This week brings a certain appropriateness to writing about elements of culture passing from ancestor to descendant. Monday Sheila and I had a sneak-peek at the next generation of our family. An ultrasound gave us our first look at our baby-to-be, who we’ve taken to calling Bean. We are now completely overcome with anticipation; we can’t wait to meet it, and cuddle it, and find out its gender, and choose a name, and do all of those other impossibly important things. Everyone tells us the next five months will fly by, but I can tell you with no reservation that they can’t pass fast enough.
So it also seems appropriate to post a song loaded with joyful anticipation, and pair it with a slide show of ultrasound pictures. The song is Kylä Vuotti Uutta Kuuta (The Village Awaits the New Moon) by Värttinä, a group from Finland. I’ll confess the story within the song is a little less amazing than waiting for a baby…
The village waited for the new moon.
They said my brother would return
empty handed when he was off hunting.
They were wrong. The eagle caught
the duck.
…but the power in their voices gets the point across.
Sheila and I have spent much of the past several years’ worth of CD money collecting a good stock of music from most of the Scandinavian nations in honour of her Norse ancestry. Finnish is the most unique of the languages, and to my ears, the most ancient sounding. Sheila’s roots are Danish, but there is a common cultural and linguistic history to all the Northern countries, and the music illustrates this commonality. Then of course those crazy Vikings traded and raided their way through Ireland, Scotland, England, France, heck even Russia. It’s cool to listen to the music and compare and contrast it to Celtic or other European music. Which influences are modern, and which go back a thousand years? Who knows?
In the past month or so this collecting bug has developed into a desire to track down lullabies in culturally appropriate languages. Attribute it to nesting, but I want to have some traditional Danish, French, Gaelic, and English songs to sing when the time comes. What did my Great-Grandmother sing to my Grandfather? What did Olemor sing to Mormor? Somehow I feel like I could express the love passed down by a thousand generations, if only I could sing it in their words.
N
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Continuity of Culture 1
So a couple of years ago I read the book Vroom with a View, written by Australian journalist Peter Moore, who went to Italy to buy a classic Vespa and find the country’s Dolce Vida. Along the way some other Vespa devotees take Peter to a bar in Livorno called the Civili.
“The Civili has been open for over 100 years, a self-proclaimed ‘bar, meeting place, institution and temple to continuity’.”
In other words the bar is something of a touchstone for local culture. The kind of place the locals go to see and be seen, flirt, carouse, quite possibly while sitting in the very seats their great grandparents sat in when they met.
This same concept of cultural continuity is something I’ve become aware of in the music I listen to. There are certain songs I’ve come across that for me epitomise this concept. Something in the lyrics, arrangement, or instrumentation evoke both an ancientness and timelessness. Much of this music could be classified as folk, roots, or traditional, while some of it is genuinely modern. The universality of the themes involved, combined with the adoption and adaptation of older musical styles are what make these click for me.
None of us will ever hear truly ancient music. Audio recordings haven’t been around long enough, but we do have sheet music, and the occasional mechanical device (music boxes, chime clocks, etc). Even these don’t go back all that far, so all we are left with are the living traditions, but we can’t pretend that these haven’t changed in the hundreds or thousands of years. Perhaps that isn’t the point though. There’s a quotation I wish I could find, that was something along the lines of “Don’t try to retrace the steps of those who have gone before, travel instead in the direction they were going.”
It’s this approach that to my mind, creates the most powerful folk music. This is why songs like Incantata by Fiamma Fumana (suitably Italian, like the Civli) are moving to me. In this case the style is primarily modern with only a few traditional accents, but the lyrics reveal a historical sensitivity bottled up inside a modern young urbanite.
Fortunately for us, Fiamma Fumana include translations of their lyrics in their liner notes.
Shining clear sky
Quiet river between the banks
Pontoon bridge on the gleaming water
Silently we stand here
Inside you is light
Inside you is new intensity
Spellbound
April breeze on us
Warm sun on the paths
You gaze on, spellbound, one with the valley
Young, ancient, spellbound
Inside you is light…
I couldn’t find a video online, and don’t really have any suitable images for a slide show, so while you listen you can gaze at my dream Vespa … what was I saying about being modern, yet classic?
Over the next little while I hope to post more such songs. I’d love to hear your comments as I go. Happy listening.
“The Civili has been open for over 100 years, a self-proclaimed ‘bar, meeting place, institution and temple to continuity’.”
In other words the bar is something of a touchstone for local culture. The kind of place the locals go to see and be seen, flirt, carouse, quite possibly while sitting in the very seats their great grandparents sat in when they met.
This same concept of cultural continuity is something I’ve become aware of in the music I listen to. There are certain songs I’ve come across that for me epitomise this concept. Something in the lyrics, arrangement, or instrumentation evoke both an ancientness and timelessness. Much of this music could be classified as folk, roots, or traditional, while some of it is genuinely modern. The universality of the themes involved, combined with the adoption and adaptation of older musical styles are what make these click for me.
None of us will ever hear truly ancient music. Audio recordings haven’t been around long enough, but we do have sheet music, and the occasional mechanical device (music boxes, chime clocks, etc). Even these don’t go back all that far, so all we are left with are the living traditions, but we can’t pretend that these haven’t changed in the hundreds or thousands of years. Perhaps that isn’t the point though. There’s a quotation I wish I could find, that was something along the lines of “Don’t try to retrace the steps of those who have gone before, travel instead in the direction they were going.”
It’s this approach that to my mind, creates the most powerful folk music. This is why songs like Incantata by Fiamma Fumana (suitably Italian, like the Civli) are moving to me. In this case the style is primarily modern with only a few traditional accents, but the lyrics reveal a historical sensitivity bottled up inside a modern young urbanite.
Fortunately for us, Fiamma Fumana include translations of their lyrics in their liner notes.
Shining clear sky
Quiet river between the banks
Pontoon bridge on the gleaming water
Silently we stand here
Inside you is light
Inside you is new intensity
Spellbound
April breeze on us
Warm sun on the paths
You gaze on, spellbound, one with the valley
Young, ancient, spellbound
Inside you is light…
I couldn’t find a video online, and don’t really have any suitable images for a slide show, so while you listen you can gaze at my dream Vespa … what was I saying about being modern, yet classic?
Over the next little while I hope to post more such songs. I’d love to hear your comments as I go. Happy listening.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
What do you give the millionaire rock-star fencer who has everything?
My boss David came to me today with a challenge. His brother-in-law, John, is a long-time fan of Iron Maiden. The lead singer of Iron Maiden is a guy named Bruce Dickinson. Aside from being a rock-star, Bruce is a competitive fencer. He also owns his own line of fencing equipment (Duellist), and has a pilot's licence.
John is going to an Iron Maiden concert somewhere in Europe this summer, and has somehow scored a seat on a flight to be piloted by Bruce. If I understand correctly, Bruce's birthday is around the same time, so John wants to get his hero a gift.
Through David, I have been asked to come up with a cool fencing-related gift for Bruce. But what do you give the millionaire rock-star fencer who has everything?
David, who has a knack for tracking down impossible to find books, was thinking some extra-special fencing book would be good, and asked for my recommendations. The problem is, there aren't really any nice gifty fencing books out there. So I've been wracking my brains trying to come up with suitable ideas. Here is what I have so far:
Running with Swords:The Adventures and Misadventures of an Irrepressible Canadian Fencing Champion by Sherain MacKay
The title is self apparent, and the book is lots of fun. I don't know if Bruce would have it, as I don't know how much hype there was on the international circuit about the book, and it was released by a Canadian publisher.
Fencing - Competitive Training and Practice: The Foil, The Epee, The Sabre by Bac Tau
This is an enormous technical book about fencing. Not a light read, but very impressive. The author runs a club in Vancouver, and self published this. Not only does the book contain tons of information, it is physically huge, and looks like a big dictionary.
A signed, first edition copy of On Fencing by Aldo Nadi
Love him or hate him, he was arguably the most famous fencer of the last century, and about the closest thing to super-star there has been in our sport. He was hugely influential to foil technique as well, and as that is Bruce's chosen weapon, he might have a special appreciation for this book. That said, if he's interested in such things, he might already have a signed copy, and personally, I can think of other things I'd rather spend $300 on.
Of course, books aren't the only option...
A set of Canadian Fencing Federation patches, plus an Alberta Fencing Association patch. The CFF patches are worn by Canadian fencers competing internationally. Some of us wannabees have them too, although thus far I've been a little too self-conscious to sew mine onto my fencing gear. I have, however, given them to fencers from other countries as a gift. I don't have a picture of the AFA patch, but it is nice too.
Chevalier D'Auvergne has this very nice gift set of a half-sized bottle of champagne, boxed with a miniature sabre like those traditionally used to open bottles of champagne. They sell a full sized set as well, in case you are extra thirsty. I don't know how easy this would be to mail-order, but you can pick these sets up at the Prieur store in Paris if you have nothing better to do.
If anyone else has any brilliant suggestions, I'd love to hear them.
See you on the piste!
John is going to an Iron Maiden concert somewhere in Europe this summer, and has somehow scored a seat on a flight to be piloted by Bruce. If I understand correctly, Bruce's birthday is around the same time, so John wants to get his hero a gift.
Through David, I have been asked to come up with a cool fencing-related gift for Bruce. But what do you give the millionaire rock-star fencer who has everything?
