Bigger On The Inside

 I don't think this needs much explaining, do you?
And in the event that you DO need an explanation, well, this is what Google did for their part in the 50th anniversary celebrations of Doctor Who. Headers of all kinds and they even had puzzle games attached to them. The twins were riveted. And look! All the Doctors running along with their Sonic Screwdrivers at the ready.

Something else I found on Google Maps. Street level. I feel confident in saying that the hearts of all four of us leaped slightly at this (except for Richard, who doesn't believe in Santa Claus Doctor Who).

Did you watch the anniversary show? So did we. We were in an anticipatory tizzy all day Saturday. Or maybe it was just me. I wore out the battery on my little Doctor Who In Your Pocket, playing the sound of the Tardis coming and going all afternoon.

We all liked the episode. It was fun. I feel vaguely disloyal saying this, but I felt a little ambivalent afterwards. Much of it seemed awfully frenetic and, well, almost silly. Not a fan of the Queen Elizabeth I segment at ALL. That was so not Tenth Doctor behaviour. Richard and I watched An Adventure in Space & Time afterwards. Filch from the Harry Potter movies played the first Doctor in a positively poetic performance.

We've been having a spate of clear cold weather, which means far attention has to be paid to animal water feeders and greenhouse heating systems. Pip the Alpha Female chicken decided to moult at long last, and she looks freezing with all her feathers falling out. I fully expect the other two to take their grievances out on her, because she was so mean to them when they were moulting. Stupid chickens.

Northern Flicker pushing the small birds out of the fat feeder one cold morning. These birds can cling to anything. I've got this feeder wrapped slightly in chicken wire so the starlings can't access it. They can't hang upside down like the other birds, so it's an easy way to fox them. The flickers are probably the loudest right now in the back yard. They perch at the top of the fir trees and send their very piercing screeches across the valley. It's an extremely recognizable call. They don't seem aggressive at all, just very large, yet the small birds are respectfully wary of them.

Can you see the little junco perched on the trough of strawberries? Waiting for a turn.
There is something so tough about strawberries; they grow in just about anything, just about anywhere. I can leave this planter here, sitting on the deck rail, all winter. Exposed. Wet, then freezing, then wet again, depending on the weather. Come spring it will burst forth like nothing happened in the interval. They remind me of pansies in this regard, although they don't dwindle and get weedy like pansies do.

And finally, this morning shot of the moon and some planet. I think it's Venus. If I'm wrong please correct me. It's so bright and the sky is so clear and the temperatures are so crisp. Lovely days.

Reflections On Watching Nightmare In Silver

Every Who down in Whoville liked Nightmare In Silver a lot.
But the Sheila, who lived just north of Whoville, the Sheila did NOT!
She didn't quite hate it, but she frowned at the plot
Now, please don't ask why. Oh hell, why ever not?

It could be the writer was too filled with worry.
It could be, perhaps, that he wrote in a flurry.
He had a dream cast, a swell Doctor and more
But the script was all wrong, it was flawed at its core.

The writer was stuck in his usual blur
Of steampunk facades and forgot to defer
To a credible story of Companion and trips
Though this wasn't the first time his Who stories have slipped.

While she hates to be mean, Sheila mourns Russell T
You might say, in fact, She is his devotee
He had narrative vision, he wrote with a purpose,
The last couple of years, without him, are a circus.

A mish mash, a jumble, no direction or end
We watch with excitement, but the stories don't blend.
They stand on their own, there's no clear end in sight
And from where this Whovian stands, that doesn't seem right.

Apologies to Neil Gaiman, who wrote the sublime and very wonderful Graveyard Book, but his episodes aren't working for this Whoville Resident, despite the presence of the fabulous Warwick Davis (not to mention the he-just-keeps-getting-better-and-better Matt Smith).

