Gung Hey Fat Choi

I crashed yesterday. Recovering from lack of sleep and over socialization. I know it may come as a surprise to some of you (none who have lived with me I'm sure), but as much as I love people, I'm in reality an introvert.

But that set me up for today. What a day it was! After church I headed into town to meet up with some coworkers. We'd volunteered to be guinea pigs for a new interactive treasure hunt around London. This is SO my cup of tea!!! Each team is given a BlackBerry mobile and a map. Clues are texted to you, and as you text back the answers, you receive more historical information about whatever it is you found, and then our next clue. Great exercise, especially if you're a little bit competitive. The clues were generally within about a km of each other, but we were on the go for a good couple of hours.

Facebook photos 

The winning team. How rude.

Following the hunt, Heather, the other dark curly haired girl from Canadia, as the Keith the Australian likes to call it, and I continued on to Chinatown and Trafalgar Square for the rest of the Chinese New Year festivities. We picked up some of those miniature sidewalk firecrackers, and got into some minor mischief with those, some sketchy chinese food from a vendor, and watched as they lit Nelson's column on fire as part of their fireworks show.

However, I am s-s-so cold. One of those wet Vancouver cold to the bone days. Maybe I'll go fill my big Paris mug with steaming hot chocolate and curl up by the fireplace with a blanket. Mmmm... I even think I still have a Sherlock movie left to watch. Can the weekend get any better?

Worship Team, Here I Come! (slowly)

I had my first Worship practice tonight. They keep giving me more music. Apparently I'm actually going to have to become proficient at reading music, and not just memorise it. Oh.

Luckily, Gavin blew it all up on the photocopier for me at the end of practice. I was having a terrible time squinting at little chicken scratch notes on a yellowed pages... it might do for guitar chords, but when it comes to a novice reading the melody line...

I can tell that I'm going to be stretched in so many ways. I feel like I'm on a journey, and I have no map. I have guides though, and have a general idea of where I'm headed. I catch glimpses of the route and destination on hill crests, and through breaks in the trees.

I'd love to describe some of my revelations and struggles, but unless you're about where I'm at on a violin, it'll mean little to you. You have my permission to tune out.

#1: I am so incredibly thankful for the few months I got to study under Trent Freeman. He was teaching me WAY above where I was at at the time (and still am, to be honest), but it's slowly starting to come together now. Maybe the most ongoing useful part of his lessons were the mini theory lessons. I learned about chords, what makes them up, and which three chords in a key go together. I learned about scales, and what a "key" was. I learned how to listen to a scale, and figure out another one by using the same note intervals. I learned that if you play the scale of whatever key you're in, you'll know your fingering for that song, unraveling the mystery of when to play a high or low 2, 3 or *shudder* 1. I learned that there was such a thing as a high 3, and a low 1. All of the above came into play today. I am still picking up snatches of theory here and there, but if feels like I pierced little holes in the knowledge barrier with his lessons, and now it's seeping through, and not quite so brand new and mind blowing.

#2: Off the top of my head, I still don't really know what note I'm playing. However, I can more readily tell you which finger goes down in relation to the little black dot on the paper.

#3: I am also incredibly thankful for people in the Church. When truly seeking God, and trying to walk in Jesus' footsteps, people seem to be more genuinely eager to share their time and knowledge, without looking for a return. It seems to be something that society (in GENERAL) has lost in the current generation, where it tends to be all about what you can get for yourself. Instant gratification, and "me, me, me".

#4: The trumpet player has to transpose all of the music, because his instrument is in the key of B flat. PS. As a violinist, I have decided tonight that I hate Bb (first encounter). ANYWAY, I think I had a revelation this evening! This is the second time I've heard of an instrument being in a different key, and the music looking different. How can a written C sound different on two instruments? I think I've figured it out! It must be like a tin whistle... When a tin whistle is in the key of D, it plays a D when all the holes are covered. So the simplest scale to play would be a D scale.

Now, to continue with my guess work, for some ludicrous reason, when people write music for a trumpet, they must write the first note in the scale where you would usually put a middle C for a piano on sheet music. Would someone who knows about music either confirm or kibosh my hypothesis? If I'm right, it suddenly all makes sense and is so simple. If I'm wrong... well, who am I kidding? I've got to be right. It's the only explanation that makes sense.