David, who has a knack for tracking down impossible to find books, was thinking some extra-special fencing book would be good, and asked for my recommendations. The problem is, there aren't really any nice gifty fencing books out there. So I've been wracking my brains trying to come up with suitable ideas. Here is what I have so far:
Running with Swords:The Adventures and Misadventures of an Irrepressible Canadian Fencing Champion by Sherain MacKayThe title is self apparent, and the book is lots of fun. I don't know if Bruce would have it, as I don't know how much hype there was on the international circuit about the book, and it was released by a Canadian publisher.
Fencing - Competitive Training and Practice: The Foil, The Epee, The Sabre by Bac Tau
This is an enormous technical book about fencing. Not a light read, but very impressive. The author runs a club in Vancouver, and self published this. Not only does the book contain tons of information, it is physically huge, and looks like a big dictionary.
A signed, first edition copy of On Fencing by Aldo Nadi
Love him or hate him, he was arguably the most famous fencer of the last century, and about the closest thing to super-star there has been in our sport. He was hugely influential to foil technique as well, and as that is Bruce's chosen weapon, he might have a special appreciation for this book. That said, if he's interested in such things, he might already have a signed copy, and personally, I can think of other things I'd rather spend $300 on.
Of course, books aren't the only option...
A set of Canadian Fencing Federation patches, plus an Alberta Fencing Association patch. The CFF patches are worn by Canadian fencers competing internationally. Some of us wannabees have them too, although thus far I've been a little too self-conscious to sew mine onto my fencing gear. I have, however, given them to fencers from other countries as a gift. I don't have a picture of the AFA patch, but it is nice too.
Chevalier D'Auvergne has this very nice gift set of a half-sized bottle of champagne, boxed with a miniature sabre like those traditionally used to open bottles of champagne. They sell a full sized set as well, in case you are extra thirsty. I don't know how easy this would be to mail-order, but you can pick these sets up at the Prieur store in Paris if you have nothing better to do.If anyone else has any brilliant suggestions, I'd love to hear them.
See you on the piste!
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Working on the Railroad
I’m sure you’ve all been wondering if I’m still alive, or maybe you’ve just given up checking for updates. All I can say is my mind has been elsewhere, and my free time has been devoted to pursuits away from the computer.
Most of my “me time” over the past few months has been spent in research, development, purchasing, and general fiddling with the various aspects of the garden railway. . . and I don’t even have track laid down yet. The track plan is pretty much finalised, and the blueprints for the trestle are almost done. The goal for this summer is to get trains running, and Sheila and I will spend next winter in the basement making buildings and other such things to beautify the miniature world.
The past month has been a bit frustrating, thanks to my temperamental locomotive. It used to be that trains were powered through the track, and speed was controlled by cranking more or less electricity through the rails. You can still use these systems, but they have their limits. I’ve gone with a newer type of control system called Digital Command Control. The trains still get their power through the rails, but there is a signal encoded in the current. Each locomotive has a decoder inside with a specific address, so your control unit can communicate independently with each locomotive. What this means is, you can control multiple locomotives on the same bit of track, giving each independent instructions. The other thing it does, is allow you to control a whole bunch of accessory effects like lights and sounds. This allows you to run your models more like real trains. It makes them way more fun to operate, because you literally have all the bells and whistles to play with.
The problem is that on a lot of locomotives, you still have to install this sort of thing yourself. Up till now, the most complicated thing I’d ever rewired was a floor lamp, so trying to figure out how all of this stuff goes in has been a real challenge. It’s been complicated by a short circuit caused by a loose wire (the manufacturer’s fault) that was making things behave in strange ways. I finally tracked down the problem last week, and am now ready to start hooking things back up. Once my loco is running with lights and sound and smoke (intentionally mind you), I’ll see if Sheila can show me how to post a video.
Now if you’re like me, you’ve probably glazed over at this point, cause you really don’t give a rip about the technical aspects of someone else’s hobby. But this is what I’m up to these days, just in case you wondered. Thankfully, all of this electronic mumbo-jumbo should be over with soon, and then, THEN Sheila and I can focus on creating our miniature world in the back yard!
Our little railway is what they call “freelanced”, as opposed to modelled after an actual bit of a real railway. They say if you’re going to freelance, you should still try to have some purpose or theme for the railway to make its existence plausible. So this is our railway’s story.
The Asgård Railway
The Asgård Railway is a modern heritage railway linking the secluded Midgard Valley to the rest of the world somewhere in the Valhalla Mountain Range* of southern BC.
After over 100 years of operation, the AR continues to provide essential freight service for the Midgard Growers Co-Operative, allowing them to ship their fruit, wine, cider, honey, and mead to the rest of the world. As access to the town of Asgård is limited to one winding road, the AR also provides passenger service for commuters and day-trippers in and out of town.
The AR runs both freight and passenger service with vintage rolling stock and locomotives, and thus has become a favourite of railfans everywhere. The summer calendar is full of steam excursions** and photo-freights***, but the real work comes in the late summer and early fall with the autumn fruit rush.
The town of Asgård was settled by folks with a variety of Scandinavian backgrounds, and thus many of the local business and geological features sport names from Norse mythology. There is “Iduna’s Apple Orchard”, “Sleipnir’s Barn” the “Niflheim Ice Plant”, and the “Muspelheim Blacksmith’s Shop”. “Mt. Jötunheim” looms to the north of the town, and a mountain spring, “The Well of Mímir” emerges from beneath the ancient tree “Yggdrasil”.
So, back to the basement to wire my little diesel, and dream of the world we get to build.
*The Valhalla Mountain Range is a real place, and there is even a Valhalla Provincial Park.
**Once I actually acquire a steam loco.
***Freight trains using vintage locos and rolling stock, staged for the cameras of rail history fans. Yes people actually do this!
Most of my “me time” over the past few months has been spent in research, development, purchasing, and general fiddling with the various aspects of the garden railway. . . and I don’t even have track laid down yet. The track plan is pretty much finalised, and the blueprints for the trestle are almost done. The goal for this summer is to get trains running, and Sheila and I will spend next winter in the basement making buildings and other such things to beautify the miniature world.
The past month has been a bit frustrating, thanks to my temperamental locomotive. It used to be that trains were powered through the track, and speed was controlled by cranking more or less electricity through the rails. You can still use these systems, but they have their limits. I’ve gone with a newer type of control system called Digital Command Control. The trains still get their power through the rails, but there is a signal encoded in the current. Each locomotive has a decoder inside with a specific address, so your control unit can communicate independently with each locomotive. What this means is, you can control multiple locomotives on the same bit of track, giving each independent instructions. The other thing it does, is allow you to control a whole bunch of accessory effects like lights and sounds. This allows you to run your models more like real trains. It makes them way more fun to operate, because you literally have all the bells and whistles to play with.
The problem is that on a lot of locomotives, you still have to install this sort of thing yourself. Up till now, the most complicated thing I’d ever rewired was a floor lamp, so trying to figure out how all of this stuff goes in has been a real challenge. It’s been complicated by a short circuit caused by a loose wire (the manufacturer’s fault) that was making things behave in strange ways. I finally tracked down the problem last week, and am now ready to start hooking things back up. Once my loco is running with lights and sound and smoke (intentionally mind you), I’ll see if Sheila can show me how to post a video.
Now if you’re like me, you’ve probably glazed over at this point, cause you really don’t give a rip about the technical aspects of someone else’s hobby. But this is what I’m up to these days, just in case you wondered. Thankfully, all of this electronic mumbo-jumbo should be over with soon, and then, THEN Sheila and I can focus on creating our miniature world in the back yard!
Our little railway is what they call “freelanced”, as opposed to modelled after an actual bit of a real railway. They say if you’re going to freelance, you should still try to have some purpose or theme for the railway to make its existence plausible. So this is our railway’s story.
The Asgård Railway
The Asgård Railway is a modern heritage railway linking the secluded Midgard Valley to the rest of the world somewhere in the Valhalla Mountain Range* of southern BC.
After over 100 years of operation, the AR continues to provide essential freight service for the Midgard Growers Co-Operative, allowing them to ship their fruit, wine, cider, honey, and mead to the rest of the world. As access to the town of Asgård is limited to one winding road, the AR also provides passenger service for commuters and day-trippers in and out of town.
The AR runs both freight and passenger service with vintage rolling stock and locomotives, and thus has become a favourite of railfans everywhere. The summer calendar is full of steam excursions** and photo-freights***, but the real work comes in the late summer and early fall with the autumn fruit rush.
The town of Asgård was settled by folks with a variety of Scandinavian backgrounds, and thus many of the local business and geological features sport names from Norse mythology. There is “Iduna’s Apple Orchard”, “Sleipnir’s Barn” the “Niflheim Ice Plant”, and the “Muspelheim Blacksmith’s Shop”. “Mt. Jötunheim” looms to the north of the town, and a mountain spring, “The Well of Mímir” emerges from beneath the ancient tree “Yggdrasil”.
So, back to the basement to wire my little diesel, and dream of the world we get to build.
*The Valhalla Mountain Range is a real place, and there is even a Valhalla Provincial Park.
**Once I actually acquire a steam loco.
***Freight trains using vintage locos and rolling stock, staged for the cameras of rail history fans. Yes people actually do this!
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Sick days
I've been home from work the past day and a half, with a dribbly nose and a scratchy throat. I'm by no means terribly ill, but I'm fortunate in that I work somewhere that, if you're at all infectious, they don't want to see you.
