Dance, dance wherever you may be

As far as I know, Noah’s viewing of Disney’s animated The Jungle Book more than a year ago was not a defining moment. I was barely able to get him to sit through part of the jazzed out temple bacchanalia. Now he’s doing what he calls the ‘monkey dance’ complete with simian sound effects as he careens around the front room. Had I not known better I would have thought he was Mowgli’s understudy. He has some boppin’ riffs that even King Louis would have loved to claim as his own choreography.

Our boy is a dancer. His first joyful steps were to the accompaniment of Diogal’s Sore performed in this video at the Satellit Café in Paris. Not long after he stabilized upright he locked the rhythm down simmering sweet. He’s got a groove and it’s good to the see the mostly unihibited moves as he shakes, extends, bends and spins on the ground. Diogal, thanks for the initial inspiration, his first gift of dance.

With so much dance in the air, it’s à propos that we read It’s a George Thing. George is a zebra who serendipitously discovers that dance is his thing. It gives him a newfound confidence and a means to express himself. Dance is a passion he can share. Great story by David Bedford and illustrations by Russell Julian. The book has a tongue in cheek dedication to John Travolta. Sure to bring bedtime smiles and giggles for the three to six-year-old crowd.

Music and dance are soul mates and Noah loves them both. He’s relaying his passion to Nellie-Rose. She’s a welcome recipient experimenting in her own right with sound and movement. In fact, we’ve taken to riding with a small drum in the back seat of the car. I saw it sitting there between the car seats on a recent solo drive and thought, “This is going to be trouble.” It’s surprising though how just the one, a small one it must be emphasized, can have a soothing effect and provide great accompaniment to la ferme à Maturin, Old MacDonald’s. So far, it’s a great car toy but I wouldn’t want to contend with this while driving…

After the jam session, Nellie and I go out for our own pas de deux where rolling waves meet the beach at Rainbow Haven. It starts calamitously. I lose sight of her walking to the car. As I swing open my door I hear a soft thud and a wail of disbelief. Nellie is on her back in the driveway sobbing, tears streaming down her face. Fortunately a neighbour is walking by with a small puppy. She comes over and the distraction gradually dispels the tears.

Out at water’s edge, the foaming sea snakes up the beach, slithering in, whispering out. Nellie has her puddle hoppers on, unsure at first if she should retreat from the advancing water. She looks up into my face for a cue. With a big smile and a couple of words I encourage the fun and frolic option. I let her know that she’s safe and that I will stay close. It’s not long before a hesitant toe dip is a full fledged assault and Nellie becomes an island in the midst of shifting eddies.

This is all great fun, a salt tinged breeze on a mild October day, fine rocks to collect on the almost abandoned beach, the calming sound of breaking surf and time to be with my baby passing in an unhurried ebb and flow tempo. Her next move jags me out of my pastoral. She’s horizontal again looking up at the sky and getting wet as the last traces of water on the piece of beach she’s occupying gets sucked back into the sea. Into my arms for a cuddle. She’s a bit damp but none the worse for wear. Wet enough though for us to start making tracks home but not quite so bad that there can’t be a detour for some contemplative freestyle puddle exploration. It’s not as tricky as the run and dash water at the beach.

Sunday we’re on the road for Windsor – home of the giant pumpkins and the world’s first pumpkin regatta. Linus lovers of the world unite. This is the pumpkin patch gone out of its gourd. It’s a great pumpkin happening like no other and an inventive solution to stretching the tourist season.

Thousands of people are taking in the Childen’s Wish Foundation parade. First we hang out under the sign of the Tim”s where we get a pretty good view of some of the floats. We venture into the crowds on Water Street and one of the bystanders quips, “Look a double decker. And one in the oven.” The parade is almost over but these curbside bon mots as we roll by on the street make us feel like we’re part of it all.

