Showing posts with label Canada's 150th anniversary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Canada's 150th anniversary. Show all posts

Thursday, January 23, 2020

Canadian TV I've Loved



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I -- American and predictably insular -- became fully aware of the huge pool of creative talent to the north when I became a fan of Due South and it's star, Paul Gross. My mother was the one who insisted that I watch. She fell for Mr. Gross's good looks and the faithful wolf/dog who kept the noble Mountie hero company. She was always a sucker for a  romantic tale with a handsome hero. Eventually I, her daughter, fell for the whole thing too.

At this juncture in my mother's life, the dog hero was more important than Paul Gross and his pretty face. Mom had always been a big fan of dogs and they reliably loved her back. When the four-footed actor who portrayed the fierce and faithful beast Diefenbaker, was changed three times in the course of the four year series, it upset her no end.



Newman, the dog actor in the pilot, was a genuine wolf/dog cross. The dogs in seasons 1-2 (Lincoln) and 3-4 (Draco) were both Siberian Huskies. Mom knew when they changed up dogs and made sure to tell me how different the dogs looked. She also said that she, for one, had not been fooled by the swap.

I loved to relax into Due South's (almost) Happily Ever After World. There was the cross-cultural slant in that the Mountie, just a guy-from-Nunavut-exiled to work with and for brash noisy Chicagoans. Due South told stories that were environmentally smart and politically edgy and they took stands on important issues. I probably sound like a conspiracy theorist, but perhaps their principled storytelling had an adverse effect on the way the show was marketed--or rather not marketed--by CBS, who kept changing the time slot until the audience gave up.

The limited series, Slings & Arrows*, which was first seen in U.S. on our PBS , was in my book at least, is a perfect example of what I think of as engaging T.V. The characters are, by turns, witty, erudite, cynical, honorable, ignoble, passionate, and even occasionally ecstatic. The mood from theater low to theater high kept shifting, much like the Shakespearean plays the cast is shown struggling to get on stage.



Anyone who has ever been in a theater group of any size knows how the personalities clash in such an ego-packed artistic environment. Interpersonal dramas - contemporary culture wars too, came in from the outside world - and charged each episode. Sometimes the show was just Punch & Judy hilarious. The opener, set in a rundown theater's grotty loo, will either turn you off or (literally) suck you in.

Orphan Black, a modern day Toronto set S/F series, became my next t.v. obsession.  In the first episode, Sarah, the troubled, larcenous heroine discovers that she has a twin, but the truth which she begins to unravel proves to be even stranger than that. Sarah eventually discovers twelve (?) lookalikes, who are all the result of illegal human cloning. As the story proceeds, a sinister corporate plot with nightmarish global implications gradually comes to light.

Nurture has overcome Nature in each of these clones, so that although they are all tough cookies, like our heroine Sarah, each one is also different in a host of ways--there is a yuppie, a scientist, a homicidal maniac, a computer hacker, a privileged criminal mastermind, a party girl, etc. Tatiana Maslany is a sensation in each and every role, and was subsequently nominated for both Golden Globes and Sag Awards. She won a Prime Time Emmy award, and was the first Canadian actor in a major dramatic category in a Canadian series to do so. I was happy to hear it, because Maslany had certainly earned recognition after this marathon feat of multiple characterization.



Canadian's do great comedy, too. More recently than the all time dramatic favs above, I've enjoyed the heart-warming Kim's Convenience Store, the quirky, philosophical The Sensitive Skin, and the black humor of Schitt's Creek

Since publishing Fly Away Snow Goose with John Wisdomkeeper, I've been writing blogs for BWL Canadian Historical Brides and learning a whole lot about Canada, America's big neighbor to the north, a country which has its own history, its own art, and its own special national character. I have also gained a healthy appreciation for the talent of my Canadian fellow writers at BWL, as we work together to tell a series of historical stories about each province. 



~Juliet Waldron 

http://www.julietwaldron.com


* "Whether this nobler  in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them." From the To Be or Not To Be soliloquy in Hamlet.

