Wednesday, November 25, 2015

Willan Choir celebrates a centenarian

 
Helen, who has sung with the Willan Choir for 36 years, celebrated her 100th birthday last week.
On the right, she shares a laugh with Choir Director Patricia Plumley. Helen also did Tai Chi into her eighties. She knows the value of song and laughter in promoting healthy longevity.

The Willan Choir will perform both on its own and with other massed choirs on Friday, November 27, at 7pm in the Atrium of Building B at Vancouver Community College. All are welcome to come and hear our choral renditions of a variety of Ave Marias by Brahms, Dvorzak, Haydn, Arcadelt, Rachmaninov, and more. The last will be sung in Russian, the others in Latin.

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Falling into the sky in Bear Creek Park

On a recent walk, we enjoyed looking over the bridge rails into this backwash. Sometimes, there are beavers; their dams are visible.

Owls have been known to roost in the nearby cottonwoods, possibly preying on the rabbits.

Buffleheads and mallards are often seen diving for food and kicking up their orange feet.

On this day, the reflection of the sky looked so inviting we felt we could fall into it.

Monday, November 23, 2015

Seeing through fresh eyes

Each year around this time, I enjoy sitting in this lovely room at Hycroft, listening to music performed by choristers and harpists.

This year, sitting on the partner sofa of this one, I soaked up the sun streaming in through the window.

My position was also perfect for seeing the carved eave of the old house through the top pane.

From where I sat, I noticed how that pane was reflected perfectly in the shiny surface of the coffee table.

However, the window was so full of light from the sun and the lamp that the picture hardly does justice to the very special perspective I enjoyed from the cozy couch.

Sunday, November 22, 2015

Atmosphere of the past at Hycroft

Patterns of moss on the wall surrounding Hycroft Manor, home of the University Women's Club of Vancouver.

The iron gate, the high wall and the rampant ivy that enclose the private garden evoke other places, other times.







The Christmas Fair continues till Sunday evening.

Saturday, November 21, 2015

Kerrisdale Bell Ringers at Hycroft

The Hycroft Christmas Fair is an annual event I haven't missed in many years. Our annual pilgrimage began when my daughter was young and went on until she left home for UVic, and even after that. Now I go with a friend or alone. The lovely old house, the decorations and the variety of Christmas music continue to appeal. This was the first year ever that I got to the fair on opening day. Thanks to the bell ringers, who played there only that day.

I'd always wanted to hear bell ringers, but had little idea of what to expect. It was impressive. With two bells each, these four ladies played an amazing variety of carols.

Meanwhile, back at Kerrisdale Community Centre, there's a whole lot more bell-ringing going on. Jean, the leader of this travelling Christmas bell ringing troupe told us with a gleam in her eye that the bell ringers, "an orchestra really," played all kinds of music and had "chimes, drums, mallets, lots of things." Unfortunately, a lot of the instruments aren't too portable, and a lot of venues can't host such large numbers of performers.

But let me tell you, after having our ears delighted by the small travelling Christmas quartet, next year I intend to go to the  annual home concert. This year it's on December 6, but we were already booked. Meanwhile, the harps, choirs and fair continue until Sunday evening at Hycroft.

Friday, November 20, 2015

Six year blogging anniversary

Image from British Council

One of my earliest blog posts was a cooperative effort. Silvia Pandini, a teacher from Brazil, was brushing up her English in my ESL class. "I will if you will," she challenged, and so we promised one another. Together, we posted a piece she wrote called "Teachers and Mills." The original was in Portuguese; Silvia translated her ideas; my contribution was to make the English smooth.

Silvia returned to Brazil soon after. But the blogging bug had bitten me, and I carried on. At first occasionally, then weekly and bi-weekly. A couple of times I tried to quit, but I missed the new opportunity to formulate my passing thoughts in words. For the past three years, this has been more or less a daily discipline. I post on books I've read, and also on non-fiction subjects that require time-consuming research. Meanwhile, I have other writing projects.

Recently, I was about to quit blogging again when something strange happened. For the first time in ages, I went ego-surfing and saw, to my astonishment, that "Carol Tulpar blog" is now a search term. The Google algorithms appear to have noticed me. Does that means I should carry on?