I spent this morning watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade on the telly with my sister, who is in town visiting. Traditionally in my family, if you stay home sick, you're supposed to watch The Price is Right. Sheila's family has this same tradition, but after her last cold she informed me that Bob Barker had retired, and Drew Carey has replaced him. I like Drew Carey, but it just ain't the same!
Anyway, I've received several jabs from friends lately about not posting, and while I defend myself that I've never been a chatty person, and this is precisely the level of communication (or lack there of) that you should expect from me, I figure I'm home doing nothing, so I don't have an excuse not to post.
So what's new? Christmas preparations have kept me busy at the store. This week we put up and decorated our upside-down, rotating Christmas tree. I'll post a picture as soon as I remember to take one. This was the last big thing that needed doing, so now things will slow down a bit, and my days will consist of selling stuff, and placing orders for January and February.
I haven't been competing in fencing this season. I needed a rest from it. I'm still coaching 2 nights a week, and fencing for my own fun once a week.
Sheila and I finally put the gates up in our back yard. I've been spending spare moments researching supplies for the garden railway. I hope to start ordering stuff after Christmas so I have time to tinker with the locomotives and control systems before we lay track in the spring. If all goes well I hope to have trains running on my birthday.
Aside from this we've done a few other little improvements around the house. I recently hung two weapon shelves in the spare room, along with four classic fencing images.
The framed images are a reproduction poster from the Exposition Universelle de 1900, and three pieces of sheet music, published between 1902 and 1904, each by a different composer, but each titled "The Fencing Girl" This is what years of carefully scouring eBay will do for you. My sister is staying in this room, and I've nick-named it the Swashbuckler Suite.
If anyone could recommend a pianist willing to record these three pieces for me, I'd be much obliged.
Snifflingly yours,
Nathan
I spent this morning watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade on the telly with my sister, who is in town visiting. Traditionally in my family, if you stay home sick, you're supposed to watch The Price is Right. Sheila's family has this same tradition, but after her last cold she informed me that Bob Barker had retired, and Drew Carey has replaced him. I like Drew Carey, but it just ain't the same!
Anyway, I've received several jabs from friends lately about not posting, and while I defend myself that I've never been a chatty person, and this is precisely the level of communication (or lack there of) that you should expect from me, I figure I'm home doing nothing, so I don't have an excuse not to post.
So what's new? Christmas preparations have kept me busy at the store. This week we put up and decorated our upside-down, rotating Christmas tree. I'll post a picture as soon as I remember to take one. This was the last big thing that needed doing, so now things will slow down a bit, and my days will consist of selling stuff, and placing orders for January and February.
I haven't been competing in fencing this season. I needed a rest from it. I'm still coaching 2 nights a week, and fencing for my own fun once a week.
Sheila and I finally put the gates up in our back yard. I've been spending spare moments researching supplies for the garden railway. I hope to start ordering stuff after Christmas so I have time to tinker with the locomotives and control systems before we lay track in the spring. If all goes well I hope to have trains running on my birthday.
Aside from this we've done a few other little improvements around the house. I recently hung two weapon shelves in the spare room, along with four classic fencing images.
The framed images are a reproduction poster from the Exposition Universelle de 1900, and three pieces of sheet music, published between 1902 and 1904, each by a different composer, but each titled "The Fencing Girl" This is what years of carefully scouring eBay will do for you. My sister is staying in this room, and I've nick-named it the Swashbuckler Suite.
If anyone could recommend a pianist willing to record these three pieces for me, I'd be much obliged.
Snifflingly yours,
Nathan
Monday, October 15, 2007
New Pets
My dear wife recently inherited a herd of 8 cows, who live in a painting in a nice guilt frame. The cows are tended by a farmer, and kept company by a rooster and chickens, and some ducks that live down the road a ways. We’ve hung the cows above our mantel, where they can watch us when we’re in the living room, or look out the window when we’re not their. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard them gently mooooing from the living room when I’m mucking around in the kitchen, and I enjoy their quiet company immensely.
Since settling into their new home, the cows have been trying to spot a field of hay bales they noticed when they were on their way to our house. We’ve wisely decided to hang this painting around the corner, out of the bovine line of site, as we feared we might come downstairs one day to find the cows looking fatter, and the hay bales mysteriously missing.
We have yet to figure out how we might get some milk from our new pets, but it has occurred to me that we might be able to enlist the help of the two girls with a bucket who live in a painting my mother has in her dining room.
Since settling into their new home, the cows have been trying to spot a field of hay bales they noticed when they were on their way to our house. We’ve wisely decided to hang this painting around the corner, out of the bovine line of site, as we feared we might come downstairs one day to find the cows looking fatter, and the hay bales mysteriously missing.
We have yet to figure out how we might get some milk from our new pets, but it has occurred to me that we might be able to enlist the help of the two girls with a bucket who live in a painting my mother has in her dining room.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Labelling Music
So, initially I had planned to tell you all of the amazing CDs I picked up at the Calgary Folk Fest a few weeks back, but I've gotten hung up on how to describe the music.
The CD I've been listening to the most ("constantly, unending, I'm going to smack him if he plays it one more time" Sheila thinks to herself) is Blacklisted by Neko Case. Eons ago I heard a track from this CD on the CBC, and wrote down Neko's name and the CD title. I had since forgotten what she even sounded like, but the CD was still on my "to buy list" and as she was to perform at the Folk Fest, I picked up the CD there. Her performance was fantastic, and I wasn't sorry I bought the CD.
The Folk Fest program described her music as "twang-noir" which I think is a brilliant description, and applies to a lot of other artists I'm into right now. I'd been trying to come up with other ways to describe Neko's sound, so that I could inform you all of her awesomeness, and I decided that if Patsy Cline, and Nick Cave had a fling, Neko Case would be the love child.
Now, most of you reading this know who Patsy Cline is, and probably know what she sounds like, but only a few of you will have heard Nick Cave and know what you heard.
So then I was trying to figure out how one would classify Nick Cave... The best I could come up with was that he was equal parts Emo and Goth, but the problem is that he predates both styles.
Most of you can identify a goth-type person on sight (black clothes, severe make-up, and an attitude that says "Someday I'll slit my wrists for Jesus"). Emo is a bit dodgier, and I'll confess after I first heard the term tossed about, I was so out of touch I had to google it to find a definition. Since then I've come to recognise emo as lots of piercings, lots of tattoos, and the geekiest eye-glasses money can buy.
I digress...
I'm wondering if I need to start reading music magazines to find out what the descriptive terms are, who the key figures of comparison are, and why, when I walk into HMV, I never find the CDs I'm looking for in the sections I'd expect.
So yah, um, Neko Case is cool, check her out.
For interest's sake, if you feel like responding, answer these 3 questions:
1. Are you listening to anything obsessively right now (and what)?
2. How would you describe the style?
3. What is the most bizarre, or most brilliant description of a musical style you've ever heard?
The CD I've been listening to the most ("constantly, unending, I'm going to smack him if he plays it one more time" Sheila thinks to herself) is Blacklisted by Neko Case. Eons ago I heard a track from this CD on the CBC, and wrote down Neko's name and the CD title. I had since forgotten what she even sounded like, but the CD was still on my "to buy list" and as she was to perform at the Folk Fest, I picked up the CD there. Her performance was fantastic, and I wasn't sorry I bought the CD.
The Folk Fest program described her music as "twang-noir" which I think is a brilliant description, and applies to a lot of other artists I'm into right now. I'd been trying to come up with other ways to describe Neko's sound, so that I could inform you all of her awesomeness, and I decided that if Patsy Cline, and Nick Cave had a fling, Neko Case would be the love child.
Now, most of you reading this know who Patsy Cline is, and probably know what she sounds like, but only a few of you will have heard Nick Cave and know what you heard.
So then I was trying to figure out how one would classify Nick Cave... The best I could come up with was that he was equal parts Emo and Goth, but the problem is that he predates both styles.
Most of you can identify a goth-type person on sight (black clothes, severe make-up, and an attitude that says "Someday I'll slit my wrists for Jesus"). Emo is a bit dodgier, and I'll confess after I first heard the term tossed about, I was so out of touch I had to google it to find a definition. Since then I've come to recognise emo as lots of piercings, lots of tattoos, and the geekiest eye-glasses money can buy.
I digress...
I'm wondering if I need to start reading music magazines to find out what the descriptive terms are, who the key figures of comparison are, and why, when I walk into HMV, I never find the CDs I'm looking for in the sections I'd expect.
So yah, um, Neko Case is cool, check her out.
For interest's sake, if you feel like responding, answer these 3 questions:
1. Are you listening to anything obsessively right now (and what)?
2. How would you describe the style?
3. What is the most bizarre, or most brilliant description of a musical style you've ever heard?
Friday, July 20, 2007
Edgemont Deer
If you're at all familiar with Edgemont you know that if you drive down Edgemont Boulevard you'll pass a big wooded hill, and another smaller green space on the other side of the road.
There is a herd of deer that frequent the area, and as I take this route to work everyday, I'm fortunate enough to catch glimpses of the deer once a week or so. Over the years I've been privileged enough to see the whole herd, from a distance, running full tilt along the top edge of the hill. Then there was the time the herd was grazing peacefully on the hillside, enjoying the company of what appeared to be their family pets; a pair of coyotes. You laugh, but the two species were within mere metres of each other, and seemed totally unconcerned, even relaxed.
