Hey? (Nay!)

 I went to the drug store, as is my custom, on October 31st, to cut down on the possibility that I might consume all the Hallowe'en candy before the little goblins show up.

This year, however, it's unlikely. Across the country, provincial premiers and health officers are declaring a moratorium on trick-or-treating.  Even our prime minister, an avid Hallowe'en dresser-upper (sometimes with disastrous results) has declared to the children of Canada that the pandemic "sucks".

We've carved our jack o' lanterns, nevertheless, and, with three or four families with young children in our building, we're prepared to shell out.  Perhaps in baggies.  Delivered by reacher/grabber.

To fully understand the joke behind this rather wonderful "This Hour Has 22 Minutes" parody, it helps to have: a) been in French Core or French Immersion in the primary grades at a Canadian elementary school within the past forty or so years; or: b) had children in French Core or French Immersion in the primary grades at a Canadian elementary school within the past forty or so years.

Here's the original:

No rules

Actually, there are plenty of rules.  The structure's harder to see.  The past seven months remind me of the nine months the Resident Fan Boy languished between jobs, a few years before we became parents. 

I found my comfort then, as I do now, in a mixture of the new and the familiar.  

This is one of my favourite scenes from the 2001 British comedy/drama series Bob and Rose.  Written by Russell T Davies, it was a major reason I started watching Doctor Who -- aside from David Tennant, of course.  Davies based his story on something that actually happened to a couple of his friends:  a gay man who, to his astonishment, fell in love with a straight woman.

This is about halfway through the drama.  Bob and Rose, seeing no future in their relationship have broken up about twice, and we overhear their inner thoughts while watching the dancers in their respective favoured nightclubs in Manchester.

Aside from the wit and the acting, I'm very enamoured of the music, which seems to be a dreamy mixture of Pachelbel and Orff.

Was there cause to cast me off?

Still struggling a bit with this new format that Blogger has decided is an improvement. 

 Lots going on, so sometimes I try to ignore it by wasting time - and surely, to steal from Shakespeare, time will waste me, soon enough. 

A few days ago, I stumbled across "Bardcore". A number of people, possibly unable to get out much - there's a lot of that going around - are taking recent, or relatively recent, songs, and converting them into songs worthy of the smoky main hall of an ancient manor. 

Unsurprisingly, country music hits work quite well with medieval settings; country and western owes a lot to old English folksongs. Rather more surprising is how effectively this 2011 hit is transported several centuries into the past:

And looking back down at me

Sometimes, when I'm listening to things that Spotify thinks I'll like, I think I could do with fewer covers. I do like interpretations of familiar songs, mind, but how many versions of "I Shall Be Released" do I need to hear? 

And then there was last week when I found myself seated at the computer, close to tears.

Allen Toussaint died in 2015, not long after he recorded this cover of "American Tune" by Paul Simon -- which isn't actually an American tune; Simon adapted it from "O Sacred Head Now Wounded", which is a translation of the German hymn O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden, which was made famous by JS Bach's arrangement, and the tune of which is borrowed from a 17th century German love song.  

No matter.  I've always loved the song, but Toussaint brings a whole new clarity to it, every word crystal clear:

 

It's a song written in the seventies, around the time of Watergate, which keeps resurfacing and becoming even more poignant.

Many's the time I've been mistaken, and many times confused. 

A tolerance for pain

When this is over - if it's ever over - there are some things I will miss.

Here's one of them. One of the most joyous pop-songs I've heard about falling in love. It's from the musical Hamilton, and this "lockdown" version features features the original cast, among others.

The Resident Fan Boy and I just celebrated a major wedding anniversary with a zero on the end, so this is as good a time as any.

Aren't they supposed to be immortal?

Woke up this morning to this treat. (I got the DVD set for Christmas.)



Not sure what an angel and a demon are doing under lockdown. "Setting an example" sounds a bit flimsy.

Instead of sheep

I've actually been sleeping quite well. Early on, when this country-shutting-down business began, I'd wake up, hoping I'd imagined it, but, for the most part, I drift off easily.

Should it ever become a problem beyond the occasional Valerian, I could always take Bing Crosby's advice and count my blessings. I have a baker's dozen, at least.

1) I am at home with all the comforts thereof, enough food, and a safe place to sleep.

2) I am with my family, including both daughters, and we all are, at the time of writing, comfortable and healthy. I get the occasional uneasiness when I'm stuffy, sneezy, or head-achy, but opening a window usually is enough.

3) We have electricity and WiFi.

4) Demeter is a two-minute stroll (a one-minute panicked dash) away, and she is reasonably comfortable and very healthy.

5) I can still venture forth and get things for my family and particularly Demeter.

6) We are on a beautiful (unusually quiet) street, and our windows afford views of flower beds, trees, and, up until recently, a steadily diminishing number of passersby -- also the occasional delinquent deer. It's spring, something at which Victoria excels.

7) I am actually hearing more from friends than usual, due to, no doubt, their own senses of isolation, but heck, I'll take it.

8) Marie Phillips, due to her own sense of isolation, is blogging again. I'll take it!

9) These days, we have free access to theatre and ballet, courtesy of the Globe, the National Theatre, and the Royal Opera House, among other sources.

10) I have opportunities to pursue family research, my go-to mental health activity in the best of times and the worst of times. I just demolished a major brick wall in the Resident Fan Boy's side of the family tree a couple of days ago. I did lose some sleep over that - due to excitement. Don't say it.

11) We still have access to take-out from several of our favourite eateries, which we support for entirely selfish reasons.

12) Miraculously, some of my favourite shops are offering limited, and very personalized, service: book stores, stationers, hosery... It's my bounden duty to help keep them open, right? And I'm shopping local.

13) I'm not in Hades. Sorry. It had to be said.

Confination

There must be something reassuring about doo-wap these days.

This is a video edited from the live concert Stronger Together, broadcast on CBC last weekend. It features Michael Bublé, the Barenaked Ladies, and Mexican singer Sofia Reyes.



The performance is a cover of a recent offering by Barcelona trio Stay Homas, who are riding out this thing by making music from their apartment.


A number of Stay Homas fans are calling out Michael Bublé for covering this song, but I notice Stay Homas has sent a thank-you to all the musicians involved, for using the song to raise money for foodbanks.

The world is grown to one vast drysaltery!

This notice appeared on the exit door nearest our condo a few days ago.

Oh god. Just what we need.

Victoria does have a rat problem; my Friend of the Right Hand got infested once, and one of our house-sits featured a large rodent, who basically scared younger daughter into representational drawing.

I'm not sure the Pied Piper is such a good idea, though.

"It's a horror story," I explained, years ago to a future godmother, who was planning a show of the Pied Piper for her drama students. "The people of Hamlin don't pay him, which is wrong, but he revenges himself by taking their children away."

Future Godmother stared at me for a long moment. She was a divorced mother of two, on not great terms with her ex-husband.

"I never thought of it that way."

Best to just keep that door closed.

"I'm not a doctor." "No kidding."

Apparently, Julie Andrews sent Randy Rainbow a message of approval about this video -- via Carol Burnett. That's got to be Gay Guy Cloud Nine.

For all you Mary Poppins fans, who don't mind the occasional cuss-word. (I gather Julie Andrews is one of those.)