Celtic Connections cont.

I've come to a decision. Celtic Connections is amazing. I was a little disappointed in my choice last night. Should have gone to see the Punch Brothers and Carolina Chocolate Drops. Still kicking myself. At the time that I booked the tickets though, I couldn't justify three North American concerts in a row. Now that I know how the festival is structured, I'd do things a little differently.

So all you who are coming in the future, take note. What you REALLY want to see are the Late Night Sessions or Festival Club. It's WAY cheaper, and you get an excellent sampling of all the groups who will be playing over the 3 week festival. There are a couple catches... you don't know who will be playing until you show up at the door, and it doesn't end until about 4am. Which hurts when your body is programmed to wake up at 6am. A lot. Or maybe I'm just getting old.

Also, when looking at the workshops, forget whatever your main instrument is, and take a bunch of "come & try" or beginner workshops. Instruments are provided, it's fun and relaxed, and again, cheap. Third tip: come alone. It's a great way to meet people, and you'll leave with a list of "here's my contact info. Come visit" invitations. And they're genuine.

I can't believe how friendly the people are here. I ran next door for a sandwich at lunch today. The lady sitting at the next table asked me if I was drinking orange juice (?), and the next thing I know, she's writing me a list of all the different restaurants and cafes I need to try while I'm here.

Today was magical. One of the highlights was the Mandolin workshop. Soooo much fun! I now know how to hold a mandolin and plectrum properly, pluck Ally Bally Bee (sounds vaguely like Kumbaya), play the chords, and play an arpeggio slide intro and bridge thingy. I got to be in the "advanced" half of the class, because it's tuned like a fiddle. LOL.

The other highlight was the Vent du Nord and Väsen (+3 other groups) concert tonight. High energy is the place to be! Somehow they blended the Swedish, French Canadian, and Scottish styles really well. But MAN, was it hopping! It made my fingers itch to get home to my fiddle. Vent du Nord are great performers - they really know how to interact and involve the audience, and seem to be incredibly excited about being on stage and playing with their guests. I can't even begin to describe the atmosphere. Put on one of their CD's, throw on a couple other high energy CDs from other groups at the same time, then add in 2,475 people standing, stomping their feet and clapping, and that might be a start.

Honourable mention goes to an up and coming band named Rura that played yesterday at open mike. I'm checking out their myspace page right now (http://www.myspace.com/therura). The recordings on there don't have the same pulse and energy that they had live yesterday, but they were REALLY good!

Béla Fleck and the Flecktones

I don't even know what happened last night. Honestly. My mind was blown. I don't know how to write this without gushing and sounding obnoxious. I almost didn't even go to the concert...thought I'd take it easy. Now I don't know if the rest of the weekend will live up to the standard that has been set!

I had assumed that Béla Fleck and the Flecktones was a bluegrass band. Well, they may take a few bluegrass instruments up on stage, but I can't even begin to guess at what they played! Best harmonica I've ever heard played to begin with. Yes, I know... I'm so experienced ;) His solos - all of their solos - frequently required me to remember to shut my mouth.

The bass player was absolutely fantastic! I didn't even KNOW that a bass guitar could lead the melody. He blew all preconceived notions that I had about how instruments are supposed to be played out of the water. Every minute they were up on stage, my eyes were opened to new ideas and limitations were annihilated.

His brother was the same; this big black pirate standing to the side with some weird instrument that looks like it came out of Davey Jone's locker strapped to him like a guitar. It took me three songs just to pick out what sound it was making. It was some sort of electric drum kit that he's invented, called the drumitar.

THEN, for the last song before breaking for intermission, they call out Casey Driessen. I nearly flew through the roof in surprise and giddiness! I had it in my head that he was Canadian - I've been listening to one of his CDs for the last year, in awe of the power and flexibility behind his playing. He wasn't even supposed to BE at Celtic Connections! My Canadian pride has now been crushed - he's American. But for the second half of the evening, I had the certainty that Canada was represented up on stage.

For the second half, there were 12 musicians up on stage, from around the world. Again, I frequently found my mouth hanging open, and from the reaction of those on stage, they were equally impressed by the melding and dance of music being created. It had a much more Celtic flavour to it. I wish I could list who they were, but to be honest I don't know.