Wednesday morning I rolled down the boulevard to the three-way stop, and just as I was about to proceed, caught motion out of the corner of my eye. I watched as a great big stag leisurely bounded down the hill through the tall grass. He had an enormous rack of fuzzy antlers. I don't know how many points he had, but you could tell he had done quite well for himself over the years. He hopped the fence, and slowed by the side of the road to make sure I wasn't going anywhere. Once he was sure I was too awe-struck to move, he trotted casually across the road about ten metres in front of me, and disappeared into the trees on the other side of the road.
I had just started to move when it happened again! Another stag, again with a huge set of antlers, followed the same path as the first, gawked at me a bit as he crossed the road, and paused on the other side to shake his head and waggle his ears. I don't know how he didn't give himself a kink in the neck shaking that much antler around.
Sheila and I have jack-rabbits in our neighbourhood, and we love seeing them snuffling around our yard. I'm even at the point that, as we plan our garden, I've started to ponder what I can plant that will keep them happily munching so I can watch them. I don't mind providing a salad bar, as long as they don't mind me sitting on the deck, grinning like a fool at them. Now if only there were deer in Coventry Hills.
There is a herd of deer that frequent the area, and as I take this route to work everyday, I'm fortunate enough to catch glimpses of the deer once a week or so. Over the years I've been privileged enough to see the whole herd, from a distance, running full tilt along the top edge of the hill. Then there was the time the herd was grazing peacefully on the hillside, enjoying the company of what appeared to be their family pets; a pair of coyotes. You laugh, but the two species were within mere metres of each other, and seemed totally unconcerned, even relaxed.
Wednesday morning I rolled down the boulevard to the three-way stop, and just as I was about to proceed, caught motion out of the corner of my eye. I watched as a great big stag leisurely bounded down the hill through the tall grass. He had an enormous rack of fuzzy antlers. I don't know how many points he had, but you could tell he had done quite well for himself over the years. He hopped the fence, and slowed by the side of the road to make sure I wasn't going anywhere. Once he was sure I was too awe-struck to move, he trotted casually across the road about ten metres in front of me, and disappeared into the trees on the other side of the road.
I had just started to move when it happened again! Another stag, again with a huge set of antlers, followed the same path as the first, gawked at me a bit as he crossed the road, and paused on the other side to shake his head and waggle his ears. I don't know how he didn't give himself a kink in the neck shaking that much antler around.
Sheila and I have jack-rabbits in our neighbourhood, and we love seeing them snuffling around our yard. I'm even at the point that, as we plan our garden, I've started to ponder what I can plant that will keep them happily munching so I can watch them. I don't mind providing a salad bar, as long as they don't mind me sitting on the deck, grinning like a fool at them. Now if only there were deer in Coventry Hills.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Bon Voyage
Well, yesterday my parents, sister, two cats, and the dog stuffed themselves into their new, pearlescent black, Ford Escape (named the Black Pearl), and set a course cross country to the thriving metropolos of Canning, Nova Scotia (Population 800).
The six of them spent the previous week at Sheila and my place, after the old house in Crescent Heights was finaly handed to the new owners. It was a bit sad to say goodby to the house where my famliy lived for fifteen years, but I was surprised how much more upsetting it was to say goodby to the garden. I guess the little house I share with Sheila had taken the title of home, but as we haven't beautified our yard yet, my Mom's garden hasn't been replaced in my heart.
I enjoyed having my family stay with us, despite the enormous fuzz-balls I keep finding. I mean, I've lived with pets most of my life, but honestly, how could the three critters drop that much fur in five days?!
My older brother lives in San Francisco, and now that my parents and sister have moved to the other end of the country, I'm the only member of my nuclear family who still lives in Calgary. I won't say I'm not upset they're all so far away, and yes, it makes me feel lonely when I think of it.
I do wish them the best, and I hope they have a great adventure. This is (to my knowledge anyway) the craziest thing any of them has ever done, and I admire that.
So Mom, Dad, Gill, Turtle, Winnie, and Belal, have a great drive, I hope the new house is wonderful, you're all nuckin' futs, love you lots.
The six of them spent the previous week at Sheila and my place, after the old house in Crescent Heights was finaly handed to the new owners. It was a bit sad to say goodby to the house where my famliy lived for fifteen years, but I was surprised how much more upsetting it was to say goodby to the garden. I guess the little house I share with Sheila had taken the title of home, but as we haven't beautified our yard yet, my Mom's garden hasn't been replaced in my heart.
I enjoyed having my family stay with us, despite the enormous fuzz-balls I keep finding. I mean, I've lived with pets most of my life, but honestly, how could the three critters drop that much fur in five days?!
My older brother lives in San Francisco, and now that my parents and sister have moved to the other end of the country, I'm the only member of my nuclear family who still lives in Calgary. I won't say I'm not upset they're all so far away, and yes, it makes me feel lonely when I think of it.
I do wish them the best, and I hope they have a great adventure. This is (to my knowledge anyway) the craziest thing any of them has ever done, and I admire that.
So Mom, Dad, Gill, Turtle, Winnie, and Belal, have a great drive, I hope the new house is wonderful, you're all nuckin' futs, love you lots.
Friday, June 1, 2007
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Home Again
Sheila and I have returned home after a fantastic trip. We saw all of the sights, ate great food, and shopped a little too much. I'm sure you'll all get to hear the full story and see the photos in person at some point, but I thought I'd feature a few of the highlights here.
As I mentioned in a pre-trip post, I arranged a visit to the shop of Maître Jacques Castinet, a fencing antiques dealer. On the 7th we met him near the Porte d'Orléans metro station and he drove us to his little shop in a suburb of Paris. He speaks very little English, and my French is equally limited, but we got along just fine.
The shop is amazing, not huge mind you, but stacked to the rafters with old weapons, masks, books, prints, paintings, sculptures, and pretty much anything else having anything to do with fencing. I was in heaven! I easily could have spent a week there drooling over all of it.
In the end it took me about an hour of browsing, and hemming and hawing before I decided on a 19th century dueling sabre, and a matched set of 19th century lunette foils for myself, and an additional lunette foil for a friend at my fencing club. I won't tell you how much I spent - more than I had planned, but I don't regret a Euro-cent of it. The Maître also threw in a couple of posters and magazines, as well as a bottle of Maestro - Parfum De L'Escrime (I kid you not) that Sheila and I had been chuckling about. In thanks for his hospitality I had brought along a set of Canadian Fencing Federation, and Alberta Fencing Association patches to add to his collection. It was a delightful time.
A few days later we popped up to the conjoined towns of Valenciennes and Saint-Saulve, where my Mother's Father's Mother was born. We spent a day and a half wandering around the towns, looking for traces of the family's history there, aided by some vague directions from a Great-Uncle, and a copy of that portion of the family tree. Unfortunately that branch is missing a lot of information, as my Dad only had the memories of a few family members to go on when piecing it together. Much of the family scattered during WWII, and for one reason or another, the various siblings and cousins didn't manage to stay in touch.
I didn't expect to uncover any great secrets or missing links. Mostly I wanted to see the town where that eighth of me is from. To walk the same streets, see the canal, the houses, and the church where my great, and great-great grandparents lived their lives.
We did find some traces. In the cemetery we found the graves of my Great-Great Grandparents, as well as a Great-Great Uncle, and a number of other individuals who had the same family names, but who's place on the family tree remains a mystery.
We discovered a fresh pot of geraniums on my Great-Great Grandparents grave. Some living local relative still thinks of them. We got our hands on a copy of the phone directory and took down all of the addresses of individuals in the area bearing the family name. The plan is to send out letters with copies of the family tree to all of them, asking if they are related, and if they can fill in some of the blanks.
The rest of the trip was terrific too. I got to show Sheila some of my favourite places, as well as explore new ones with her. We spent a lot of time poking around Île de la Cité and Île Saint-Louis. Hôtel des Invalides was another highlight, housing several terrific museums, Napoleon's tomb, and the most impressive collection of cannon I have ever seen. Sheila's favourite spot was Mont-Saint-Michel, which I'll agree was spectacular, and I'd happily visit it again.
Anyway, like I said, you'll all get to see all of the photos eventually. Maybe we'll even play you our La Vie En Rose music box. You might call it a tacky souvenir, but Edith Piaf and I know a classic when we hear it =D
Santé!
As I mentioned in a pre-trip post, I arranged a visit to the shop of Maître Jacques Castinet, a fencing antiques dealer. On the 7th we met him near the Porte d'Orléans metro station and he drove us to his little shop in a suburb of Paris. He speaks very little English, and my French is equally limited, but we got along just fine. The shop is amazing, not huge mind you, but stacked to the rafters with old weapons, masks, books, prints, paintings, sculptures, and pretty much anything else having anything to do with fencing. I was in heaven! I easily could have spent a week there drooling over all of it.
In the end it took me about an hour of browsing, and hemming and hawing before I decided on a 19th century dueling sabre, and a matched set of 19th century lunette foils for myself, and an additional lunette foil for a friend at my fencing club. I won't tell you how much I spent - more than I had planned, but I don't regret a Euro-cent of it. The Maître also threw in a couple of posters and magazines, as well as a bottle of Maestro - Parfum De L'Escrime (I kid you not) that Sheila and I had been chuckling about. In thanks for his hospitality I had brought along a set of Canadian Fencing Federation, and Alberta Fencing Association patches to add to his collection. It was a delightful time.
A few days later we popped up to the conjoined towns of Valenciennes and Saint-Saulve, where my Mother's Father's Mother was born. We spent a day and a half wandering around the towns, looking for traces of the family's history there, aided by some vague directions from a Great-Uncle, and a copy of that portion of the family tree. Unfortunately that branch is missing a lot of information, as my Dad only had the memories of a few family members to go on when piecing it together. Much of the family scattered during WWII, and for one reason or another, the various siblings and cousins didn't manage to stay in touch.
