Notes

Do you have your notes, then?

I have been singing as long as I can remember.  My Grandma used to sing with me all the time when I was little: while we did the dishes, in the car on trips, sitting around the kitchen table and especially while cleaning the house.  Anytime my Aunt Cindy was around she was roped into it too.  We sang endless rounds of My Eyes are Dim and My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean.

So, when someone mentioned the opportunity to join a women's choir here in London I thought -- why not?  I'm so glad I decided to go for it!  It is so much fun and very rewarding.  It's very different than any other choir I've ever been in.  First, we don't use written music -- everything is done by ear.  And, second, it is all pop music from Dusty Springfield (You Don't Own Me) to Lady Gaga (Poker Face).  The whole thing was just started up by a group of women who wanted to do it.  Two women share the arrangement/musical responsibilities and they are without a doubt two of the most talented musicians I have ever run across -- and I know a lot of talented musicians!  It might be pop music but some of the tougher stuff is incredibly complex musically and a real joy to learn.

Like all leisure activities in England, the rehearsals are generally followed by a session at the pub.  Here we get to learn a little bit more about each other.  We also talk about pressing choir issues like will people think that we are doing a cover of Sweet Dreams (Eurythmics) because we all secretly want to be Annie Lennox or will they think we are copying the guy on that reality TV show?  Or, did anyone realize that Poker Face could be adapted to the basic Psalm chord structure used in church?

It was at one of these sessions where I was asked "Do you have your notes, then?" which I greeted with a totally blank stare and a rather eloquent "Huh?"  After a bit of good natured back and forth, I learnt that this is how one asks if you can read music.  So, I guess I do have my notes.  And very lucky to have them too.

I'll let you know when the first concert is.

Tate

A cold misty Sunday in London today so I opted for an indoor pursuit...the Tate Modern.  There are four Tate museums in England: St Ives, Liverpool, British and Modern.  The Modern takes on everything art from 1900 onward.  So, you never really know what you might be walking into.  Which is the appeal.  You might see something iconic or you might see something completely bewildering. 

Today had a bit of both.  A very nice couple in Brooklyn have made a feature length film about the trash that blows around the street in their neighbourhood.  Literally close up footage of exciting things like rolls of toilet paper, empty coke cans, and a thrown out receipt from an Italian restaurant being blown around the gutters.  Maybe things really got exciting after the receipt but I will never know because I felt an intense need to move along. On the iconic side, a great exhibit of cubism featuring some great canvases by Braque and Picasso and a lovely foursome of Lipchitz machetes.  And then tucked into a corner all by themselves were these lovely paintings by Kandinsky & Mondrian.  I don't think I've ever seen anything by Mondrian except his line drawings before...so what a nice little discovery.

Kandinsky - Lake Starnberg 1908

Mondrian - Sun, Church in Zeeland 1909-10

Money saving art tip of the day: you don't need to fly all the way to England and go to the Tate to see a sculpture by Lipchitz.  If you are reading this Blog from Saskatchewan, there is one on the front lawn of the Mackenzie and you drive by it every day.  It is from later in his career so it is not part of his cubist works but it is no less lovely.  It's called Mother and Child II.  Impress all your friends by mentioning that he is from Lithuania but trained in Paris and was a contemporary of Picasso.  Boys, this is guaranteed date material.  You can thank me later.

Lipchitz - Mother and Child II 1946

I also overheard some people on the escalator discussing their "Pram Rage" which I thought was hilarious.  I can understand their issues with the people who insist on pushing around GIGANTIC prams in very busy, and rather small, art gallery spaces.  From my observation, the pram is normally empty because their little charmer would rather be running around under their own power. I have to check my backpack but they can bring in a small bus. I think my Aunt Cindy suffers from the North American equivalent which is "Stroller Rage" and normally occurs in shopping mall settings.

So, that is Sunday in London.  Not bad.

Plus, the milk I bought is from the Royal herd at Highgrove.  A shout out to Prince Charles as I'm sure he's out there every day twice a day for milking.  He looks like a hands on farmer.

Bruges

So, what do you know about Belgium?  Before this past weekend I probably would have gone with they make good beer and chocolate.  Those are both accurate statements but there is so much more to know and appreciate about the lovely country of Belgium.

A frozen canal in Bruges

Don't forget to look up!  Much more attractive than Winnipeg's Skywalk!

Bruges is a very pretty little medieval town built around a canal system.  I would basically describe it as what you think a medieval European town would look like...picture perfect little streets and lanes that meander back into each other or mysteriously go nowhere at all.  Oh yes, and several giant churches.  Nothing like commissioning a giant cathedral or two to really let the world know you have arrived!  I was particularly enamored of the coloured glass -- usually green but sometimes pink -- stained glass windows adorn many of the houses throughout the town centre.

I never really had much interest in history at school and I honestly can't remember ever learning anything about World War I.  There are the names of certain battles: Vimy Ridge, Passchendaele, Ypres.  But these are simply names of places that I wouldn't have been able to locate on a map (I probably wouldn't even have gotten the country right).  In the span of 4 years, half a million people, mostly boys in their late teens and early twenties, died in an area little more than 5 square miles.  To put that in perspective, it is an area about the size of my Uncle's farm in Saskatchewan.  The Germans were able to transport their dead back to Germany for burial.  The Allies had no such luxury as their soldiers were from all corners of the earth: from the Scottish Highlands to the islands of New Zealand.  So, the Allied dead are buried, more or less, where they fell in cemetery after cemetery after cemetery.  A large number of the dead were never accounted for as their bodies were quickly claimed by the sucking clay bog that the relentless shelling and endless rain of those years created.

Every Canadian child learns a little bit about Belgium going through school thanks to John McCrae's poem about Flanders' famous poppies. On Sunday I actually stood in front of the bunker where he wrote it. I don't mind telling you that, having just spent seven hours going from battlefield to cemetery to trench, I had a trouble fighting back a few tears.

In Flanders fields, the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead, short days ago,

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved, and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields!

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands, we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields!