Sick Day

FDPG and Dominic, enjoying a rare sniffle in bed.

Shakespeare Retold

We rented Kenneth Branagh's As You Like It a while back, and one of the previews on the DVD was for a BBC series called Shakespeare Retold, a television production featuring four of Shakespeare's plays (Much Ado About Nothing, The Taming of the Shrew, Macbeth, and A Midsummer Night's Dream) 'rewritten' by modern playwrights. The cast looked fabulous, with all kinds of UK stalwarts from Shirley Henderson to Imelda Staunton to Rupert Sewell to Bill Paterson to the lovely Mr Tumnus James McAvoy, and the premise seemed intriguing enough to make me completely dismiss As You Like It, which wasn't very good anyways. I seem to remember demanding that we needed to see it immediately, and then, in my usual way, forgetting about it equally immediately. Fortunately Richard (aka the man with a memory like an elephant) did not forget, and several weeks later a little Amazon package graced his backpack. Handy having a Shakespearean scholar in the house.

We started with Much Ado. It's hard for me not to think of Emma Thompson when I think of this play, because she was so luminous (not to mention tanned) and snappy as Beatrice, but we were charmed, although I had some difficulty not thinking about David Tennant whenever Billie Piper came on the screen (playing Hero). It was much like Branagh's Much Ado: sharp, witty, and well-cast, curious endings aside (this is what you might call a revisionist rewrite).

From there we moved onto The Taming of the Shrew, which is a perfect feast for the fiesty. Shirley Henderson (whom you might recognize from sitting through all those Harry Potter movies - she plays Moaning Myrtle) and Rupert Sewell go at it for nearly 90 minutes - 90 startlingly charming minutes. Rupert totters and preens, Shirley shreds the scenery, and they swing at each other a good deal. Even the supporting cast commands your attention, and no, I am not talking about that cute Italian boy. It was like watching an vaguely angry, twisted, but weirdly romantic Richard Curtis-type film, now that I think of it: there were even the same future montage snippets to tell you how happily they lived afterwards (presumably fighting like cats all the while).

We dithered a bit over Macbeth, and while I love James McAvoy I can't say I thought this was one was very successful, but that may have been because a friend of ours had just been visiting from England and spent a lot of time telling us about some live productions she'd seen, one of them being Macbeth. Patrick Stewart had played Macbeth; there had been taps gushing with blood, and it had all sounded horribly inventive and visual. Shakespeare Retold's Macbeth was horrible but not particularly inventive or visual. It was depressed and dark and hurtled towards an obvious conclusion, gripping you like grim death all the while.

Finally, A Midsummer Night's Dream: good cast, good performances, but some of the touches were slightly, err, experimental for my taste, if that's the right word. Puck, figured as a sort of smug aging hippie hanging about in trees, had a tincture that remedied everything in a rather facile fashion. I wanted more from him, really, and I never got it. I also never saw enough of Oberon and Titania, who were wonderful in a sort of rock-star chic way - all long swinging coats and frilly cuffs. But it was probably with Bottom and the musicians where most of the charm lay. They were silly, pathetic, and funny, in turns. Intriguing and inventive, though.

Inexplicable remark alert: Just in case you are wondering WHY everyone was laughing when Bottom made his "I'm the only gay in the village!" remark, well, get thee hence to an episode of Little Britain. There is a skit with this very remark in it, sprinkled around so liberally that you'll never forget it, ever.

In fact, the whole series was intriguing and inventive. It's been a while since I've been so won over by something in the DVD line. The last time was when we rented Rome, I think, and we watched the entire first season in about 5 days. Captivating. Just thinking about it gives me shivers. The second season wasn't quite as shocking or powerful on the sense, but still better than most of the dreck made into movies these days (don't hold back, Sheila, tell us how you really feel!).

More In the Way of Bird Books

Here's another new purchase for the school books. I very nearly bought this one, but it didn't have a Black-capped Chickadee call in it, so I didn't. The Black-capped Chickadee is the first bird Max attached himself to when we studied birds (I even bought him a Black-capped Chickadee Christmas tree ornament that year), and it seemed a bad omen not to see the little black cap included, so I bought the one you see here instead. It not only has the black cap, but Max's new favourite, the Red Winged Blackbird (if you want to hear its call, click here and then click on #84698).

I like this book. It's skewed slightly in favour of the East Coast of North America, which niggles at me vaguely, being here on the Wet West Coast of Canada as I am, but when all is said and played, it's pretty fun stuff. And no (just in case you have an eight to twelve year old boy there, wondering) cats are not fooled by the calls. A dog might be, but cats are way too smart for this sort of game.

Funny Twists In Homeschooling Logic

I bought this for Max the other day. I was trying to find something New and Inspiring, without being overtly so, if you know what I mean. And while Max is always open to almost any suggestion I might make (I should admit here and now that even I cringe at some of my past suggestions), he isn't always as interested as I think he might be. But when the geeky cashier at the local bookstore surreptitiously poked his cohort and said "Cool stuff, dude" (in response to my purchases) I felt a distinct thrill of pleasure. Yes, call me shallow and superficial, but there is something about the approval of a geeky bookstore guy that gladdens the heart.