I met an Austrian girl at the concert, who was likewise there by herself. Being so riled up by the concert, we joined forces and headed to the Festival Club next door for more live music. Roxanna, you'll never guess who opened. Just to continue an amazing day full of excellent surprises. Yup, Findlay Napier. You're right, he does have a nice voice. They had him turned up so loud though that both my ears were aching. I was about to take that as a sign to head home when Vent du Nord started setting up on stage.

Obviously I couldn't tear myself away at that point. Within the first song they had the dance floor full, and kept it that way for their whole set. French Candian music has a very definite flavour to it. For the very first time since moving here I felt a pang of homesickness. Alain, Marie-Maude and whoever else brought an instrument always turned our potentially boring staff parties and "retreats" into kitchen parties (who calls locking teachers out in the middle of the wilderness so they can't escape two days of meetings and planning a "retreat"?!?)

Éléa, I took one photo on my iPhone for you. I've got a very bad feeling that I'm going to be so busy experiencing this weekend that I won't be doing any photography :( Sorry. Plus, my camera doesn't do well in the dark. No idea who they are (again), but they're one of the groups following Vent du Nord. They themselves didn't even know the name of the guy on cello - some kid from New York that they invited up on stage with them. The guy on bodhran was one of the people on-stage for the last half of the Flecktones concert.

The Frustrations of a Mediocre Budding Musician

Yesterday, I wrote the following note to Roxanna, my Skype Fiddle Instructor:

"So I let Kimberly take me to her multi-level orchestra class last night. Don't EVER let me try another group class again. That's two very large strikes against group lessons that are supposed to accommodate people of my level. She swore that it was for level two violinists and up, and that I'd be able to handle it.

The conductor handed out sheet music to Handel's Cencerto IV in C, and we played it cold. All the way through. I could play chunks of the first and third movement (I cheated and plucked the first few bars before we got going), but couldn't have played even two notes in a row of the second of fourth movement if my life depended on it. She's been playing for 12 years and found it challenging.

Will I ever find a place to fit in? Have I simply started too late, and the ship has sailed? I love playing, but I don't want to play by myself in my own little corner. It's depressing."


However, I really have no reason to feel depressed, because tonight I had a lesson. I love that an hour of fiddle infusion sets me on fire for days on end. WAY better than any drug.

The Internet was down this evening, which sent me into a near panic. Haven't had a proper lesson in over a month. But lo, a voice from on high sung "Heather, Heather, don't forget your phone!" So we did a phone lesson instead. Worked really well! Way better connection than what I've been getting lately with Skype *disgruntled snear*. Gives new meaning to learning by ear... definitely no cheating allowed. We learned (and by "we", I mean Roxanna patiently bore with me while I learned) Calum's Road - Part B, reviewed Highlander's Revenge and how to fit the two tunes together, and learned High Road to Linton - Part A & C. With time to talk about the upcoming Celtic Connections besides.

I have been incredibly blessed with the most amazing instructors over the last couple years. [trying to keep my blog from now becoming an ad, but a few names deserve special mention] Ben Plotnick got me hooked one summer, then Trish Clair-Peck, Trent Freeman, and Roxanna Sabir kept me flying high. Even to the point of giving me Skype lessons when I can't find a local instructor. Seriously... if you play, and you ever, EVER, have the chance to meet these people, jump on it. Such genuine, encouraging, talented people. Who am I kidding? Even if you don't play, they're still worth a chat ;)

Saturday Morning Ramblings

I went out for supper with some of the teachers from the school I'll be teaching at over the next 6 weeks (potentially until the end of the school year). Most of us are international citizens, so talk touched on some of our impressions of living in the UK.

This is my first morning lie-in in over a month. To commemorate it, here are some ramblings that come to mind (some that you may have heard before):

Canada is gorgeous. It's a huge country with all sorts of geography and ecosystems. I'll give you a couple examples, JUST from the West Coast. My parents live in a semi-arid desert, a few hours away, where I went to uni, it's a temperate rainforest, and directly North from them, I've been teaching just south of the Arctic circle for 6 years. The Yukon has a Winter that lasts for 8 months of the year, lots of unexplored wilderness, and changing light conditions depending on the month. Just the Yukon Territory has double the surface area of the UK, but a population of 36 000. 24 000 of those people live in the "city" of Whitehorse (that's where I lived). So that leaves 12 000 people spread out over double the surface area of the UK.