Thursday, November 19, 2015

The Wily O'Reilly

Image from Patrick Taylor author site

A retired medical specialist, Dr. Patrick Taylor has been writing all his life. While practicing medicine, he wrote textbooks and edited a medical journal as well as contributing a regular humour column in Stitches: The Journal of Medical Humour, keeping his readers laughing at the antics of the lovable reprobate, Ulster GP Dr. Fingal Flahertie O'Reilly.

After retiring from active practice, O'Reilly grew and developed as Patrick began his fiction career in earnest. When his tenth novel in the Irish Country Doctor series came out in 2015, fans were unsurprized when it followed its predecessors onto the New York Times and Globe and Mail bestseller lists.

Throughout the novel series, the crafty WWII naval veteran protagonist, village GP Dr. O'Reilly is described through the point of view of Dr. Barry Laverty, who is first his locum, and later his partner and friend. The books bring to life a typical though fictitious Ulster village from before WWII through the post-war period, casting light and shadow on every aspects of life in Ballybucklebo.

The Wily O'Reilly (Forge, 2014) is a series of vignettes about the same crusty widower, selected from earlier humour columns. Now middle-aged and self-confident to a fault, O'Reilly is devoted to his Jamieson's whiskey, his widowed housekeeper's cooking, and to making sure the patients never "get the upper hand."

Fingal O'Reilly is a "classical scholar, bagpiper, poacher, hard drinker, and foul-mouthed country GP." The first time his foil, Dr. Taylor, reports for duty as a locum, he observes his new employer: a large man, "six foot thirteen'' with "the shoulders of Atlas." The fact that his nose tip is "an alabaster white" turns out to be an omen of the doctor's anger. Indeed, at this moment, he is propelling a hapless young man out the door for showing up with filthy feet. A moment later, the doctor pleasantly informs the prospective patient that although surgery hours are over, he'll wait and see him if he washes his feet and returns within an hour.

After this startling juncture, the new locum is obliged to introduce himself. Timidly, he asks, "Doctor O'Reilly?"

No, ripostes the other, "John--bloody--Wayne."

As he shares his medical experience with Dr. Taylor, O'Reilly confuses his hapless locum by habitually speaking in bizarre non-sequiturs. He also involves his unwilling assistant in a series of ludicrous adventures and schemes, many of which the young doctor foresees will end badly, adding "And yet his patients loved him, and I suppose in time, so did I."

Taylor's humour is refreshingly light. Though he refers in passing to darker subjects like war, disease, and social inequality, he does so in an oblique fashion, often by larding his tales with linguistically lush and bizarrely exaggerated military and sporting similes. After explaining how the landed gentry purchased, raised and "coddled" their pheasants, he then goes on to describe shooting season when the "bewildered birds...flapping fearfully in full flight," are set upon by "hordes of happy hunters" who blaze away "with all the enthusiasm of Montgomery's artillery during the warm-up to the away match at El Alamein."

His description of poaching follows. He makes much use of alliteration, here using the letter p (once characterized by Margaret Atwood as the funniest in the alphabet). This avian theft by "lesser mortals" was "frowned upon by the upper crust" who historically "spent considerable resources to ensure that vast tracts of Australia were populated by platoons of penurious peasants who'd purloined or pilfered privately purchased pheasants."

Exaggerated though these tales are, the book carries us warmly to a past time and another place, where pints are sunk at the "Mucky Duck," a pub that serves stout to dogs but where women cannot go, and where the Christmas pageant is disrupted by a fainting nun who, along with the rest of the audience, is scandalized by a young actor who happens to be Fingal's nephew. Miffed by his demotion from the role of Joseph and grudgingly playing the part of the innkeeper, he invites Mary to come into the inn but tells Joseph to "feck off."

For this infringement, the sinner is catechized to stop him swearing and made to eat his meals standing up for an extended period. He also has his pocket money stopped for three months. Ere long, the intrepid child overcomes this hurdle when an unexpected business opportunity presents itself, allowing him to rent his school cap to other boys sequentially, for reasons I will not reveal.

The Wily O'Reilly is of a different style and format from the novels, which are historically accurate and more serious, though still warm in tone and filled with funny moments. Having finished the vignettes, I look forward to choosing one of the two that wait on my chair as we speak.