Monday, December 23, 2019

Solstice in the NWT

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I went looking for the weather in Yellowknife, NWT, and this is what I found:

On the 22nd December, 2019, it was -28 in the early morning. By noon time it had roared up to -24, and this is an average December day day.

That is  darn cold by my U.S. standards. Some of the coldest U.S. mornings I've experienced were in January, 1969, in western Massachusetts, in a little woodland cabin with minimal insulation (read none) and a wood stove in the kitchen. On one memorable morning, it was -30, although, thank-fully, this was a one-off. We could sit at the kitchen table and extend a hand toward the outer wall and actually feel a slice of cold penetrating. However, that being said, this -28 is just an ordinary December day in NWT.


Accommodations for aurora tourists in the NWT model a higher profile lodge.

Orion blazes blue in perfect dark sky 

They have 4 hours and 57 minutes of daylight, which, on top of the temperature, has to be stressful. From an astronomy site, I learned : "Geomagnetic field conditions will be mostly quiet, with unsettled periods overnight. Watch for gentle auroras above the northern horizon and overhead." As usual, "peak activity expected in the hours before and after midnight." The higher the latitude, the higher probability you'll see the magic of our atmosphere's protective shield.


It's okay for us moderns to exclaim about cold, but imagine the people who came here between the glaciers, ever so long ago. These folks, and their descendants, until fairly recently, spent their winters in family groups sheltering beneath tents of caribou hide, and resting upon beds of spruce bows and furs. Only imagine the work that was necessary to collect the food and fuel that would be necessary to get through a long season of daunting temperatures and snow.

Before the Europeans got well dug into the north -- and that's apt, as Europeans are mostly interested in the north nowadays for what they can remove from the ground, things like diamonds and uranium  -- winter was the time you spent all the warm months getting ready for. It was easy to starve if you weren't prepared--and, sometimes, even if you were. Fish were dried, meat laid in, furs tanned and cut for clothes. Wood was gathered from the more southerly areas still inside the tree line. You were stocking up not just for the human members, but for the dogs, the original pack animals of the north. 



In the long dark, snowbound, in intense cold, family members gathered. Calorie conservation would have been necessary for everyone in this world of now limited resources, so originally, the people did not gather into large groups, but rather dispersed. Some men went with dogs to tend trap lines; keeping the fur and surviving on the flesh of whatever they caught. 

Story telling was one of the activities in the lodges, stories to teach the children and stories to pass the long frigid nights. Here was the time of teaching life-ways, transmitting skills involved in making tools of bone and stone. It was also a time for telling ancestor tales and tales about the spirits who inhabited the land. Prayers were offered to the sleeping roots, plants, to the four legs and to the fish as well as to the spirits of ancestors who danced over their heads in the aurora. Animal stories were told now, as it wasn't considered respectful to tell the stories when the animals were awake and might overhear people talking about them. In a world where survival depends upon animals (such as caribou) willingly giving themselves to men for food, this respect and sense of circle-of-life community is of prime importance. 







The Tlico flag proudly displays the old skin lodges

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~~Juliet Waldron





Tuesday, November 7, 2017

A Holiday Recipe by Anita Davison

The winter holiday season in England begins after Bonfire Night on November 5th when thoughts turn to Christmas food.

A majority of my family don't like Christmas pudding, so I came up with this alternative which has become something of a tradition. It's made by the melting method, thus the mixture is thin and warm when it goes into the tin. If you are not accustomed to this it might seem strange but it works perfectly and shouldn't be baked in too hot an oven to prevent the top going crusty. Soft and moist is the byword for this cake which is almost a pudding.



Sticky Ginger Cake

Ingredients

225g Self Raising Flour
115g Butter
115g Light Muscovado Sugar
115g Black Treacle
115g Golden Syrup
250ml Semi skimmed Milk
1 large egg
25g cornflour
85g stem ginger - chopped
85g fresh ginger - peeled and finely grated
1 rounded teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon baking powder [7g]
18cm diameter deep cake tin with base and sides lined with greaseproof paper -
this prevents not only sticking but keeps a soft surface to the cake.


