Nature (free after 5pm) and then a final night dinner at, probably, The Tea Party, the vegetarian restaurant along the street where I did my writerly drop-in on Sunday. Can't believe it's almost time to leave.

August 28th: Not complaining, mind, but when Urs and Nellie's flatmate, Matt, brought out his portable air conditioner at 7pm and set it up for us before he went out to dinner, I was tempted to change my will. The temperature is expected to increase overnight (what?) and officially reach 30 degrees at 5am before dropping again. (In Ottawa, even the weather is regulated, LOL.) It was already 30 in the flat when the AC came on. Walked to Quebec today, while the girls were at work. The Alexandra Bridge over the Ottawa River is about 10 minutes away, and I can never resist a bridge. It's not Golden Gate (only takes 25 minutes to cross and you could possibly dive off it if you had to), but it's a nice design all the same. Nothing much to do when you get there (other than the magnificent Museum of Civilization, which I've seen) but turn around and come back, but that's ok. I headed for the ice-cream stand in the Market. We watched 'Hoodwinked Too!' tonight. Dear Netflix, please come to New Zealand.

August 27th: A long and tiring day at the National Art Gallery, Ottawa. Interactive art, free art, entertaining art; a decent and healthy cafeteria (fresh raw vegetables!). We didn't even see half of it - ran out of time after 6 hours on the top floor and a small section of the next floor down. Then we were too tired to explore the outdoors after the Gallery closed. Get your act together, Te Papa. A dedicated Art Gallery is worth so much more than an afterthought.

August 26th: Mensa day in Ottawa: went to lunch with some lovely people (and one with limited social skills, so situation normal) at The Table, a buffet vegetarian restaurant where you pay for what you dish up for yourself by weight. With about 20 dishes to choose from, all with every ingredient listed, it was vege paradise. Made up for missing this month's Mensa lunch in Wellington. Otherwise it was a rest day. Hot and stinky humid, so finishing my current (reading) book and writing a second draft of my short story were as much activity as I wanted. Urs and Nellie both started their new jobs today, so it was pretty quiet round here and lovely to have them home again at the end of it. Ended up watching lots of 'Jono and Ben at 10' on YouTube last night, so trying again for a movie tonight. Post script: 'Rise of the Guardians'. Enjoyed it.

August 25th: No Facebook posting to cut and paste, for some reason. I went down the road to the Tea Party, for what I thought was an oddly timed poetry event - 10am on a Sunday. Turned out it was an informal weekly writing group, and I was very welcome to join. I ordered some maple tea and joined the table. There were 3 other regulars there, and 2 more arrived a bit later than me. We started by having a prompt: a sentence and a genre. ("When I woke up things were different"; fiction.) Rick, the facilitator, introduced a brainstorm of ideas for how this could be interperted, and then we started writing. It was my first short story for about a decade (I'm sure I"ve already written about this somewhere!). After an hour we stopped and read to each other. It was fun - my main criterion for a successful event. Afterwards, I nipped over to the Market for something I can't now remember, and then headed back to the flat. I met Urs and Nellie on the way, and we headed for the route of the Pride Parade, to start at 1pm. It took an hour and a half to pass by (I've definitely written that before!), and by the time it was finished we were all really hungry,. There was a fair going on outside CitY Hall, at the end of the parade route, so we paid our $5 each (maybe $10) and found a food stall we could all enjoy. It was run by caterers, so really good food, and still quite cheap. Since we'd paid to get in, we wandered around collecting free stuff, and by then it was too late to join a protest outside the Russian Embassy against their anti-gay laws. We headed in that direction, but passed some of the people U&P knew coming back the other way, so we knew it was over. Watched YouTube all evening.

August 24th: Spent most of the day in Cornwall, Ontario, visiting an old uni friend of Wally's, Henry. He and his wife Bev made us very welcome, filled us with barbecue and home-made wine, and told the girls to make sure they go there again before they leave Canada. Henry is a Mohawk Elder and has lots of interesting stories, some of them involving 6-day-old meat pies in Huntly. Yes, that Huntly. It's Pride Week here, and we're marching tomorrow. Wish I'd brought something more colourful to wear. If only I'd known...

August 23rd: A lovely sunny day at the Agricultural Museum and Arboretum (sheep! goats! horses! pigs! cows in stalls!) including personal encounters with a miniature Sicilian donkey (cute!) and a turkey (not so cute!), and lots of squirrels imitating Scrat. Followed by the most entertaining open mic. ever. Highlights: a retired opera singer singing 'Summertime' while accompanying himself on guitar; several pretty good performance poets; lots of singers who can actually sing (not always a given); one who sang so quietly to himself that the MC turned up the mic and we were treated to bonus feedback; same singer followed up with 'Que Sera Sera', to which we joined i the chorus (as you do); at least 4 short stories; a young man channelling Nona Simone and Beyonce in a rather fine falsetto voice; bongos; a rhythm-challenged man with a tambourine. I wasn't quite sure what decade I was in. My poems were greeted with blank expressions and polite applause (just like when I read at Thirsty Dog, so at least I'm used to it), though they said they liked my accent. I was 17th of 25 performers , and only the second woman, of three.

August 22nd: So it's hot and humid in Ottawa. Met at the airport at 11.30pm by my girls in t-shirts, shorts and jandals, which is a LOT less than I was wearing. It rained today so not so bad for a while. Bought a mountain of groceries and then went to the local version of Savemart (thrift shop, for my international friends) and only bought 2 things, and I needed them, honestly. And since I just offloaded a year's supply of Marmite, scorched almonds, Whittakers chocolate, and mallowpuffs, plus a single loaf of Vogels, there's space in my return luggage. Post script: what I bought were a fancy jacket made of all different fabrics - my favourite style - and a ridiculously heavy (what was I thinking?) but really gorgeous raincoat that will keep out the worst Wellington can throw at me next winter. Bright yellow, with comfy royal blue fleecy lining.

Rats.

Still struggling to come up with an idea for the next poem. It's about a rat, and none of the free rat images I have access to really works, I can't find a photo of one in my own collection, and I'm damned if I'll try to draw one. The art books are much more visual than I need, but I'll keep at it. Sooner, rather than later, an idea will form. I think I need a new technique to try out, rather than a specific image, so I'll try some other books I haven't looked through yet.