Sturnidus vulgaris David Tennantius

This morning I made a remark about starlings, a bird we have here on the West Coast in PLENTY. A bird I harbor much ill will towards. A bird I would prefer to banish from my feeders. Charming commenter Samantha remarked upon my post. What follows is our conversation further to this subject.


(Charming Commenter Samantha) No idea what a starling is.

(Sheila) Wait, you have NO idea at all what a starling is? Let me enlighten you: horrible piggy birds that eat everything and anything in one fell swoop. They travel in packs of a zillion. They intimidate other birds and shove them off the feeder, then swagger on and gulp it all down. They probably even laugh like Nelson whilst doing so (HAW HAW). They are the bully boys of the bird world.

This is a starling: note the puffed out "I'm so cool and speckly and you're not, har har har" stance.







(CCS) Well, I know it's some kind of a bird but it could land on my finger and sing me a little tune and ... then it would turn into DT (Doctor Who lingo for David Tennant) and I would totally not care about what kind of a bird it was, I would be more concerned about the man balancing on my finger singing. But since it's DT, I could totally handle it.

(S) You're right - if it were to turn into David Tennant I would probably revise my strategy towards starlings. Completely. I'd probably feed them and encourage them and sit out all night, waiting for them to come to the feeders in the morning. I might even shoo away the chickadees and the bushtits and the nuthatches and the pileated woodpeckers and the downy woodpeckers.

Yes, I suppose there really ARE two sides to every story...

Hey! Who Turned Out The Lights?

Yes, these ARE the things we get up to the night before Valentine's Day. It amuses us all immensely. Don't know what I'm talking about? Forest of the Dead? Doctor Who? Click here...and be warned.

Wandering Around Other Towns

We just got back from a trip to Seattle, which was kind of amazing because we haven't really been very nomadic of late, but what was even more amazing was that we planned the trip around a visit to a Lego store.

Yes, Gentle Reader, we planned a trip to a Lego store. A Lego store! If the me that I am now suddenly appeared in front of the me from 1995 and said "Guess what? You're going to be spending a good chunk of money you could be ploughing into the garden or your Doctor Who memorabilia collection cash taking your THREE kids to a Lego store in the USA in a few years!" I would have laughed like that kid on the Simpsons (you know, the one who sounds like a human donkey). Three kids? Lego store? Ha. Good one.

Heeee hawwwww.

How the mighty fall, when faced with the thing that is the Lego-obsessed child.

Here they are before they went into the Lego store. Note the tautly excited expressions on the faces of the twins. Even Max is having difficulty restraining his inner WOW!








Here they are after they went into the Lego store. Note the tautly excited expressions on the faces of the twins. Even Max is having difficulty restraining his inner WOW!

In fact, under that toque his hair is on fire.






And in between we did a bunch of other cool stuff.

Here we are at 6 am, driving to the ferry, because we, Gentle Reader, live on an island and have to take a ferry to get off it. I was expecting more of a rebellion from the troupes but the idea of the aforementioned Lego store as an Effective Lure was too big to withstand. Look - even the teenager is smiling. At 6 am.



Here is a sign that Dominic interpreted to mean NO KEYS ALLOWED. We all pointed out that he could have read the accompanying words but I think he likes to maintain his position here as the Family Clown and eschew all print if it serves his purpose. As this obviously did.

Here is the Teenager, discovering the Free Breakfast at the motel. He was deeply enthusiastic about being able to eat all the bread-like items, juices, yogurts, and bananas he could stuff into his craw. And yes, it was like watching a baby bird inhale worms, come to think of it. I think what he liked best of all was not having me say things like "Max, do you REALLY need to eat all that food in one sitting?" or "Max, do you really need to eat 8 waffles, 4 sausages, 3 muffins, and 2 glasses of juice?"






Here is another place everyone was enthusiastic about. I think you can all guess what went on here.









And here are some random images of the area around Pike Place Market, in between going on an Underground Tour and gushing over all that creative action...







































ALL tens? Impressive.