Method:

1.   Combine flour, cornflour, baking powder, ginger and cinnamon together
2.   Melt butter and brown sugar, syrup, treacle and milk together in a saucepan
      until smooth and warm but not hot.
3.   Slowly stir the dry ingredients into the liquid mix until smooth
4.   Fold in the beaten egg
5.   Pour mixture into cake tin
6.   Bake for 50 min - 1 hour at 160 Deg in a fan oven [170 Deg non-fan]
7.  When cool, decorate by dribbling thin royal icing mixture over the top and sprinkle with chopped
stem ginger.

This cake is great served warm with whipped cream as a dessert, but also superb cold with coffee.
The longer it's kept in an airtight tin, the more moist and sticky it becomes. Not that it's ever lasted more than 48 hours in my family, so I cannot confirm that statement.


Monday, October 23, 2017

Bigfoot and The Lion People




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Book 




(1979 news article on Madeleine Rabesca of Behchokǫ̀ by Hubet Johnson.)


Now, I find this one of the oddest stories I've heard in a long time, because of, well, Sekhmeht, pictured above. We all know an Egyptian God/Goddess when we see one, so the image didn't originate in the NWT. I have no idea how lion gods came to appear in the shamanic vision of a aboriginal inhabitant of Behchok`o, although, who knows? Cross-cultural pollination can happen in today's world. I also loved the reaction of Mrs. Rabessca when she saw them. She was utterly poised, saying "I won't bother you and you won't bother me," which is exactly the correct thing to say when confronted by a being far out of your ken.
        . 
Interestingly, if you have a taste for woo-woo (and I confess) these Lion People also spoke at some length during the 1980's with the well-regarded-in-occult-circles British author and channel, Murray Hope. She describes her visitors in almost exactly the same way. In Murray's case, both male and female entities were willing to address her and answer the questions she asked, many about the future of Mother Earth, beset as she is by our disrespect and ignorance. If you were a Star Trek fan, think back to the Organians, who proved to be pure energy--not a single crude particle of bio-chemistry in their make-up! 

These are only two of the many and varied supernatural beings of the NWT. They say the more you learn, the more you want to learn!  I'm sure I can discover more about the magic and spirit-beings who inhabit the Territories.  





by Juliet Waldron

http://www.julietwaldron.com
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Saturday, October 7, 2017

The Ghost Ship of Prince Edward Island by Anita Davison


Whilst doing research of the island for Envy The Wind, I came across a ghost story about a ship which has appeared since 1768 in the Northumberland Strait  the stretch of water which separates Prince Edward Island from Nova Scotia and New Brunswick.


This ghost ship doesn’t have a name, but is described as having ‘crisp white sails and a black shiny hull’ that are completely engulfed in flames. She is not always sighted in the same place or a specific time, although more often between September and November whe she is believed to be the forewarning of a north easterly storm.

The ship appears so real, that on occasion attempts have been made to rescue the crew. One of these occurred in Charlottetown Harbour around 1900, when a group of sailors reported they could see members of the crew running back and forth to avoid the flames. The sailors took out a rowboat and raced toward the ship which disappeared before they reached it. A thorough search was carried out by divers, but no shipwreck was found.

On occasion,  a large number of people witnessed the ship's appearance simultaneously, all saying it  was moving fast, even on nights when there was no wind. One sighting was described as follows: [paraphrased]

As it came nearer it seemed to lose speed and stopped opposite our house. We got up on the banks to watch but there was no sign of anyone on board and no dory on tow. About ten minutes after she stopped, smoke began to rise slowly over the deck. There were men who seemed to come up from below and run around the deck in every direction as flames spread across the deck. Men climbed the masts, but when they were halfway up, all the sails caught at the same time. The men were no longer visible as the ship was engulfed in flames. We watched it until the flames died and everything crumbled to the deck. The hull gradually sank lower in the water until it disappeared.

