Waiting for the great leap forward

I love the evening light of this in-between time, as the year rolls away from winter and dips toward spring.

It's also my first leap-year in Victoria since 2000. I had four in Hades. I don't remember much about the one in 2004, but, thanks to this blog, I know that in 2008, I was struggling with the nightmare that younger daughter's elementary school had become; in 2012, Davy Jones of the Monkees died; and in 2016, we were struggling to stay ahead of one of the heavier Hadean snowfalls sent to remind us that March has nothing to do with spring in Hades.

I saw daisies today in Victoria. And I saw the soft golden midway light hitting the enormous sinuous branch making a left turn in front of where we live.

Leap days are rare and precious things. Most of us don't get that much more than twenty of them.

A tale (tail?) of two remakes

Firstly, you need to understand how deeply the 1994 film version of Little Women and the 1998 television film version of Cats are imbedded in the childhoods of my children. The Thomas Newman score of Little Women was part of my "birthing tape" for second daughter; that's how much I loved the music. Elder daughter, of course, adored the movie from a very young age. As for Cats, we had a wavering VHS of the 1998 television version, which both girls played over and over.

I've probably told this story before, but when elder daughter was taking ballet lessons at age six, younger daughter and I would wait in the office area, where we could catch glimpses of the lessons. One evening, I watched in disbelief as younger daughter, age two, stretched and arched in the darkened corridor outside the studios, clearly imitating this moment:

I had been rather dreading the 2019 version of Cats. Despite my daughters' enthusiasm, I'd been exposed to this musical years earlier, and frankly, I'm not overly fond of it, and the director Tom Hooper's version of Les Miserables is two hours and forty minutes I'll never get back. This version of Cats has been assailed by horrendous (and hilarious) reviews. A pack of elder daughter's musical-loving, but Cats-loathing pals in Hades got drunk to go see it.

There were few people in our Victoria matinée -- they appeared to be sober. And oh, it could have been worse. The mistake, I think, was trying to give Cats a plot. Also sticking out like a sore thumb, hip-hop dancers in 1930's London. And Rebel Wilson, whose schtick didn't quite work here.


However, I didn't mind most of the performances. I was fine with Taylor Swift as Bombalurina, and even her song, co-written with Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber. I've always been a fan of Steven McRae, a premieur danseur of the Royal Ballet, and his rapid-fire tap-dance as Skimbleshanks the Railway Cat (which isn't a tap-dance in the original musical). Sir Ian McKellen as Gus the Theatre Cat? Perfect, of course.

The Resident Fan Boy slept through the bulk of the movie, claimed he hadn't, and was hurt when I disagreed with his opinion on performances he hadn't seen. Younger daughter adored it, of course. Elder daughter resolutely refused to see it, but insisted that we all attend the latest version of Little Women together.


I had been worried by the trailers of this Little Women, that they would add anachronistic music and dance moves. Actually, they stuck quite closely to the period -- Jo's clothes are a little more mannish than you'd expect, but that's in keeping with Alcott's Jo. Demeter, who didn't attend, would have been driven crazy by the use of flashbacks, as the movie begins in the 1870's, and Jo remembers the events in episodes, which are filmed in a golden filter; the "present" is signalled by a blue filter.

I'd also worried, having read reviews, that it would be too similar to the 1994 version. I adored that version, but I don't go to cinemas to see copies. All the things in the 2019 Little Women that the critics praised seemed to be what you could say equally of the 1994 Little Women. However - I remembered with a pang - 1994 was 25 years ago. Each Little Women - the 1930s Katherine Hepburn one, the 1949 June Allyson one, the rather ghastly 1970s one with, heaven help us, William Shatner as Professor Bhaer - reflects its time. This current telling is a post-#MeToo take on the story. Although faithful to time and place, the injustices of being a woman in the late 19th Century are voiced a little more loudly, clearly, and insistently than even Louisa May Alcott would dare.

A young woman on one side of me sniffled a little at Beth's demise. Younger daughter reported that the Resident Fan Boy wept quite a bit. I didn't weep, but I was moved. Elder daughter, seated on my other side, was not. She pronounced a definite preference for the 1994 Little Women, so much a part of her childhood. She felt Timothée Chalomet was miscast as Laurie, because, in her opinion, he didn't mature with the part. Younger daughter clearly thought that Timothée Chalomet was the perfect Laurie, no doubt because she thinks he's dreamy.

Well, they're sisters, and very different - like the March girls. For my part, I'm glad my first exposure to Little Women was through the novels themselves. This seems to allow me to not get too attached to the films, as Jo, Meg, Beth, and Amy were known to me long before. I won't mind seeing this Little Women again. I can't say the same for Cats, but I have a feeling I'll be sitting through it whenever younger daughter has the yen.

Drawbacks to living in Victoria

Oh, today. It wasn't a bad day, it was just one of those days.

I accompanied Demeter to the retina specialist, because, on top of her having a cough that has persisted since before this year began, she gets to get an eye injection every month or so.

It beats going blind.