I didn't expect to uncover any great secrets or missing links. Mostly I wanted to see the town where that eighth of me is from. To walk the same streets, see the canal, the houses, and the church where my great, and great-great grandparents lived their lives.
We did find some traces. In the cemetery we found the graves of my Great-Great Grandparents, as well as a Great-Great Uncle, and a number of other individuals who had the same family names, but who's place on the family tree remains a mystery. We discovered a fresh pot of geraniums on my Great-Great Grandparents grave. Some living local relative still thinks of them. We got our hands on a copy of the phone directory and took down all of the addresses of individuals in the area bearing the family name. The plan is to send out letters with copies of the family tree to all of them, asking if they are related, and if they can fill in some of the blanks.
The rest of the trip was terrific too. I got to show Sheila some of my favourite places, as well as explore new ones with her. We spent a lot of time poking around Île de la Cité and Île Saint-Louis. Hôtel des Invalides was another highlight, housing several terrific museums, Napoleon's tomb, and the most impressive collection of cannon I have ever seen. Sheila's favourite spot was Mont-Saint-Michel, which I'll agree was spectacular, and I'd happily visit it again.Anyway, like I said, you'll all get to see all of the photos eventually. Maybe we'll even play you our La Vie En Rose music box. You might call it a tacky souvenir, but Edith Piaf and I know a classic when we hear it =D
Santé!
Sunday, May 6, 2007
Elections & Laundry
Well, a few moments ago the ringing of church bells and the round of cheers from down the street alerted us to the fact that the French election has just been won. I don't really care, except for the possibilty that in this country where people strike at the drop of a hat, some people may choose to make life awkward tomorrow in protest of the winner. We shall see.
In other news, we've spent the last two evenings doing laundry in our hotel room bath tub. There doesn't seem to be a self-serve laundry mat in the immediate area, so we bought some suds and improvised. I just pulled my socks in from the window rail, as the wind had picked up =D
The weather has cooled slightly, but it is still pleasant out. We spent today wandering around central Paris, and stopped for lunch at The Beaver, a Canadian bar. The burger and fries cured any home sickness we had for a bit.
Anyway, we're still having a fabulous time, and can't believe we're already halfway through our trip!
Now to go rinse and hang the next load.
Hugs to all.
In other news, we've spent the last two evenings doing laundry in our hotel room bath tub. There doesn't seem to be a self-serve laundry mat in the immediate area, so we bought some suds and improvised. I just pulled my socks in from the window rail, as the wind had picked up =D
The weather has cooled slightly, but it is still pleasant out. We spent today wandering around central Paris, and stopped for lunch at The Beaver, a Canadian bar. The burger and fries cured any home sickness we had for a bit.
Anyway, we're still having a fabulous time, and can't believe we're already halfway through our trip!
Now to go rinse and hang the next load.
Hugs to all.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Paris
Well we are here and it is fabulous. We've spent the past 4 days in museums, cathedrals, parks, cafes, and the metro. I could be happier, but not by much, and I don't think the time in prison would be worth it =D
This morning we leave the creamy glow of Paris behind, and exchange it for the creamy cheeses of Normandy. This afternoon we'll see the Bayeux Tapestry, and I'll have some cidre. Then tomorrow we do the tour of Canadian 2nd World War sights (Juno Beach, etc.) and I will have some more cidre.
To those of you who have already been here, come back. You know you miss it, but you don't realise how much until you catch the first glimps from the plane of the French countryside rolling out to the horizon. And if you've never been, all I can offer you is my pity.
I've got a lot of friends who have given in to wanderlust this spring. There's Andrew in Hong Kong, Andrew and Colleen in Greece, Keri and Hayes in Turkey, Gillian heading to San Francisco, and Jena off to Africa or Italy a little later. I wish all of you safe travel, and when I have my cidre this evening I will drink my favourite toast for you:
To friends at home, and friends abroad.
See you all again soon.
This morning we leave the creamy glow of Paris behind, and exchange it for the creamy cheeses of Normandy. This afternoon we'll see the Bayeux Tapestry, and I'll have some cidre. Then tomorrow we do the tour of Canadian 2nd World War sights (Juno Beach, etc.) and I will have some more cidre.
To those of you who have already been here, come back. You know you miss it, but you don't realise how much until you catch the first glimps from the plane of the French countryside rolling out to the horizon. And if you've never been, all I can offer you is my pity.
I've got a lot of friends who have given in to wanderlust this spring. There's Andrew in Hong Kong, Andrew and Colleen in Greece, Keri and Hayes in Turkey, Gillian heading to San Francisco, and Jena off to Africa or Italy a little later. I wish all of you safe travel, and when I have my cidre this evening I will drink my favourite toast for you:
To friends at home, and friends abroad.
See you all again soon.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Summer Camp
Well, the days are flying off the little page-a-day calendar in my head as the big trip approaches. I'm still finding it hard to believe that in less than two weeks I'll be strolling down the Rue De Rivoli with my darling wife. Tonight I plan to go through some of my favourite photo books of France to get myself all excited. I also need to organise my shopping list. Thus far, it consists of:
- Medieval-style spiced wine from Provins
- Cidre from Normandy
- A CD or two of traditional music from Normandy
- Antique fencing weapons from Maitre Jacques Castinet
- Fencing odds and sods from the Prieur store
- Something cool from the Louvre Gift Shop
- Something goofy from the Parc Asterix Gift Shop
I'll admit, I'm a shopper when I go on vacation. I like to buy myself things I can't get at home. I try to stay away from most of the tacky souvenirs (although I do own a miniature Eiffel Tower from my first trip over). Mostly I look for stuff that will evoke the place for me once I get home. There's the Laguiole pocket knife, bought last time I went, that I carry everywhere with me. A fair amount of fencing gear has come home with me from the Prieur store, and kept me happily armed and dressed on the piste. Then there's the CD of medieval music I picked up my first time over, on a day it happened to rain. The liner notes in the CD got wet, and warped and puckered as a result. It reminds me of rainy Paris every time I open the case.
As much as I like shopping, I think my first delight in travel is sending postcards. I'm hoping to wrap up my list of postcard recipients in the next few days. If past trips are any indication, a significant amount of my spending money will be used on cards and stamps. I've promised to do my best to find fencing specific postcards or stamps for my friends at the club, except for the one or two who will receive cards with naughty photos on them. Can't say I don't know some interesting people!
If I haven't already offered, and you know me well enough to have my email address, drop me a line and I'll send you a postcard too. Please specify if you prefer naughty or not ;D
On a completely different subject, in case any of you are wondering, my parents have made an offer, which has been accepted, on a house in Nova Scotia. They will be listing their Calgary home shortly, and my sister will also list her apartment.
Did you ever have that dream as a kid, where you went away to summer camp, and returned home to find your family had moved away without you?
See you all when I get back, I think. . .
Monday, April 9, 2007
I'm feeling a little hypocritical this afternoon. Whenever I get on the computer I check all of my friends' blogs to see what is new, and when someone doesn't post for a while I feel like they're neglecting their duty to keep me entertained. And here am I; haven't posted in almost a month.
It's been a hell of a month, a lot going on around me that I could report, but I don't know what to say about a lot of it.
Back on Saint Paddy's Day Sheila and I attended a function hosted by a couple of friends who are in the midst of emotionally trying times. I won't go into detail, that's their business. The end result for one will be the opportunity for the complete reinvention of self. Hopefully they both get that opportunity in the end. I wish love and happiness for both of them.
We returned home from the party to two serious-sounding phone messages, and on returning the calls, learned that Sheila's Grandmother had passed away. Her Mom hopped the next flight to Denmark to deal with all of the things that need doing under these circumstances. She gets back Thursday, and we'll all be glad to have her home again.
Last week Sheila and I pet and house sat for my parents while they went on a little trip. Most of you know my folks have always wanted to move to Vancouver Island, so you'll understand why I was a tad shocked when they announced they were taking a trip to Nova Scotia to go house-hunting. We had dinner with them last night, and after hearing the full report of the trip, I'd say it's about an 80% probability they'll go. If they do go, it seems my sister will likely go to. All I can say is that's a hell of a long way away.
Our manager at the bookstore continues to look for new digs. I'm completely in favour of a move, but I get the feeling I'll be hauling a lot of heavy furniture this summer.
Our trip to France looms closer, and I think I'm a few days away from starting to panic. It doesn't quite seem real yet, even though we're booking the last few hotels. I'm nervous because I had hoped to have a little more French under my belt before we went. As a matter of fact, I should be practicing with the software right now. I know it'll be fun and great when we get there, but it gives me the willies just at the moment.
Through all of this I've been distracting myself by planning our backyard railway. I've ordered a half-dozen books about layout planning and operation, and have been tinkering with track plans whenever I get five minutes. There are still a lot of decisions to be made, but the nice thing is, it's a hobby, and none of those decisions will have any great impact on our lives if we choose one way or another. If we make up our minds, and break our backs, and luck is on our side, we might get track laid by the end of the summer.
All this other craziness can wait; I want to run my trains.
It's been a hell of a month, a lot going on around me that I could report, but I don't know what to say about a lot of it.
Back on Saint Paddy's Day Sheila and I attended a function hosted by a couple of friends who are in the midst of emotionally trying times. I won't go into detail, that's their business. The end result for one will be the opportunity for the complete reinvention of self. Hopefully they both get that opportunity in the end. I wish love and happiness for both of them.
