Where it All Began

There was a lot happening onstage at the Princess of Wales theatre for a matinee performance of Jesus Christ Superstar. The young and constantly-moving cast put their full effort into the show even though there were a half-audience’s worth of empty seats.

There was even more going on in my head. First, there was the shop-grade N95 mask on my face imparting everything with a funny smell. Then there was the movie version with Tim Neely as Jesus Christ firmly imprinted in my memory, almost as firmly as the original cast album of JC Superstar that I listened to a thousand times and knew by heart, along with a YouTube compilation of all of the men who have tried to sing WHYYYYYY like Ian Gillan. So, that’s a rich and textured mind set to bring to watching a stage production. Oh, right, and when I was 19 years old, I saw Jesus Christ Superstar on stage in London, England, with Colm Wilkinson (who later became the Phantom of the Opera for half a lifetime) as Judas. 

What I really noticed this time was how much I completely missed the political part of the story when I was younger. This time I saw how the songs mix together the politics of the age – Israeli resistance to Roman occupation – with the spiritual story. So JC was a rallying point for everyone - spiritual seekers and revolutionaries alike - even though he kept reminding them that they had no idea what was going on and he was not the person they thought he was. So, Judas and Jesus were on the same page. Which is why they were on the stage together at the very end after the violent and moving scene where Jesus is put on the cross. If I could have added Christian faith to my mind set, I might have left the theatre in tears. 

There were probably some things to nit and pick about the production – some singers’ articulation was mushy; the band overwhelmed the voices sometimes; Caiaphas on stage couldn’t hold a candle to Caiaphas in the movie – but overall it was splendid. When it was over we stood on our feet and clapped for them for a long time. 

We're spending this Christmas at home - except for the few hours when Bruce will be at Toronto General Hospital waiting with his father for news about that pacemaker Ken asked Santa to bring.

I hope everyone has a safe and happy holiday, however you spend it.

Thanks for reading!

Merry Christmas!

Karen

Winter Solstice 2021 - Rebunking Revisited

In honour of the shortest day in the Northern Hemisphere, here's a message (you may have seen before) revised and updated from the print edition which included typos, lazy writing and an egregious error.

***

In the latter half of the 20th century – long after the song itself was made – claims arose about the “secret meaning” of the gifts of the Twelve Days of Christmas.

Persecuted Catholics, so the claims went, hid catechism in the words of the song, so the partridge was Jesus, the four calling birds were the four gospels and so on.

There’s no proof for these claims (and lots of reasons to doubt them). 

The one sure thing is that you can match just about anything to a list of numbers from one to twelve.

With that in mind, here’s a Canadian code for the 12 Days of Christmas.

Partridge in a pear tree – Alex Trebek on Jeopardy

Two turtle doves – The Ryans, Gosling and Reynolds

Three French hens – Celine Dion, Alanis Morrissette and Avril Lavigne

Four calling birds – The NDP, Liberals, Conservatives and Parti Quebecois (sorry, Green Party)

Five golden rings – Bank of Montreal, Royal Bank of Canada, CIBC, Toronto Dominion Bank and Bank of Nova Scotia

Six geese a-laying – Pacific, Mountain, Central, Eastern, Atlantic and Newfoundland time 

Seven swans a-swimming – The Group of Seven

Eight maids a-milking – The women’s Olympic rowing team

Nine ladies dancing – The Supreme Court of Canada

Ten lords a-leaping – Viola Desmond

Eleven pipers piping – Pizza Pizza

Twelve drummers drumming – the 1967-1970 National Hockey League

Thanks for reading!

It's brighter from now on!

Karen

The Allan Gardens are ever so slightly open for your holiday viewing pleasure (25 people at a time, please). The turtles seem glad for the company.

How Many 64-Year-Olds Does it Take to Change a Lightbulb?

      

These are not the lightbulbs under discussion. This is a holiday spectacle at the corner of George and Shuter Streets.

***

Like hopefuls auditioning for a spot in a Three Stooges revival, Bruce and I spent some time this past week wrestling with a 24-foot extension ladder. Last time I'd done that, I was 23 years old, painting the outside trim of my professor's house. I didn't know anything about house painting, or extension ladders. I proved the latter point when the ladder collapsed shortly after I'd used it to get onto the roof of the house. A stranger passing on the sidewalk saved me that day.

Our objective this week was the light fixture over our door, which sits a good twenty feet up from the sidewalk. The light bulb was not turning on.

We were hoping that it had just worked itself loose in its socket. It's been less than a year since the guys in Unit #7 hazarded a climb up that same extension ladder and changed the bulb for us.  

People Bruce's and my age are not supposed to spend too much time on high ladders. At first we put the ladder on the step. It was a shorter fall. But, a local walked by and said "that ladder's too steep." He had a point. So we put it on the sidewalk.

On the sidewalk, the ladder was at a safer angle, but fully extended. I couldn't think of anything I wanted to climb up less.

