Church music – 1st verse and chorus – I am having a remarkably productive Feb, song wise

PS, the choir practice was interesting but not inspiring for me.  For other people, mos’ def.



When we choose to look back at how far we have come

The change will take our breath away

But as far as we’ve come, much remains to be done

And we learn life will ever be this way

In the

hall of remembrance x 3

Where all the heroes go

In the

hall of remembrance x 3

Where all the heroes go

Ziva, you heartless tyrant

So, she’s in the shop again for two days while they address the fact that she went from being very well behaved to sounding like an emphysema riddled old drunkard and blowing through 25 percent extra gas overnight.  As always if it isn’t one thing it’s two things.  Paul’s been at me for the valve noise for ages; she needs a new timing kit, and there’s other assorted shit in there.

To misquote the Catalonian Catalunyan poet, “I want no pity for this pain I would trade with no other man”.

Work itself is okay but there are circumstances at work that are very tiresome and disillusioning and when Jeff picked me up yesterday (thank you!) we had a lively discussion of management techniques on the way home in the car, and calmed ourselves down with some more Stargate SG1, which continues to be excellent although I imagine eventually the show will get tired.  It just hasn’t happened yet.

And I hit – or will make an uncontrolled descent into – a milestone today.  I’ve never ever ever been to a Beacon choir practice.  I’m going to one tonight because I’ll be rehearsing drums for a single performance.  When I get asked why I won’t join the choir – and I know I will be asked – when I have one of the better singing voices in the congregation – and that is merely a statement of fact, not me getting uppity – I am going to look at them all and say, “I don’t have to say why, and I’m not joining.”  It’s the material.  Dirges, with a few exceptions.


an imaginary gift for my mother


It’s an archaeologist’s kit.

My mum just finished and sent off to me four, count them, four family projects.  One is a family history book about the Mennonite side of the family, one is the survival book my mother’s mother wrote (notes – really – that got turned into a book), my forebear’s (not lineal) book of copied out poetry, and my unca Barry’s book about his family’s adventures in Reunion Island.

What a haul for me and what an incredible amount of work by her.  Jeff and Barry and I believe Mary assisted with it, and I did transcribe some of the poems although I gave up and handed it back to mOm before I was completely through.  I just found the poetry so Depressing.


Anyway, mOm in another life you would have been an archaeologist, so I hope you like your kit.

Carrie’s in town

Paul (streaming nose and all) and I feasted her at the Mad Greek in Richmond last night.  She’s debating, having broken up with her most recent beau, whether she’s leaving Haida Gwai’i for the lower mainland or Victoria.  She’ll be closer than Haida Gwai’i either way so that’s okay with me.  Her kids are all doing awesome, which was lovely news; for a while there, much like me, she was getting heaping helpings of disappointment and fear of the future and all of that appears to have resolved.  I was a tad resentful that I didn’t get a ride home as I am now underslept and exhausted. (Paul stayed for a soak in the hot tub at the hotel, and while that was great for him I’d had WAY too much to drink to borrow his car.)  Fortunately the hotel was close by a Skytrain station.

I am working on a song for Apophis. And the rest of the system lords.  Hathor’s demise was particularly welcome.

Why won’t you die X3

You bastard

Apophis was a god of note or so the legends say, til SG1 got up his nose and elseways in his way, they tried to kill him a hundred times and each time he survived, you should have heard me shout for joy at the start of season 5.


No work with Family Compact today

Paul’s got a ghastly cold that just came up out of nowhere so no joint rehearsing.  Katie turned up after work last night and slept over and did laundry and got a steak and eggs brekky at her mother’s hands.  Then we went to Village de Valeur and I bought three work outfits (hopefully so I can repurpose some rather elderly dresses).

Family Compact was the name of the imaginary band John and Paul and I were going to have.

I have to put finishing touches on my homily.  I also get to do the homily on Easter Sunday.



Huge long list

But the most important thing is practicing.  Paul’s coming over today and we’re going to, you know, practice.  Also laundry in there, and I’d better do something about the kitchen because it looks like a before picture in a storyboard of “Why I killed my roommate”.

Ah, Blue Heron Coffee.  Best in the world.  If you see some for less than 11 dollars, buy it and drink it, it is so smooth and tasty.

Since I have a perfectly satisfactory alternate universe, see y’all later.

So we’re up to the end of Season 4 on SG1, and yes, we’re blasting through it at a tremendous rate.  It’s such a good hearted show, filled with values like personal loyalty ahead of personal comfort and affirming science as the best bullshit detector we have as a species.  Also, NO PRIME DIRECTIVE.  Sure opens up the narrative possibilities.  Disgusting, hateable humanoid aliens who all have narcissistic personality disorder as a side effect of their rejuvenation treatments (nice touch!), hundreds of planets that all look like locations within ten blocks of where I live or really cheesy sets made out of foam.  I just love it.


I don’t agree with all of it or even how it’s written. But it got me thinking…

Dear Marilynne, anybody who uses the expression “Be that as it may” needs a better editor or clearer thinking unless trying to be funny or trite.  I can boil it all down to “Without story the people will die”, but there’s some good stuff in there.


Juan Cole translates

Juan Cole, everybody’s favourite Bahai Unitarian Universalist (whew!) is retranslating Omar Khayyam.  One verse at a time.  He’s also an awesome political commentator and full of menschy goodness.


Get up and come here
for the sake of my heart,
and lend your beauty 
to solving my problem.
Bring an earthenware cup
full of wine
for us to drink,
—quick before we’re clay 
in the ground
that they quarry 
to make cups.


And I really like it.

Dinner last night

Mike took me out for prime rib at the Oliver Twist. Jeff came with but didn’t enjoy the meal and complained about some loud barflies on the way out.  The Twist comped his meal and I brought him home some free dessert, so he was somewhat mollified.

Then Katie turned up – and promptly left again.  And briefly, the place smelled like gurl.