We returned home from the party to two serious-sounding phone messages, and on returning the calls, learned that Sheila's Grandmother had passed away. Her Mom hopped the next flight to Denmark to deal with all of the things that need doing under these circumstances. She gets back Thursday, and we'll all be glad to have her home again.
Last week Sheila and I pet and house sat for my parents while they went on a little trip. Most of you know my folks have always wanted to move to Vancouver Island, so you'll understand why I was a tad shocked when they announced they were taking a trip to Nova Scotia to go house-hunting. We had dinner with them last night, and after hearing the full report of the trip, I'd say it's about an 80% probability they'll go. If they do go, it seems my sister will likely go to. All I can say is that's a hell of a long way away.
Our manager at the bookstore continues to look for new digs. I'm completely in favour of a move, but I get the feeling I'll be hauling a lot of heavy furniture this summer.
Our trip to France looms closer, and I think I'm a few days away from starting to panic. It doesn't quite seem real yet, even though we're booking the last few hotels. I'm nervous because I had hoped to have a little more French under my belt before we went. As a matter of fact, I should be practicing with the software right now. I know it'll be fun and great when we get there, but it gives me the willies just at the moment.
Through all of this I've been distracting myself by planning our backyard railway. I've ordered a half-dozen books about layout planning and operation, and have been tinkering with track plans whenever I get five minutes. There are still a lot of decisions to be made, but the nice thing is, it's a hobby, and none of those decisions will have any great impact on our lives if we choose one way or another. If we make up our minds, and break our backs, and luck is on our side, we might get track laid by the end of the summer.
All this other craziness can wait; I want to run my trains.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Little Red Caboose
Over the past couple of weeks Sheila and I have been rethinking our plans for the back yard.
The original idea was to do patio stones on one half, and put in a petanque pitch on the other half. When building our fence last summer we cut out half of our parking pad to extend the usable area of the yard to allow for the length needed for the pitch. Petanque is a fabulous game, suitable for an evening's entertainment with friends, over wine or pastis. We thought it would be lots of fun, and require very little maintenance.
It is the joy and curse of a new home, that you start with a completely blank slate. Your starting point consists of property lines and a few bylaws. The rest is up to your hopes, dreams and whatever labour you can squeeze out of your friends and family in exchange for beer and burgers. This summer represents year two, in what we hope will be a three year building schedule for the yard. The beginning of phase two allowed for a re-examination of our plans.
I'm a life long train nut. My first train was a Lego passenger set I got when I was four. I still have it, and have purchased a load more Lego train items over the past few years. The problem is, even in our new house, I have no where to set up the darned things in any state of permanence. I've been mildly bummed about this. We have a great basement which will eventually be a great workshop. We have two spare bedrooms, one of which is the library/office, and the other where I keep my fencing gear and odds and ends. I could put a train in there, but we do plan to have a kid someday, and I'll lose the room then.
A couple of Mondays a go I was running some errands, and my route took me past one of the model train shops in town. I went in to do a bit of window shopping. Over dinner that evening I told Sheila I'd been rethinking the petanque pitch, and asked her what she thought of doing a garden railway instead. It wasn't the first time the possibility had come up, but it was the first time I took it seriously. Whenever Sheila and I want to know anything about anything, the first thing we do is order a book (I do work in a bookstore after all). The book came, we did some reading, did some talking, and came to a decision.
Yesterday we drove down to another model train shop, and bought ourselves a little red caboose, and one length of track for it to sit on. I figured it would be a good place to start, to give us something visual to refer to while we plan our railway. I'm pleased as punch just looking at it sitting on the table. It has doors that open, and operating interior and exterior lights. You can even replace the chimney on it with one that produces smoke.
It isn't a railroad empire yet, but for the moment I can count myself as equal to the mayors of every small town in Alberta. After all, every small town in Alberta has a caboose sitting on a piece of track, right?
The original idea was to do patio stones on one half, and put in a petanque pitch on the other half. When building our fence last summer we cut out half of our parking pad to extend the usable area of the yard to allow for the length needed for the pitch. Petanque is a fabulous game, suitable for an evening's entertainment with friends, over wine or pastis. We thought it would be lots of fun, and require very little maintenance.
It is the joy and curse of a new home, that you start with a completely blank slate. Your starting point consists of property lines and a few bylaws. The rest is up to your hopes, dreams and whatever labour you can squeeze out of your friends and family in exchange for beer and burgers. This summer represents year two, in what we hope will be a three year building schedule for the yard. The beginning of phase two allowed for a re-examination of our plans.
I'm a life long train nut. My first train was a Lego passenger set I got when I was four. I still have it, and have purchased a load more Lego train items over the past few years. The problem is, even in our new house, I have no where to set up the darned things in any state of permanence. I've been mildly bummed about this. We have a great basement which will eventually be a great workshop. We have two spare bedrooms, one of which is the library/office, and the other where I keep my fencing gear and odds and ends. I could put a train in there, but we do plan to have a kid someday, and I'll lose the room then.
A couple of Mondays a go I was running some errands, and my route took me past one of the model train shops in town. I went in to do a bit of window shopping. Over dinner that evening I told Sheila I'd been rethinking the petanque pitch, and asked her what she thought of doing a garden railway instead. It wasn't the first time the possibility had come up, but it was the first time I took it seriously. Whenever Sheila and I want to know anything about anything, the first thing we do is order a book (I do work in a bookstore after all). The book came, we did some reading, did some talking, and came to a decision.
Yesterday we drove down to another model train shop, and bought ourselves a little red caboose, and one length of track for it to sit on. I figured it would be a good place to start, to give us something visual to refer to while we plan our railway. I'm pleased as punch just looking at it sitting on the table. It has doors that open, and operating interior and exterior lights. You can even replace the chimney on it with one that produces smoke.
It isn't a railroad empire yet, but for the moment I can count myself as equal to the mayors of every small town in Alberta. After all, every small town in Alberta has a caboose sitting on a piece of track, right?
Monday, March 5, 2007
Things to do Before I Die
The "To do/see before you die" theme has featured largely in many books published over the past few years, not to mention several recent commercials. Up till now I haven't bothered putting a list like that together, although I think a few of my friends and family have.
But this year, I turn 30. Now don't get me wrong, I'm actually fairly comfortable with that fact, probably because I've spent the past few years getting used to the idea, and because I'm content with where I am in my life at this point. It doesn't hurt that have a few friends who are over 30, but are still adventurous, fun loving, and youthful. The view from this side doesn't look all that bad.
I do still plan to mark the occasion. A few years ago I promised myself I'd go back to France in celebration of the big 3-0, and most of you know that Sheila and I are heading over this spring. Sheila is also planning a surprise for the actual weekend of my birthday ( no, I haven't been snooping, she's told me this much).
But the round number has reminded me that time passes, and if you don't make plans, things often go undone. Thus, I've started making my list of things I'd like to do before I'm too old, infirm, or dead to do them. In no particular order . . .
Get DNA genealogy tests done. My Dad has done an amazing job tracing our family's history back quite a ways. It's cool to know where all of my various ancestors lived, but of course, the records only go back so far. There are a few places offering to take samples of your DNA and tell you what geographical areas your genes are associated with. National Geographic even offered a kit for a while, but if I remember correctly, it only did mitochondrial DNA, so it gave you a purely matrilineal picture of your family history.
This is something I'd really like to have done, to get that bigger picture of where my blood fits into the amazing path of human migration and cross-cultural interaction over the millennia. I'm inclined to wait until the price comes down, and the depth of investigation improves. Maybe I'll ask for this for my 40th birthday.
Visit the places my ancestors lived. In the mean time I do know where most of my great-grandparents are from, and some even farther back than that. This spring's trip to France will allow me to tick the first destination off of this sub list. Sheila and I will be doing a side trip up near the Belgian border, to the little town of Saint Saulve. This is where my Mother's Father's Mother was born. I've been given some information about former family homes by one of my great-uncles, so we'll spend a few days getting to know the area, drinking in the local estaminets, and searching the cemeteries for the family name.
Live in France for a year. This will be my third trip to France, and since my first trip, I've known that the country is important to me. Every time I come home, I know I'll need to go back to keep myself happy. As corny as it sounds, part of me stays there . This is why for the past 7 years, I've carried an unused ticket for the Paris Metro in my wallet. A little memento, promising me I'll go back.
I feel that to really get to know a place, you'd need to see it through all of its seasons. France is worth getting to know. So someday, probably after whatever kids we have are grown, I'd like to spend a year there. I'm not sure at this stage if I'd want to spend it in Paris, or out in a smaller town, but wherever it is, remember, you're all invited to visit.
Go on pilgrimage. Despite the fact I consider myself devoutly agnostic, I've always been fascinated by the idea of pilgrimage. Mostly I think I like the idea spending a few weeks on foot, following a path that thousands of others have walked, over hundreds of years, to get somewhere special. I haven't decided which route or destination I'd choose. Maybe Santiago de Compostela in Spain, or maybe the Via Apia into Rome. I'd just like to see the cities and the countryside, move at that slow pace, and experience the landscape and elements the way others did hundreds of years before.
Get my motorcycle license, and own a Vespa.