We'd finished, and Demeter was setting up the next four appointments, which will take us through to June, when a man comes up behind us and addresses us both by name.

We both stare at him. (Demeter, given the procedure she's just endured, has a harder time doing this.)

We have no idea who he is. He has to tell us. He was a young boy living in the condo Demeter purchased when I was a young teenager.

Oh well. Things change.

Classical pass

Does YouTube know what I listen to on Spotify?

This showed up on my "suggested" list this afternoon. Not much Mozart, but Spotify did send me a little bit of Carmen yesterday...

Am I impressed? Well, yes, but not quite that way...

Algorithm arrhythmia

It's been almost three months since I decided to resurrect Spotify at the behest of elder daughter.

It's been interesting. I get two weekly playlists: one called "Discover", which are tracks that are not necessarily new, but Spotify thinks might be new to me; and "Radar Release", which includes newly released tracks by artists in whom I've shown an interest, either by "liking" songs, or "following" the artist, in social-media-speak.

I try to listen to both playlists, because the whole point of the exercise is my desire to expand my listening, but it's a helluva lot of music, and I don't always get through it all, especially since I am also sent six (6!) playlists each day, comprised of stuff I've "liked", or even just listened to. Each playlist is based on four to six artists, so that it is sort of themed, roughly, in my case to alternative rock, folk, with some innings into glam rock, and singer/songwriter stuff. It is, of course, my favourite music, on the whole, but some of it is quite repetitive, and the "new" stuff I'm sent is slightly skewed towards country music. Not surprising, I suppose, given that I like folk, and folk and country often tend to lean into each other.

That's algorithm for ya.

Today, however, I got something different. One of my playlists was entirely given over to an Early Music/choral/Mozart/ mix. Fifty tracks of lutes, madrigals, requiems, and the occasional pop song reworked in acapella. Tallis Scholars, King Singers, Oxford Camerata, Bryn Terfel, and, of course, Baltimore Consort.

Like a greedy kid in an ice cream parlour, I downed it all at one sitting.

Heaven knows what this will do to the algorithm. I'd better listen to the Stone Roses-based playlist tomorrow.

Old news

What happened? read the text from younger daughter, who had just holed up in her bedroom for the late afternoon. You said 'Oh My God!'

Younger daughter was a few yards away, but also on the autism spectrum, so in some aspects, miles away. So I texted back:
I've just found out something interesting and exciting that happened in our family 170 years ago!!!

What?

Ah. Not so easy to put in a few words.

Some fella, who shares something like 22 centiMorgans of DNA, was asking me for information some weeks ago. I make it a point to not respond until my ducks are in a row, as it were. Each inquiry is an excellent excuse to update a given timeline. This one is a timeline I haven't worked on in a while.

As usual, it was while I was double-checking a great-great-great-uncle's 1853 death date (which may actually be late 1852), that I stumbled upon a 1851 news article, involving a court-case involving not one, but two of my great-great-great-grandfathers, and my great-great-grandfather. It gives dates and clues to their changes of occupations, and hints at the connections my ggg-grandfathers had, even before their respective children got married.

The case pits them against the Whitbread Brewery, a powerful adversary. I'm probably going to have to search out more newspaper articles to try to determine the true end of the matter (which, I suspect, wasn't good).

Too much for a text. I simply called to younger daughter that it was a story about her great-great-great-great-grandfathers. She wasn't nearly as excited as I was, for some reason.

'Twas ever thus.

Finding your look

My Facebook feed keeps sending me this.

I don't mind.

I think it's very funny.

It's true; we all remember a teacher that was something like this.

With our names upon a star

This rather lovely song turned up on my Spotify "Release Radar" last week.

Looking at the singer, I thought he looked somewhat familiar. It turns out he's Marc Almond. Nearly 40 years ago, he had a hit with a cover of "Tainted Love", originally recorded by Gloria Jones in 1964, and whose version I rather prefer.

Move over, Monet

As is my habit when world headlines get positively terrifying, I am burying myself in art.

It's not always stress-free.

This week, younger daughter and I are back at water-colour classes. We're labouring at a still-life of drooping blossoms, cut crystal, teapot, jug, and a cup of tea.

Younger daughter creates her own bold and beautiful vision. She's a natural.

Our teacher gazes at what I've wrought.
"I honestly really like it," she says. "Now, don't take this the wrong way..."
I sit back and raise a dignified eyebrow. I'm a grown-up.
She continues: "I had a favourite student at the art gallery. Just love her stuff. She had vision problems, and kept switching between her glasses. I think that's how she came up with the unique look of her pictures."

So, perhaps impressionism is the way to go.
At least, I can claim this is intentional.
I'm thinking of calling this "Twinkle, twinkle little bat", because it's rather like a tea-tray in the sky.

(I'm quite proud of the spout...)

Packing tips

One of the few (very few) things I miss about Hades is the opportunity to view the Academy-nominated short films, live or animated. The following is a nominated animated short from 2017 that I missed. It's deceptively simple, and devastating.