This was a guy the kids were particularly taken with: The Cat Whisperer. At the risk of sounding too jaded, I will say that he was a fairly typical post-hippie nutjob on a peculiar mission of sorts, with some really mellow cats. FDPG gave him some of her cash, she loved him so.


I loved these chilies. They were so incredibly colourful. We stood here for a while as I took photo after photo, until R finally said "Why don't you buy one if you love them so much?" I was tempted, but the Doctor Who In Your Pocket won out. Chilies are nice but having the noise of the Tardis is nicer, somehow.

The window fronts were amazing everywhere I looked. I actually have 132 window front shots, so be thankful I am only inflicting 1 on you at this time.














There were also a lot of tall buildings, even if it seems mundanely redundant to say so. We all felt dizzy looking up at this one.
Who doesn't love a good cobblestone?
I look up, I look down.
It's all good.

A Date With The Doctor

We went away for a few days - down south to The Land of the Free Refill as Max fondly referred to it - and in a small out of the way alley we came across the most amazing store. It was one of those geeky collector stores. We love geeky collector stores, because they always have a lot of strange and wonderful Doctor Who stuff and heaven knows we can never get enough Doctor Who stuff (well, Richard probably can but he was along for the ride so he had to suffer through our obsessions). These fellows were standing out front, waiting to greet us.

Large cardboard cutouts. I had a brief pang for ole Indy, because my kids were so overwhelmed by the sight of Doctor Who, a Dalek, the Tardis, and even Captain Jack (who sure knows how to pose, don't you think?) that they didn't even notice him. Everyone thought I would buy the David Tennant cutout but I shocked them all when I said I actually wanted the Dalek cutout. Or the Tardis. But somehow, the idea of paying $35 for a large piece of cardboard, even if it was covered with the objects of my affection, seemed a tad excessive. Even if it would have made a killer Halloween costume.
There was a Super Obama some ways away, who looked to be glaring a bit at David Tennant, which caused the kids to hoot and laugh rather immoderately. I don't think that was the expected effect, somehow.

This amazing store, with such promising adverts on the outside, was too good to pass up, so in we went. There were Doctor Who comics, Doctor Who piggy banks, Doctor Who Sonic Screwdrivers, and this (see below), which FDPG snatched up almost instantly - a Doctor Who "Monsters and Aliens" poster.

After she bought it we played the Monster? Or Alien? game all the way back to the motel room. Here's what we thought:
Cybermen? Oh, aliens for sure.
Vashta Narada? Aliens.
Daleks? Monsters. Created by Davros.
Hath? Oh, of course they are aliens. Nice ones, too. We like the Hath.
Slitheen? Aliens. Farting aliens.
Davros? A monster we thought. A Very Bad Man, too.
Weeping Angels? Monsters. Wonderful, brilliant, creepy monsters. Even the Doctor called them monsters. I've heard these things are going to be making repeat appearances in the new series, too. Eeek.
Ood? Aliens. Gentle, singing aliens; whenever I see Ood Sigma say "Doctor, your song is ending soon" and tilt his head slightly, I cry.
Scarecrows? Eeek. Monsters.
Sontarans? (as I type this the twins are downstairs chanting SON-TA-RA! over and over again) Aliens. Amusing in a weird sort of way.
Judoon? Aliens.
Adipose? Aliens.

And finally, I found this. It's called a Doctor Who In Your Pocket Talking Voice Keychain. We've almost worn out the batteries we love it so. And it's all mine. Sigh. We did speculate what the Doctor would say if they'd put his voice on this thing, but no one could agree. Max and Richard thought he'd say "Allons-y!" I thought he'd say "Hello hello hello, what have we here?" But we all agreed that we loved having "Exterminate! Exterminate!" at our fingertips, even if it did cause a certain amount of consternation on the ferry when we were coming home.