I had a sled dog pup that I trained up to pull me on cross-country skis. A lot of the Canadian stereotypes are actually a way of life in the Yukon, unbeknownst to most Canadians themselves. It was eye opening moving up there. I was completely anti-gun before moving there, and now I OWN a gun. Just a little one :P Most people don't eat if they don't hunt. It's just crazy. A gun is seen as a regular tool, like a hammer, or a sewing machine.

I do love Canada, and there's much more of it that I'd like to explore. That being said, coming to the UK has been a whole different experience. There's a sense of depth here, and roots, that is missing in Canada. It's hard to describe exactly, and even now that I've been here for 5 months I've started taking it for granted. I was reminded of it when my aunt came to visit over Christmas Break, because she commented on it too. Maybe it's the buildings. A lot of everyday buildings and homes here are older than the Dominion of Canadian itself. It's rather awe-inspiring. Maybe it's the people. People here seem to be deeply connected to their cultural identity. They can trace their families back, sometimes on the same plot of land, for 100s of years.

Frequently, when I fill out form, "White" isn't an answer (they don't use politically correct words such as "Caucasian" here). They want to know exactly what kind of "White" I am. Well, I'm a little bit English, a little bit Scottish, I have some Welsh, my family name comes from Old French (but can't be traced back further than landing in North America, so it was probably changed, and we have no idea who these ancestors actually were), my grandma is a quarter dutch, my grandfather is allegedly a quarter American-Indian... the list goes on. For some reason "White-Canadian" isn't one of the options.

It's all just a little bit of a different point of view on your life. It makes you see yourself from a different angle, and get to know yourself on a deeper level. Going back to bed now.

Cultural Programming

Do you ever wonder why if you add white to red (or black, if you call it a colour), it makes a new colour, but you add white to any other colour, and you just get a lighter shade of the same colour? It's all in the name. Abstract. My deep thoughts for the night.

Somebody please sing me a lullaby.

Sound it out!

Gotta love phonemic spelling. Here's yet another example of how cute kids are, especially when they have an accent.

Christmas thank you letter assignment:

"Dear dad,
fuc yoo frr my toes." (thank you for my toys)

Say WHAT?!?!

Do you know that I just found out that THEY ONLY WRITE REPORT CARDS ONCE A YEAR HERE? And they're ONLY ONE PAGE LONG?!? We have to do an 8 page report card THREE TIMES A YEAR back home! I don't SLEEP for the two weeks leading up to Christmas holidays. And I spend the first half of summer recuperating from utter exhaustion and burnt-outedness, then the rest of the summer pulling my house and classroom back into shape! Yes, that's right. If you calculate it out, that does indeed mean that I get no summer break.

Not only that, but they don't seem to give grades like we do back home. Now I'm treading into muddy territory and may have to make a few retractions later on. From what I understand, teachers do 3 levelings a year. Each year is divided into 3 "grades". So, at the beginning of Year 3, a child should ideally be a 3C, and by the end, 3A. Sometimes children may be in Year 3, but be at say, a 2B or a 4A level. Fascinating.

Bittersweet thoughts in the morning

The problem with being a supply teacher is that you're not normally being called in for a happy reason, especially when it's an extended cover. And the better you know and like a school and its staff, the worse it is.

Good ol' London!

I'm back home again! It was fascinating... as soon as we got off the train, you could tell that we were back in London. It was so CLEAN! And didn't smell like, well, urine.

The trade off is that I found the Parisians incredibly warm and friendly. I haven't a clue where they got their snobby stereotype. Not once did anyone pretend to not understand my accent. In fact, everyone seemed eager to strike up a conversation and ask me where I was from and what I was about.

And so helpful! My aunt and I had but to pause with a puzzled look on our face, and someone would stop their busy routine and ask us where we were headed, or what we were looking for. I'm not exaggerating... it was that quick!

Another example: we went to a shop, and though they didn't have what we were looking for, the lady got on the phone, started calling around to other shops, and THEN went next door to see if her neighbour knew what bus we needed to take to get to point B.

I was seriously impressed. That being said, it does feel good to be home again. Many thanks to Morvan, who lent us his apartment in Paris, which was an amazing home away from home.

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