Anyhow, here is one of the books I bought. As you can see, it's called Making Comics: Storytelling Secrets of Comics, Manga, and Graphic Novels. What appealed to me about this book was not the "how to" aspect of it so much as the fact that here is a book which explains the critical requirements of the basic sketch: perspective, atmosphere, and character. And does so in an amusing and distinctive way. Succinct (compared to how I do things). Fun. Picture-esque. I like that.

I paired it with one of these: a nice black, spiral-bound, archival quality sketchbook. It even foregrounds its purpose -SKETCHBOOK is written in giant letters on the front - so I didn't have to. This seemed embarrassingly redundant when I was standing in line contemplating how much money I was going to spend, because we have a lot of paper for all sorts of purposes, but ultimately I was glad I got it because Max was delighted with the idea of having a decent sketchbook.

I've been thinking about these two items a fair bit in the last few days, in the way one does when grandparents ask for Christmas or birthday ideas, because I don't think I would ever have considered these things had I not had several hours in a bookstore just to scavenge through every single shelf. I wasn't even alone: FDPG was with me, but, even more critically, I happened to have enough time and freedom from regular requirements ("Hmmm, we need something to go along with Black Ships Before Troy" "I should get this map" "Ooh, more origami paper!") to peruse the hitherto neglected shelves holding such oddities as blank diaries, art histories, and comics, not to mention blank sketchbooks. It was very pleasant. Novel even. FDPG was similarly delighted (then again, she loves being in bookstores). She was able to fondle the Mr. "Indiana Jones" Potato Head at length without her brothers shoving her aside in order to give full vent to their own peculiar sense of humour, as they usually do. She had a hot chocolate at Ye Olde Starbuckies, sitting beside a friend of mine who does to kids what every parent rejoices to see - she treats them like another friend at the table. FDPG even got to try on sunglasses at a kid shop in a shockingly extended fashion, something I usually avoid like the plague when the boys are with us (call me humourless but I can only take so much boyish cackling, snorting, and guffawing).

So there you go. It's never what you think it's going to be, is it?

The Curious Brevity of Plant Tags

This is the first bloom from our Princess Victoria Louise. We've been betting on these ones to pop at any second, and you can imagine the noise here when FDPG discovered that one had opened. Let's just say that we all knew at about the exact same instant that something exciting had happened in the garden.

Click on the picture for a more, err, intimate experience.

According to the plant tag, Oriental poppies "provide a cheerful display of huge, satiny flowers in late spring...this strain features soft salmon pink flowers with contrasting black spots." That describes this flower, yes, but they left out the delicate crinkly-softness of the petals, the billowy black mass of pollen-laden anthers that seem to shimmer all at once, the velvety darkness of the centre spots, and the heart-stopping gorgeousness of the entire tableau. It's an Experience just sitting beside this poppy. Why can't they fit those bits on that plant tag, too?

More Signs of Life

Click on this picture if you can't quite see what those little brown specks are.

It's spider ball time again here. You know, those little brown balls of baby spiders, all huddled together for warmth. I find them irresistible (Sheila says sheepishly) because just one little poke and they instantly scatter.

There are now 4 balls of spiders in my windowbox lettuce. They are making it very complicated to water, I have to say.

Lewisias

I first saw lewisias at one of my favourite nurseries. They were nestled becomingly in small, curvy hypertufa planters, glowing in shades of orange and pink and hot magenta. Absolutely gorgeous.

It was late spring and I was on a Mission to find a plum tree for the new house (I was on one of my Escape the Renovation Experience Excursions), but found myself instantly besotted with these instead. Plus, there were no plum trees handy.

I grabbed the pinkiest-orangiest one I could find, feeling somewhat repelled by the $8.99 price tag, and decided I would have an Alpine Garden in the new house. I plopped it into a nice, sloping, rock-filled bed, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And nothing happened.

It would have been laughably tragic, had I not in the meantime found a cheaper source (ooh, I sound like a junkie, don't I?) and bought SIX MORE of them! As it was, none of them did much more than send a spoof of a bloom all bloody summer. They looked like dollar store hens and chicks. They wilted a bit. They started to shrivel even. I felt as though I were living in a Shakespearean Floral Tragedy: Lewisias Torment Garden Enthusiast With Lack of Show. Yes, yes, you can laugh at what you no doubt imagine is just me being overly dramatic, but I was unable to find much humour in the situation, I have to say. I felt as though my Grand Passion was going horribly unrequited. I had had great hopes for those lewisias.

(Spin forward in time 8 months)

Fortunately for all of us, those lewisias have changed their minds about living chez Greenridge Alpine Garden. They're putting on a pretty spectacular show this spring. It's Broadway out there right now - lights cameras AND action - all in one glorious clash of fuchsia, pink, and orange. I might have to put on my tap shoes and join them for a few numbers...