Revealed themselves one star at a time

 Planning is key - especially with someone on the autistic spectrum.

I'd carefully sold the outdoor screening of A Hard Day's Night at Beacon Hill Park to younger daughter a couple of days in advance.

On the day in question, we had a couple of hours to sunset, so I put on some music after dinner and made popcorn - having been mindful enough to locate the popping corn earlier in the day, which required cleaning out a couple of cupboards.  (The B-Festival wasn't selling popcorn this year.) I summoned younger daughter, so she could enjoy the kernels blossoming into white.

Then I withdrew to cover myself in highly toxic "Muskol", having also dug that out in advance. I diplomatically got younger daughter to don shoes and socks, rather than her favoured footwear of the summer, her fancy flip-flops.

Leaving our building, I took the lead, race-walking the most direct route to the Cameron Bandshell, reflecting on how it had been almost exactly three years since the evening we last attended a film at the Free-B Movie Festival.  In 2019, we took younger daughter to the condo, to break the news that we were moving from the apartment we'd occupied since our return to Victoria in 2017.  That way, she could see her new bedroom, and to soften the blow, proceed to the park to watch a Harry Potter movie.  (It went well.)

Three years later, we secured a bench corner, not too near the front, and munched the home-made popcorn, and, in the deepening dusk, watched the Beatles in a film we must have seen over fifty times, but there are still new things to discover.  This time, I saw George Harrison fall against a speaker as he played, and wondered how I'd missed that, all these years.

A star (or, more likely, a planet) rose slowly behind the screen, and I made a wish.  It's always the same one, and I can't tell you what it is, for fear it won't come true.

Afterwards, the Resident Fan Boy, who'd been grumbling all weekend, said he was happy he'd come.  A large orange moon, just past being full, had made its way to a spot above the buildings on the eastern horizon,  beyond the dark park. On Southgate, I caught a glimpse of a brilliant meteor whizzing silently eastward, and younger daughter told me, as we walked home, that she'd spotted a shooting star during the movie.  This was at the time of the Perseids.  

I felt tired, but content.  It would have been nice to have ended there.

Planning doesn't prevent the unexpected.  Once home, the Resident Fan Boy couldn't find his phone.  Sighing patiently, I phoned his number from mine.  We heard nothing.

The RFB sought and panicked, while I went into the bathroom to turn off the taps on the tub he'd been running.  The RFB dove back into the night, to retrace his steps in the dark.

About five minutes later, younger daughter found the missing phone under the bathmat.  I texted, hoping the message would flash up on his FitBit:  "You can come home."  "It was under the bathmat."

I texted over and over.  Thirty-seven times.

When the RFB returned half an hour later, he realized he'd silenced the ringer for the movie, which is why we couldn't hear it when searching the apartment.

I got to bed about 1 am, after rinsing the toxic insect repellent from my body.  Two days later, about a dozen bites blossomed on my knees.  They seemed to come out of nowhere, like stars in a summer sky. 

Her mama's gonna make her look good

I've spoken of this before. 

It won't go away.

The victims weren't my students -- but they could have been.

The students weren't my relatives -- but they could have been.

Mike Downie is the film-making brother of the late Gordon Downie, lead singer of the Tragically Hip.

This is a song about the identification process.

She used to like lavender pantsuits/ Long black velvet gloves/ Smiles across crowded rooms/ To the only boy she ever loved

Don't you worry/ Her mama's gonna make her look good

Didn't like leopard coats/ Or tall thin millionaires/ Kissing everybody on New Year's Eve/ Or sending them to electric chairs

Won't you give me the chance/ The chance to explain/ Ah, well -- explain away/ The snow is so merciless/ Poor old Montreal/ In spite of everything that's happened/ Yeah, in spite of it all

Don't you worry/ Her mama's gonna make her look good

Because a coward won't die alone.

One star at a time

On the eve of the 150th anniversary of Confederation, Canadians are taking to social media to argue about "the most Canadian song". Well, I've answered this question on the blog, and naturally it's a Tragically Hip song.

But CBC Music decided to ask which was most Canadian: "A Case of You" by Joni Mitchell, or "Bobcaygeon" by the Hip.

I happen to think that "Bobcaygeon" is an Ontarian song; to me, it's all about cottage country, and that's always been out of my reach. Ontarians, bless 'em, think that Ontario is Canada. Some Hip fan told me to "STFU", and a Joni Mitchell fan remonstrated gently with him, saying his response "wasn't very Canadian".

Well, you don't tangle with Hip fans, to whom "Bobcaygeon" is practically a hymn, and I know that the song speaks to a lot of people, some of whom may not even be from Ontario.

Here's a current Canadian song. I don't think it's the most Canadian song ever, but when I hear it, I will think of the spring of 2017. I probably like it because the band is British Columbian, so their music speaks to me.

It's certainly not a hymn either; I apologize in advance for the "F" and "S" bombs - which, come to think of it, is rather Canadian of me.

A last hip shot

Sorry, running out of time today, but I can't resist this last call-out for the Tragically Hip from Mclean's Magazine, who had videographers on the west coast of Canada (Vancouver Commodore Ballroom - long a favourite venue for Canadian bands), on the east coast of Canada (the Grand Parade by Halifax Harbour -- the Hip's final tour didn't go any farther east than Ottawa),  in the Prairies (if Calgary can be considered near the prairies, it's practically in the foothills of the Rockies), in a Toronto venue long associated with the Hip, in a small town that shares its name with a classic Hip song, and in the town square of the Hip's hometown of Kingston, because everyone couldn't fit into the arena where the concert was held.

The crowd is predominantly white, and in the 30-50 age range, but those are Hip fans for ya.  It's still pretty darn touching. (And is that Neko Case smiling and weeping in the Commodore Ballroom?)

Being left behind

Younger daughter should have had her birthday today, but a series of frustrating events resulted in her being born in the wee hours of the tenth of May. If I feel up to it, I might reminisce tomorrow. In the meantime, there are two songs I associate with the month younger daughter entered our lives. One is "Big Bang Baby" by the Stone Temple Pilots, but I can't find a clear video that also doesn't feature a lengthy air freshener commercial. So I'll stick with Canadian Content or Can/Con (a rule by which radio stations in Canada had to play a certain percentage of Canadian music in a given time frame). This is the first Tragically Hip song I actually recall liking. There have been more since, but this was the first time I realized I could like the Hip:  

First thing we'd climb the tree
 and maybe then we'd talk
 or sit silently and listen to our thoughts
 with illusions of someday casting a golden light
 no dress rehearsal, this is our life
 that's where the hornet stung me
 and I had a feverish dream
 with revenge and doubt
 tonight, we smoke them out

 You are ahead by a century

 Stare in the morning shroud
 and then the day began
 I tilted your cloud, you tilted my hand
 rain falls in real time and rain fell through the night
 no dress rehearsal, this is our life
 That's when the hornet stung me
 and I had a serious dream
 with revenge and doubt
 tonight, we smoke them out

 You are ahead by a century
 but this is our life
 and disappointing you's gettin' me down