The opinionated local passed us again. He asked if we were changing a light bulb. I said "yes." He said "I can go up the ladder for you." 

Recalling the services rendered by a neighbour just the week before, I asked, "what'll you charge?" He said "Ten dollars."

"Sold," I said. 

 

He nimbly scampered up the ladder. He checked the bulb. It was burnt out and needed a replacement. 

We hadn't planned that far in advance. Bruce went to find a bulb. While the man hung out suspended twenty feet above the street, we made small talk about the weather. Bruce found a bulb and gave it to him. 

It was a bit of a struggle getting the new bulb screwed in. He said "birds have been in here." Once properly in the socket, the bulb worked fine. Our neighbour zipped down the ladder and expertly collapsed it. He was obviously the right guy for the job. 

I still don't carry cash, so Bruce gave him the money. We thanked him profusely. He said, "Thank you for the blessing. Have a Merry Christmas." 

Many's the time in spring I find fledgling sparrows on our front step. Sometimes they're just about fit to fly and survive to live their little birdie lives; other times they are hopelessly young and die on the step from exposure. When you find one of these sad little things, the advice is to put it back in the nest, but I could never figure out where the nest was. 

Now that I know, my next saviour to come along will be asked to remove the old nest and put a screen over the fixture.

Thanks for reading!

Get that booster shot!

Karen

In Memoriam: Brenda Christine Connor

From Toronto.com: A wheelchair painted white and adorned with flowers, a memorial to 59-year-old Brenda Christine Connor at the corner of Dundas and Sherbourne Streets. She died on Nov. 18 after being struck at the intersection by the driver of a cement truck. More than 40 people attended a memorial service for her on December 14, 2021.

Carrying Cash

Last Sunday morning, Bruce headed out to go see his dad.  Then Kim and Kevan, who'd been visiting for the weekend, left for the train (early, because of the usual anxiety about missing things) leaving me at home alone to do some pottering around. I made the beds. Got started on the Christmas cards. Then I heard my phone ping. It was a text from Kim. She wanted to know if Kevan’s phone was on the hall table. 

It wasn’t. Nor in the kitchen. But, ever so faintly, I could hear a phone ringing. I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from, until it dawned on me to look outside. I opened the door. There was a neighbourhood denizen sitting on the steps opposite ours. I could clearly hear the phone now. I asked the man if he had the phone. I descended our steps and saw Kevan’s phone, on the sidewalk, where it had lain for at least the past half hour. 

I picked it up, answered it (Kim was calling) and went indoors, the intentions of the denizen not something I needed to figure out at that moment. I told Kim I’d bring Kevan’s phone to Union Station. On my way out a few seconds later, the denizen was still there. He said "I was going to turn it in, eh." I thanked him for keeping his eye on it.

No doubt he was thinking about something to do with that phone. Getting up the nerve to steal it; imagining how he could cash in, or he could have been sitting guard. One thing for sure, Kevan is a lucky man. Anyone else who drops their phone in this neighbourhood loses it seven seconds later.

I hopped on the subway and got to Union Station half an hour before their train left. I gave Kevan his phone, said goodbye again, then walked back home. On the way I stopped by a Christmas tree place I'd had my eye on for a while and bought a wreath for the front door. Because that’s what the fates had intended all along – to find a way to get me out on a Sunday on Front Street across from the St Lawrence Market to buy a Christmas wreath. It's odd that they had to involve Kevan and that random neighbourhood guy … 

If I’d been thinking properly, I'd have offered him some money. Of course he wanted a reward and, in the code of the 'hood, probably deserved one. But, as I told the man selling Christmas wreaths who didn't like the looks of my plastic, I don’t carry cash.

I may have to start again.

Well, That Didn't Last Long

After about six weeks My Facebook boycott has ended. I feel I've made my point. And I miss seeing pictures of my cousins' dogs.

After barely one week, my cheerful aspect in the face of the ambitious new variant has dimmed. According to the Toronto Star, Omicron sends even more people to the ICU than Delta, and snaps its fingers at vaccines. 

Better get that booster shot and brush up on those social distancing skills.

Thanks for reading!

Karen

Be of Good Cheer

Back by popular demand: Captain Oreo, still hoppin' strong.

Before

After

The Saint Lawrence Market: Deck the Halls

I can't help but feel cheerful this Christmas, COVID omicron notwithstanding. 

Maybe it's because we have the last of 2021's big projects completed - all of the furniture slated for recovering has been recovered - and all that messy money has been tidily swept out of our bank accounts. 

Maybe it's because we can visit friends in their homes - and pay our respects to any venerable bunnies that may be on the premises - without breaking the law. 

And maybe it's because stores are open and full of masked people and the city's not an abandoned post-apocalyptic landscape of fear and desolation.

Whatever the reason, I am markedly more light-hearted this year than last.

I hope it lasts.

Thanks for reading!

Have a great week!

Karen