Ferries crossing the Strait between Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island before the Confederation Bridge was built, often encountered the phantom ship. A ferryboat captain reported sailing straight through the flames finding nothing, while another claimed to have seen “a burning vessel appeared aglow with fire and was moving fast.” 

In 1885, a group of rescuers attempted to help the burning ship were lost themselves, never to be heard from again – although this could be apocryphal as I couldn’t find any specific evidence of this event.

In January 2008, 17-year-old Mathieu Giguere claimed to have seen the ghost ship, describing it as a “bright white and gold ship” During some sightings, witnesses also claim to hear gunfire, or a ball of fire in the sky.

In 1905, a New Brunswick scientist William Francis Ganong suggested the nature of the light described in sightings could be a natural electrical phenomena on the surface of the sea which rises in columns, and resembled the flaming rigging of a ship. Another explanation is that the ship is a bank of fog reflecting moonlight, or the setting of the moon on the horizon. Not as romantic as a burning ghost ship, but at least it does not have its origins in an ancient disaster.

The stories of the sightings don’t vary much, even though the ship was viewed from both sides of the strait, the south coast of Prince Edward Island, the North coast of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, as well as Caribou Island and Pictou Island.

Some feel this ship might be The Isabella, a schooner which set sail with a cargo of lumber in December 1868 and was lost at sea off Labrador. She was last seen by a lighthouse keeper on Amet Island during a violent storm off Nova Scotia, but no trace of her was ever found.

Other theories are she is an immigrant ship of Highland Scots, lost at sea while searching for new land, or a pirate ship sunk near Merigomish by a British warship during the Napoleonic War. One explanation is she was a pirate ship that pillaged a ship from England, then the crew got into a drunken brawl with another pirate ship over the spoils during which both ships caught fire and all hands were lost.

"There's a burst of flame and a flash of light
And there on the tide is a frightening sight
As a tall ship all aflame lights up the sky
Tales of the phantom ship, from truck to keel in flames
She sails the wide Northumberland Strait
No one knows her name.”

From "Tales of the Phantom Ship" a song by Lennie Gallant

In June 2014, Canada Post issued a stamp depicting the Northumberland Strait ghost ship, issued on Friday 13th as part of a series of Canadian ghost story stamps. 


Envy The Wind - A story of Prince Edward Island will be released in Summer 2018

Personally, I don't believe in ghosts, or the paranormal, and maybe the 'light phenomenon' explanation is feasible. However, islands in general often have romantic tales connected with the sea which are passed down through the years which add to their character.
After all, stranger things happen at sea.

Tuesday, June 13, 2017

I Remember When...



photo © Janice Lang
Memories can be tricky little devils. Some are so crystal clear that no manner of dispute by people who were there can derail our version of that particular truth, even if it might be a tad faulty. They can be faded sepia by time like an old photograph, or replayed in the mind like a scratchy copy of an 8mm home movie. Others are dim recollections, fragments here and there, disconnected one from another, some even running together to form one imperfect memory. And then there are other those that remain intact throughout our lives, complete with enough sensory imagery to recall every detail.

I retain a number of such memories, some from earliest childhood…like when I was two or three and I made my first snowman (a tiny one, about the size of a baby doll) outside our apartment in the Bronx. I didn’t want to part with it, even as my mother insisted it was time for a nap. Eventually she acceded to my demands and let me take it upstairs, where we put it in the bath tub for safekeeping. Not understanding the properties of snow at the time, I woke from my nap and eagerly made a beeline to the bathroom, only to find a puddle, my red woolen scarf, and a couple of pieces of coal where my masterpiece had been. A lesson in disappointment.

My all-time favorite memory from childhood is quite the opposite. After over 60 years, it remains as vivid as yesterday.