Wednesday Ramblings

It's been a bit of a dry week for blogging, hasn't it? Some days I have fodder and no time. Other days I have time and no fodder. Then there are the days when I have both but no impetus.

What is today?

Hard to say. I have fodder but I am lacking inspiration today, for some reason. So are the kids: everywhere I go they follow me, fiddling with things and asking very random questions. "Settle down to something," I say. But they can't seem to settle. Neither can I, really. Maybe we all need a walk.

I watched Richard chase the kids around the house this morning, with the toilet plunger in front of him, croaking "Exterminate! Exterminate!" and thought "Ha! Funny. Very blogable."

The reason we needed the toilet plunger in the first place was not blogable, alas.

Another inspiring moment was when we found the entirety of series 4 of Dr Who in the library. We have watched almost all of it. There is something incredibly addictive about Dr Who and his quirky universe. We're all in love with him. Even FDPG the Highly Critical is in love with him. But he really is wonderful, so who can blame her? I watched Silence in the Library and wished I was Alex Kingston. She knows the Doctor's name! Does Russell T. Davies? Or Steven Moffat? Richard finds my new Doctor Obsession rather unnerving. "You're like those geeks we see on the internet," he says, worriedly. Seeing as he has his own Extreme Geekiness Thing going on (but obviously doesn't realize it), I suggested that he leave me to my worship of the Long Brown Coat. And get started on my Tardis Greenhouse.

I made a birthday gift for a friend of FDPG's on the weekend and thought "I must take a picture of this before I forget what it looked like." That too was blogable. Now I will have a record for when I can't remember what colours this little tea cup was. It had a saucer to go with it but since I didn't get a picture of that I have now forgotten what it looked like...

It is made of Sculpey. Painted with acrylics. Sprayed with a couple of layers of urethane. Breakability factor? On a scale of one to ten, with ten being indestructible and one being flimsy as all get-out, I'd say this was about a three. I have three wounded homemade Greek vase reproductions as my witnesses. Nice, but not for the under six crowd.

Another reason I feel so unsettled is that I had a disturbing interaction with someone in our DEL program and thought "This is one of the pitfalls to signing up for school money: small-minded officious women people who don't understand where their boundaries leave off and where mine begin." When I have these kind of encounters I am always torn between saying something or letting it go and forgetting about it. Letting it go is one thing, but it's hard to forget, isn't it. I often wonder where these kinds of people get their inspiration from. Clearly we are not drinking from the same spring.

If only I had a sonic screwdriver.

In the Absence of Episodes We Make Our Own...

Today was a day like any other. The sun rose through a glittering blue haze. The clouds lingered, awestruck. It was like the cover of a religious music LP, when such things still existed.

And then, a Stranger appeared. A Stranger with wings. He resembled a Clone Trooper, sure, but we weren't fooled. We all knew he was an Intergalactic Time Travellin' Barrel of Trouble. Think CyberMan. With friends.

We climbed into our Tardis, err, I mean, our galvanized sub-atomic particle accelerator. 
With wheels.
We whizzed away. At the speed of sound. And light.









But it was too late.

Exterminate! Exterminate! Exterminate! 

Will we survive? Will the Doctor live through to another episode? Stay tuned...

Good Bye Doctor

We spent the better part of today watching several Dr Who episodes, including - sob - The End of Time. It was the perfect way to inch ourselves back into that thing known as The School Day. I wallowed my way very wetly through a box of Kleenex while the kids tried to ignore me and my pathos and listen carefully over the sounds of my sobs, because you always know there will be some geeky-fan lines you don't want to miss.

"Did you just salute me?" 

Not quite as good as "Are you my mummy?" or "Hey! Who turned out the lights?!" but still fun.