I've had a bit of a thing for motorcycles since highschool, although I've never done much about it, mostly cause my Mom would flip out. Originally I wanted a Harley, but softened to sports-bikes over the years, and after trying out a friends scooter a while back, decided a Vespa would suit me the best. I know you can get a little 50cc that you don't need a license for, but if I was to get a scooter, I'd want one with enough power to carry two people, and do a bit of highway touring. Such a bike would necessitate the motorcycle license, which I'd say is a worthwhile accomplishment on its own. This is the Vespa I've got my eye on.
Hop a freight train. Before anyone freaks out at me about this one, let me just say, it'll probably never happen. I know how ridiculously dangerous it would be to attempt to board a moving freight train, and since they lock box cars these days, where would I ride anyway? This one makes it onto the list only because it's something I've always thought would be a grand adventure, and I will probably always think so. I mean, hoboing one's way across the country is part of every North American's collective history. There are people who still do it out of necessity, and a few who do it for fun.
While I might not ever hop a train, don't be surprised if you see me hanging around by the railyards, or scratching hobo signs into track-side fence posts.
Six items, I guess it's a start, and I know I'll add to it.
So tell me folks, what tops your lists?
But this year, I turn 30. Now don't get me wrong, I'm actually fairly comfortable with that fact, probably because I've spent the past few years getting used to the idea, and because I'm content with where I am in my life at this point. It doesn't hurt that have a few friends who are over 30, but are still adventurous, fun loving, and youthful. The view from this side doesn't look all that bad.
I do still plan to mark the occasion. A few years ago I promised myself I'd go back to France in celebration of the big 3-0, and most of you know that Sheila and I are heading over this spring. Sheila is also planning a surprise for the actual weekend of my birthday ( no, I haven't been snooping, she's told me this much).
But the round number has reminded me that time passes, and if you don't make plans, things often go undone. Thus, I've started making my list of things I'd like to do before I'm too old, infirm, or dead to do them. In no particular order . . .
Get DNA genealogy tests done. My Dad has done an amazing job tracing our family's history back quite a ways. It's cool to know where all of my various ancestors lived, but of course, the records only go back so far. There are a few places offering to take samples of your DNA and tell you what geographical areas your genes are associated with. National Geographic even offered a kit for a while, but if I remember correctly, it only did mitochondrial DNA, so it gave you a purely matrilineal picture of your family history.
This is something I'd really like to have done, to get that bigger picture of where my blood fits into the amazing path of human migration and cross-cultural interaction over the millennia. I'm inclined to wait until the price comes down, and the depth of investigation improves. Maybe I'll ask for this for my 40th birthday.
Visit the places my ancestors lived. In the mean time I do know where most of my great-grandparents are from, and some even farther back than that. This spring's trip to France will allow me to tick the first destination off of this sub list. Sheila and I will be doing a side trip up near the Belgian border, to the little town of Saint Saulve. This is where my Mother's Father's Mother was born. I've been given some information about former family homes by one of my great-uncles, so we'll spend a few days getting to know the area, drinking in the local estaminets, and searching the cemeteries for the family name.
Live in France for a year. This will be my third trip to France, and since my first trip, I've known that the country is important to me. Every time I come home, I know I'll need to go back to keep myself happy. As corny as it sounds, part of me stays there . This is why for the past 7 years, I've carried an unused ticket for the Paris Metro in my wallet. A little memento, promising me I'll go back.
I feel that to really get to know a place, you'd need to see it through all of its seasons. France is worth getting to know. So someday, probably after whatever kids we have are grown, I'd like to spend a year there. I'm not sure at this stage if I'd want to spend it in Paris, or out in a smaller town, but wherever it is, remember, you're all invited to visit.
Go on pilgrimage. Despite the fact I consider myself devoutly agnostic, I've always been fascinated by the idea of pilgrimage. Mostly I think I like the idea spending a few weeks on foot, following a path that thousands of others have walked, over hundreds of years, to get somewhere special. I haven't decided which route or destination I'd choose. Maybe Santiago de Compostela in Spain, or maybe the Via Apia into Rome. I'd just like to see the cities and the countryside, move at that slow pace, and experience the landscape and elements the way others did hundreds of years before.
Get my motorcycle license, and own a Vespa.I've had a bit of a thing for motorcycles since highschool, although I've never done much about it, mostly cause my Mom would flip out. Originally I wanted a Harley, but softened to sports-bikes over the years, and after trying out a friends scooter a while back, decided a Vespa would suit me the best. I know you can get a little 50cc that you don't need a license for, but if I was to get a scooter, I'd want one with enough power to carry two people, and do a bit of highway touring. Such a bike would necessitate the motorcycle license, which I'd say is a worthwhile accomplishment on its own. This is the Vespa I've got my eye on.
Hop a freight train. Before anyone freaks out at me about this one, let me just say, it'll probably never happen. I know how ridiculously dangerous it would be to attempt to board a moving freight train, and since they lock box cars these days, where would I ride anyway? This one makes it onto the list only because it's something I've always thought would be a grand adventure, and I will probably always think so. I mean, hoboing one's way across the country is part of every North American's collective history. There are people who still do it out of necessity, and a few who do it for fun.
While I might not ever hop a train, don't be surprised if you see me hanging around by the railyards, or scratching hobo signs into track-side fence posts.
Six items, I guess it's a start, and I know I'll add to it.
So tell me folks, what tops your lists?
Thursday, February 22, 2007
It Came! It Came!
Today, via the good folks at Canada Post, I have received a small parcel from the nathan music co. of Winnipeg, Manitoba. Hooray!!!
The CD is called Casserole, and while the cover design does include some bits of macaroni worked into the traditional Nathan quilt art, there are, alas, no recipes in the liner notes. I'll admit when I first read about the CD on the band's website, the description was so vague (just a cover image, the title, and the price) that I thought maybe they had released a cookbook!
Anyway, the music is fabulous, the lyrics typically ingenious and quirky, and the two cover songs are great too. The cover of Tom Waits' Temptation is very different from, but almost as weird as the original (more singing, less screaming and howling). The rendition of Rogers and Hammerstein's Favorite Things is cute, but not as sickening as many versions. No doubt I'll be playing this CD till everyone around me is sick of it though =D
Personally, I've always been awful at picking my favourite anything. I mean, five years of art college and I still can't pick a favourite colour (although I do have a favourite name of a pigment: phthalocyanine). The categories in which I can safely select a favourite tend to be a little eccentric.
Today's other example of a favourite I have is, my favourite word in a foreign language:
The CD is called Casserole, and while the cover design does include some bits of macaroni worked into the traditional Nathan quilt art, there are, alas, no recipes in the liner notes. I'll admit when I first read about the CD on the band's website, the description was so vague (just a cover image, the title, and the price) that I thought maybe they had released a cookbook!
Anyway, the music is fabulous, the lyrics typically ingenious and quirky, and the two cover songs are great too. The cover of Tom Waits' Temptation is very different from, but almost as weird as the original (more singing, less screaming and howling). The rendition of Rogers and Hammerstein's Favorite Things is cute, but not as sickening as many versions. No doubt I'll be playing this CD till everyone around me is sick of it though =D
Personally, I've always been awful at picking my favourite anything. I mean, five years of art college and I still can't pick a favourite colour (although I do have a favourite name of a pigment: phthalocyanine). The categories in which I can safely select a favourite tend to be a little eccentric.
Today's other example of a favourite I have is, my favourite word in a foreign language:
Verschwindet: (German), disappears.
So, what is your favourite word in a language other than English? Spelling counts.
Thursday, February 8, 2007
The Last Kind Word Blues
This past Monday I was hanging out at my sister's place, and being a sweetheart, she very kindly downloaded a couple of songs for me. I've been listening to them every chance I've had since then. Both songs are by an artist named Geeshie Wiley, and I have to tell you, Geeshie and I have a history.
It all started way back when I used to listened to Stuart McLean's Vinyl Cafe on CBC radio every Saturday morning. If you're familiar with the Vinyl Cafe, you know that every week Stuart reads one of his stories aloud, usually about Dave and Morley. You can count on these stories to be hilarious, or bitter-sweet, or both, and no matter who you are, you can very easily imagine yourself in the shoes of one of the characters. They are the kind of stories that, should you start listening while you are in the middle of something, you can bet that the something won't get finished until after the story is over. One story in particular caught my imagination.
I was, at the time, a budding blues fan, and my sister (the sweetheart) had recently given me a copy of the book Blues for Dummies.
On this particular weekend Stuart read a story called The Last Kind Word Blues. It had all of the archetypal elements you need for a good blues story. It involved an extraordinarily rare 78 rpm disc, recorded sometime around 1930, by an artist whom history remembered almost nothing about. Dave, our hero, first heard the song in his youth, and was haunted by it. Decades later the rare 78 appeared unexpectedly in his record store, only to disappear again, driving Dave absolutely bonkers.
Now as much as we'd all like to believe that Dave from the stories is a real person, and that somewhere in Canada there really is a little second-hand record store called the Vinyl Cafe, I know these stories are fictitious. When I heard the story about this 78 containing a song called The Last Kind Word Blues, by an artist with the unlikely name of Geechie Wiley (Stuart's spelling) I took it for granted that it was fictitious too. That said, the idea of the song struck me. Stuart's description was so captivating that I found myself trying to imagine what the song would actually sound like.
"The opening chords of the song filled his head for the first time in twenty-three years. When the song ended Dave lifted the tone arm and set it down at the beginning. And then again.
The rhythms of Geechie Wiley's voice uncorked the bottle of time. Dave was hit by the same wave of emotion that had washed over him on that night in Alabama so long ago. Only this time he recognized the wave. This time he was old enough to give it a name. It was the wave of loneliness.