I was six years old on Christmas Eve in 1956, when my dad took me to the gas station to have snow tires put on my mom’s car. I don’t remember why I went along with him to Frank’s Amoco, but there I was in the office, standing face-to-face with a glossy little stub-tailed black mutt. Sitting by the door to the bays on an oil-stained spot, he reacted with a joyful countenance as soon as he saw me enter. We struck up a conversation (mostly one way). But he had an expressive face and cocked his ears in a most appealing way, tilting his head when I spoke, as if he understood everything I said.

Time soon came for the car to get moved into the shop, so we all filed back out onto the blacktop. The day was chilly and blustery (I’d been wearing mittens, which I’d taken off inside). Just as we stepped out the door, a mighty blast of wind took one of my mittens and blew it across the lot. I watched in a dull sort of stupor as the mitten flew on a swirling gust and then kicked around at the curb. Before I could take a step toward it, the dog tore off, picked it up, trotted back to me, and dropped the mitten at my feet. And there was that look he gave me as he sat gazing up so expectantly, wagging his little tail….

I thought he had to be the smartest dog in the world (on a par with Lassie and Rin-Tin-Tin), and I told him so. Together we climbed into the back seat of my mother’s 1955 Rambler and went up on the lift while the mechanic changed the tires. All the while we talked about what it would be like if he could come home and live with me. I told him about my two sisters and our mom, our house and yard, and “the pit,” which was the greatest place on earth for us kids to play. Like the world’s biggest playground surrounded by acres and acres of trees, and slopes to sled down in winter, picking blueberries and blackberries in summer….

The whole time we were up there on the lift, Frank and my dad had been involved in what looked to be a conspiratorial conversation, and when the dog and I got out of the car, my father was smiling from ear to ear.

“Do you want that dog?” Frank asked with a wink at my dad.

I couldn’t believe what I’d heard. It just couldn’t be true. But when I glanced up at my father, heart thumping with wild expectation, anticipating a let-down, he grinned at me like a little boy and nodded. Of course I wanted the dog, and so did he it seemed, almost as much I did.

I guess Frank was relieved that the stray mutt had found a
Shadow and me, circa 1964
place to live and be loved. He explained that the dog had shown up at the gas station a few days before and hung around day and night following the mechanics as they went about their business—a kind of a nuisance—but they fed him scraps from their lunchboxes and he slept in the shop and earned his keep watching over the place. They called him Shadow, and that was to be his forever name.

My mom wasn’t thrilled—not one bit—and it took all we had to convince her that I would walk him, feed and clean up after him. Finally, she gave in, albeit reluctantly. After all, he was smelly and grungy with grease and dirt. So we gave him a bath in the tub. With all that filthy, soapy water gurgling down the drain, I fully expected him to turn white.

For the first few weeks, Shadow would manage to get out of the house and disappear from morning until supper time. We soon discovered that he spent that time hanging out at his old place of employment (a goodly trek, I might add)…until he discovered Paul the mailman. For a couple of years he even got picked up and dropped off at our house on the days Paul’s route was scheduled through our neighborhood. He became the most famous dog in our part of Massapequa. Wherever we went (he followed me on my bicycle), kids would always shout, “Hey, isn't that the mailman’s dog?”

Shadow retired from the US Postal Service when Paul was replaced (I learned from my mother later in life that he was a bit of a Lothario). 

For the remainder of his life Shadow’s only job was as friend, protector, clown and trickster. He also had a lot of Scrappy-Doo in him, often getting into fights with much larger dogs and paying the price. But he survived the follies of his youth to remain with us for 14 years before crossing over the Rainbow Bridge a week shy of Christmas Eve, 1970. By that time we had shared countless adventures and had lots of fun together. And I had a trove of stories to tell my kids as they grew up. Maybe one day I'll write them down.


~*~

Kathy Fischer Brown is a BWL author of historical novels, Winter Fire, "The Serpents Tooth" trilogy: Lord Esterleigh's Daughter, Courting the DevilThe Partisan's Wife,  and The Return of Tachlanad, an epic fantasy adventure for young adult and adult readers. Check out her Books We Love Author page or visit her website. All of Kathy’s books are available in e-book and in paperback from Amazon, Kobo, and other online retailers.