We also watched last year's Christmas special, with the lovely and charming Miss Hartigan and those wild and crazy CyberMen. It wasn't on the CBC last year, for reasons unknown to me and the rest of the Canadian Dr Who fan club. No, instead we were left to view it through other methods. Honestly, you idiotic CBC executives, you really don't know how to run a decent television network do you? Shame on you for putting such dreck on your New Years lineup but scorning Dr Who. No wonder you're losing the audience on your television network. Go on, ask Rick Mercer - I'm sure he can tell you what an obsolete corner you are painting yourself into.


But I digress.

We also watched Planet of the Dead, where FDPG delighted beheld someone after her own heart: the Lady Christina De Souza, cat burglar extraordinaire. Not that FDPG wants to be a cat burglar, but boy did she relate to all that "I can do it just as cleverly as you can, and maybe even better!" business. I found myself wishing I had his long coat. That is some long coat. I'd even take the side burns...

Look at that charming geeky perfect Doctor. What will we do without him? I know I said pretty much the same thing after Christopher Eccleston left but gosh I will miss this Doctor. Max, in his new guise as Somewhat Uncomfortable With All Emotion Teen Boy, reminded me that I said as much last time and might very well say the SAME THING next time, whereupon I reminded him that we both sobbed our way through that last regeneration whereupon he rolled his eyes and said that he was just scratching his eyes and otherwise doesn't remember much whereupon I rolled my eyes and said "I love the Doctor and true love lasts a lifetime" and that was that. The twins said nothing, not having witnessed the phenomenon known as Dr Who before but at that exact moment in time completely and utterly blown away by all its amazingness.

Oh, and have you seen these commercials from BBC1? I hadn't. Sigh.

More Christmas Mania

Our gingerbread houses, awaiting construction. I used my pal Martha's gingerbread recipe for these, adapted somewhat by me. If you want it, click here. It makes the best gingerbread cookies.

I'd show a picture of the houses after they were constructed but they were cruelly demolished by some hungry white teeth. Attached to some hungry little children.

Crunch crunch crunch.









While I made Peppermint Creams with the twins (recipe here), Max re-enacted scenes from Dr Who, which has ended for the season. We're all very sad. Here's a Dalek. If you visited us you'd probably hear a lot of "Exterminate!" remarks around every corner.








FDPG has been busy making Christmas gifts for her aunts. Her latest idea is the origami paper bookmark. I like this one:
Here's the little hummingbird again. Can you see him there at the top of the picture, sitting on the Christmas lights? I am finding myself obsessing slightly over these guys. This picture was taken when it was freezing but snowless around here, and now it's so snowy (we had another dump last night) you can barely see the trees for the snow. I wonder what the hummingbirds did before the advent of the liquid feeder - did they fly south with everyone else? Did they find other things to eat? So each night I bring in the feeder, perch it on the heat vent, and leave it to warm overnight. When I get up I take it back outside, where this guy is usually waiting for me, feathers bristling irritably. And no, I don't think I am anthropomorphizing him. He is a very grouchy little bird. I'm glad there aren't any thought bubbles above his head, because they'd probably be bursting with "@#$%" and "$&*%" "that #$%!& slowpoke woman!" and all kinds of charming things.

And finally, it snowed MORE last night. So much that my workaholic mate was unable to get our ancient Tercel out onto the road. It sits there, tragically atmospheric, in the snow, its wheel base completely submerged in the snow. We've seen three vehicles go down our road today. And before all you Hardy Snow People hoot and howl and point rude fingers, let me say that this is the Wet Coast: we don't do snow tires and chains and things. We go all Victorian in this weather - weak at the knees and making fluttery noises. Pitter patting hearts, even. I think our little municipality only has three snowploughs. We fall to pieces.

Oh wait, I forgot - we DO have a snow shovel.

And last but not least, some action shots of the snowy day this morning:
The BBQ, which isn't getting a lot of action this week, although if the propane man doesn't show up soon, we might have to hook the BBQ tank up to the stove...








And a lovely sunrise shot. Sort of makes you want to burst into song, doesn't it? Which reminds me, when we were watching The Grinch last night, the first shot of the Grinch, poised on his front porch with that sulky look on his face, caused Richard to remark "Oh, look, there's Christopher Hitchens!" What a card, that husband of mine.