Once again the record had messed him up."
Stuart was, to my mind, describing the archetype of a blues song. But why hadn't he asked any of the multitude of musicians he knew to write the song? Why had we never heard some one's musical interpretation of that description on Stuart's show? Was it because it was unattainable? Damn but I wanted to hear that song.
A year or two later I was up late one night poking around on-line, and on a whim I did a search. I can't remember if I googled the song title, or Geechie Wiley, but up popped a page some blues fan had put together.
It had a short Bio of all that is known of the life of Geeshie (or Geechie) Wiley.
It had a list of the four known songs she recorded, as well as two more she is believed to have accompanied on.
And it had a sound file.
"The Last Kind Word Blues"
My hair stood on end.
What I had mistaken for a myth, was, in fact, a legend.
And the song messed me up.
This website has the song set up to play automaticaly, give it a listen:
http://cockeyedabsurdist.vox.com/library/audio/6a00cd970622754cd500cdf7eff3b8094f.html
And you can read the full story The Last Kind Word Blues in Stuart McLean's book Vinyl Cafe Unplugged, ISBN 0140299149, published by Penguin Books.
Thanks, my dear sister, for the blues.
It all started way back when I used to listened to Stuart McLean's Vinyl Cafe on CBC radio every Saturday morning. If you're familiar with the Vinyl Cafe, you know that every week Stuart reads one of his stories aloud, usually about Dave and Morley. You can count on these stories to be hilarious, or bitter-sweet, or both, and no matter who you are, you can very easily imagine yourself in the shoes of one of the characters. They are the kind of stories that, should you start listening while you are in the middle of something, you can bet that the something won't get finished until after the story is over. One story in particular caught my imagination.
I was, at the time, a budding blues fan, and my sister (the sweetheart) had recently given me a copy of the book Blues for Dummies.
On this particular weekend Stuart read a story called The Last Kind Word Blues. It had all of the archetypal elements you need for a good blues story. It involved an extraordinarily rare 78 rpm disc, recorded sometime around 1930, by an artist whom history remembered almost nothing about. Dave, our hero, first heard the song in his youth, and was haunted by it. Decades later the rare 78 appeared unexpectedly in his record store, only to disappear again, driving Dave absolutely bonkers.
Now as much as we'd all like to believe that Dave from the stories is a real person, and that somewhere in Canada there really is a little second-hand record store called the Vinyl Cafe, I know these stories are fictitious. When I heard the story about this 78 containing a song called The Last Kind Word Blues, by an artist with the unlikely name of Geechie Wiley (Stuart's spelling) I took it for granted that it was fictitious too. That said, the idea of the song struck me. Stuart's description was so captivating that I found myself trying to imagine what the song would actually sound like.
"The opening chords of the song filled his head for the first time in twenty-three years. When the song ended Dave lifted the tone arm and set it down at the beginning. And then again.
The rhythms of Geechie Wiley's voice uncorked the bottle of time. Dave was hit by the same wave of emotion that had washed over him on that night in Alabama so long ago. Only this time he recognized the wave. This time he was old enough to give it a name. It was the wave of loneliness.
Once again the record had messed him up."
Stuart was, to my mind, describing the archetype of a blues song. But why hadn't he asked any of the multitude of musicians he knew to write the song? Why had we never heard some one's musical interpretation of that description on Stuart's show? Was it because it was unattainable? Damn but I wanted to hear that song.
A year or two later I was up late one night poking around on-line, and on a whim I did a search. I can't remember if I googled the song title, or Geechie Wiley, but up popped a page some blues fan had put together.
It had a short Bio of all that is known of the life of Geeshie (or Geechie) Wiley.
It had a list of the four known songs she recorded, as well as two more she is believed to have accompanied on.
And it had a sound file.
"The Last Kind Word Blues"
My hair stood on end.
What I had mistaken for a myth, was, in fact, a legend.
And the song messed me up.
This website has the song set up to play automaticaly, give it a listen:
http://cockeyedabsurdist.vox.com/library/audio/6a00cd970622754cd500cdf7eff3b8094f.html
And you can read the full story The Last Kind Word Blues in Stuart McLean's book Vinyl Cafe Unplugged, ISBN 0140299149, published by Penguin Books.
Thanks, my dear sister, for the blues.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Anticipation
I’ve just sealed up a ten dollar bill in an envelope addressed to my favourite band. Their website promises that if I send them “10 bucks CDN” I will receive their latest CD, a five track disc consisting of three original songs and two covers. One of the covers is a Tom Waits song. I'm also a fan of his, so this can only be good.
This CD, unlike their other two releases, is only available directly from the band, either at their shows or by mail order. Of course you can download the whole thing on MP3’s, but I’m one of those old fashioned folks who likes to fill my shelves with jewel cases. Their next full length disc is due out in late February, and I’m bouncing up and down, squealing in anticipation of that one too.
So who is this amazing group you ask? You’ll laugh when I tell you. You might even say it’s a reflection of some little oddity in my ego. The band is called Nathan.
I first heard them on the CBC a ways back, and have since fallen in love with their sound.
Nathan is one of those groups that can be filed in half a dozen categories; folk, rock/pop, country, etc. Certainly there are elements of all: pedal steel guitars and banjos playing a two-step on one track, and accordions and a theremin playing circus waltzes the next. The effect is enticing, and blends gorgeously with lyrics full of mixed-up extended metaphors, heartache, mistrust, or pure goofiness.
This excerpt from a review describes the general feel well.
"What is western music? Is it the sound of the wide open plains or a smoky saloon? Tales of taciturn men and long-suffering ladies who cry tears in their beer? Or has that tradition been replaced by something more complicated, where horses have become fast cars and saloons are now strip malls, but even in the most urban setting, there's the restless, rough-and-tumble feel of a frontier town, and everyone still yearns to get the hell out of Dodge sometimes? . . . Nathan captures it all, the modern, old-fashioned sound of the lonesome, crowded west."
I'm not websavy enough to be able to just plug their tunes in here for your enjoyment, but it just so happens the band has one of my favourite tracks available for listening on their blog.
Pop on your headphones, and give "Sunset Chaser" a good listen. www.myspace.com/nathanband The music box control thingy is on the right.
Oooooooh tingles!
If you like it, let me know and I'll have you over for coffee and play you my other favourites; The dark and lonely song "Home with Me", innuendo laden"Big Galoot", and just plain pretty "Blue" Or you could just download the MP3s. Heck, just go ahead and download them, and if you don't like them, I'll pay you back the 99 cents.
The band being called Nathan does make me wonder if the music might effect me more personally than it would otherwise. I remember the old days of making mix tapes (and eventually CDs) for friends based on the "soundtrack of my life" concept, and the quirky, honest music Nathan creates fits that idea for me. I also must confess I've got a soft spot for a well played steel guitar, Dobro, or mandolin, and I suspect if you plucked one of my heart strings, much to my mother's shame, it might just sound like a banjo.
This CD, unlike their other two releases, is only available directly from the band, either at their shows or by mail order. Of course you can download the whole thing on MP3’s, but I’m one of those old fashioned folks who likes to fill my shelves with jewel cases. Their next full length disc is due out in late February, and I’m bouncing up and down, squealing in anticipation of that one too.
So who is this amazing group you ask? You’ll laugh when I tell you. You might even say it’s a reflection of some little oddity in my ego. The band is called Nathan.
I first heard them on the CBC a ways back, and have since fallen in love with their sound.
Nathan is one of those groups that can be filed in half a dozen categories; folk, rock/pop, country, etc. Certainly there are elements of all: pedal steel guitars and banjos playing a two-step on one track, and accordions and a theremin playing circus waltzes the next. The effect is enticing, and blends gorgeously with lyrics full of mixed-up extended metaphors, heartache, mistrust, or pure goofiness.
This excerpt from a review describes the general feel well.
"What is western music? Is it the sound of the wide open plains or a smoky saloon? Tales of taciturn men and long-suffering ladies who cry tears in their beer? Or has that tradition been replaced by something more complicated, where horses have become fast cars and saloons are now strip malls, but even in the most urban setting, there's the restless, rough-and-tumble feel of a frontier town, and everyone still yearns to get the hell out of Dodge sometimes? . . . Nathan captures it all, the modern, old-fashioned sound of the lonesome, crowded west."
I'm not websavy enough to be able to just plug their tunes in here for your enjoyment, but it just so happens the band has one of my favourite tracks available for listening on their blog.
Pop on your headphones, and give "Sunset Chaser" a good listen. www.myspace.com/nathanband The music box control thingy is on the right.
Think to yourself, maybe she has a new lover
She caved right into a big empty hole
Swallowed up a passerby
A brighter, whiter salesman smile
A palm shot out to seal the deal
A greasy hand, a squeaky wheel
Oooooooh tingles!
If you like it, let me know and I'll have you over for coffee and play you my other favourites; The dark and lonely song "Home with Me", innuendo laden"Big Galoot", and just plain pretty "Blue" Or you could just download the MP3s. Heck, just go ahead and download them, and if you don't like them, I'll pay you back the 99 cents.
The band being called Nathan does make me wonder if the music might effect me more personally than it would otherwise. I remember the old days of making mix tapes (and eventually CDs) for friends based on the "soundtrack of my life" concept, and the quirky, honest music Nathan creates fits that idea for me. I also must confess I've got a soft spot for a well played steel guitar, Dobro, or mandolin, and I suspect if you plucked one of my heart strings, much to my mother's shame, it might just sound like a banjo.
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