Nice beginning of the Winter Solstice, don't you think?

The Universe 'as Been Waitin' For Me!

Note for Canadian Dr Who fans:

If you've been watching this series with the same riveted breathless excitement I have and noticed that the season finale, Journey's End, seemed butchered shorter than any sane person would dream of inflicting on Dr Who fans it should have been, hop over to the CBC site, where you can watch the extra

22 minutes

that was cut.

And while I'm at it, where the heck is Voyage of the Damned? Hmm?

Shame on you, CBC.

The New Face of Dr Who?

I know I will just have to get over my current mad passionate love admiration of David Tennant, and I will, because I got over my, err, well, you know, my admiration for Christopher Eccleston, who was the Doctor before DT, and at the time I was quite sure I wouldn't.

But I did.

I cried at the end, when he looked at Rose and said, right before he changed, "We were brilliant!" Or something to that effect, I was so busy sobbing on Max's shoulder that I could hardly hear. Max was so busy sobbing himself that he didn't hear either. And yes, it WAS that emotional. Losing the Doctor is an emotional experience.

Here's a total cheese clip that you MUST promise me you'll watch with the sound off but it has the best shots of Christopher Eccleston. I'd forgotten how perfectly charming he was. See - I was lulled by the charmingness of David Tennant. I forgot all about Christopher Eccleston. Richard might think DT a little frenetic but I think he's lovely. What Richard doesn't realize is that he's almost as frenetic, and skinny, and crazy. Almost.

So you see, we do get over old loves. Might take some time. We just need a little distraction sometimes. Is the fellow above going to be mine?

Are You The Doctor?

It's finally flown across the pond, although the speed at which it travelled suggested that it took a slow boat rather than a supersonic telephone booth. What is IT, you ask? Why the Doctor, of course. I am SO there. And please, Mr Davies, isn't there someone else better suited to be a Guest?

And if you haven't seen this before, please click for a taste of the Doctor and his new Companion.

"English is well dry..."

Poetry Friday

I was going to do a little Robert Frost this week, because it was the anniversary of his birthday on March 26th, plus the kids used his poems for their memorizations this week. But then I got distracted (while checking some old Safari bookmarks) by a YouTube clip I've kept for so long simply because of its affiliations with the ever so charming Time Lord to the left. I've watched it countless times. Then I figured that I could inflict that on some of you instead of the Frost. Ever so charming of me, I know.

Anyhow, to introduce the clip (since I can't get the Doctor to do it), I'm starting with a little sonnet written by Shakespeare. The following sonnet has a cameo in the (also following) YouTube clip. All this is clear as mud, no doubt.

Alright then, go read the sonnet...






Sonnet 130
My Mistress' Eyes Are Nothing Like The Sun

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.


You might have heard Sting sing this once upon a time. You might even have had a boyfriend, or girlfriend, quote bits of it in a love note. But I bet you've never heard it spoken quite like this (Kenneth Branagh, eat your heart out):





Poetry Friday is being hosted at Cuentesitos, where I see there are already some great poems to be checked out. Thanks for hosting, Gina, and I wish you many many more cancer-free years.

For fans of Dr. Who...

Had one of those funny, funny moments yesterday when we were reading about the Gods and Goddesses of Ancient Egypt (nothing like a nice, lengthy intro now, is there?).

We're reading about the various gods, their "signs" and related artwork when we come across the Eye of Horus. Linear, black, somewhat sinister. A protection device for the pharoah. We paint (with blackberry juice) our own eyes of Horus onto the parchment we "made," using flour and textured paper. They look very atmospheric and we all admire them. As we're admiring, Max freezes, then blurts out, rather worriedly, "Is the Eye of Horus related to the Face of Bo?"

I tell you, it was a moment to make a mother proud.