We stroll down to waterside in search of those fabled pumpkin bateaux. This is Lake Pezaquid where the real action takes place. All eyes are drawn to the expanse of chilly water. Every 30 seconds or so, Noah wants to know, “Did it start yet?”. The crowds are getting denser and there’s a real carnival atmosphere along the downtown shore. Noah, Nellie and another young girl are adding to the merriment with their game of run-dance-tag. Vendors from Amherst, Halifax and Hants County make sure there’s greasy food par excellence and fresh produce to go the rounds. The real find is the stand selling giant home-baked cookies decorated with liberal amounts of Hallowe’en icing motifs. They’re so big that eating an entire cookie brings me to the brink of nausea but I just can’t pull back.

Noah’s perched on my shoulders to watch the first heat. It’s the motorized class. One of the three contestants is stranded not even halfway across the lake, dead in the water. The other two chug along toward our shore. There’s not much of a wake behind either vessel. Speed is relative in this event. In second place is is an 11-year-old boy. He’ll have some great bragging rights at school.

We’ve been standing around for over two hours and the chill is starting to penetrate our clothes. We’re all feeling a little dog-eared and ready to roll for home. If the weather’s nice next year we’ll time it differently so we can take in the paddlers. They’re the biggest contingent in the event as they cross the lake like an undisciplined, bobbing armada.

As proud as it is of its pumpkins, Windsor has a lot more to offer. It’s the Birthplace of Hockey as the highway sign proudly proclaims. There are pretenders to the throne but the Town maintains that it has near irrefutable evidence to make good it claim.

Windsor is also home to Mermaid Theatre, an internationally renowned children’s touring troupe. The company purchased the old Imperial Theatre in 2003 and now presents a series of cultural events throughout the year. In 2010 stay tuned for the return of The Very Hungry Caterpillar an award winning theatrical adaptation of Eric Carle’s children’s book.

We finish up the holiday weekend on an overdose of turkey and chocolate pie topped with hand whipped cream brought over by daughter Alexa and boyfriend Jordan. It’s good to see them both and we tune in for some art school, university tales. It’s a wonderful unrushed afternoon and I’m glad they are able to make the time for an Eastern Passage trip.

Read Full Post »

À la carte morning

We’re out of the house and skirting the harbour, early morning after the school rush. Noah asks, “Where is Avignon, papa?” as he bursts into a chorus of Sur le pont d’Avignon. This is our standard musical accompaniment when crossing bridges everywhere. It’s been in vogue now for about two years and shows no sign of slowing down. This is the first time Noah is questioning the where of Avignon. He quickly decides that he wants to go there, in a plane. It’s an adventure that I’d like to take too but it’s going to have to wait for another day.

Two cruise liners – Norwegian Dawn and Explorer of the Seas – are snugged up to the piers at the south end of the harbour, stern to bow right at the end of the boardwalk. We can’t get too close – it’s a restricted area. The gangplank is full. As they disembark, passengers start flowing to the waterfront. We follow the sauntering, mostly elderly crowd.

There’s a man with a sax blowing catchy snaps of music that wail along the autumn breeze. He gently lowers his horn into its case and starts singing to the backdrop of some recorded tunes. There are some off key vocal moments. Noah and Nellie are dancing up a storm, round and round and round. There are lots of onlookers remarking on how cute and wonderful they are. Their spontaneity and lightness of being are firing up joyful moments in the hearts of many passersby.

It’s a job in itself to bring the dance to a halt. They are having great fun. The Noah and Nellie Dance Ensemble is inadvertently stealing the show from the sax man and picking up on all the good vibes from the boat passengers as they walk past. Their dance is a spontaneous response to the music and now they are under the additional influence of that heady, centre of attention intoxication.

The promise of a peek at some construction on a waterfront site is sufficient enticement for Noah. The site is just beside us but as we get up close there’s not much in the way of large, big machinery activity. It’s remarkably quiet and orderly. This former generating station is being demolished in an eco-friendly manner to make way for new office buildings. Live webcams and background on this project can be found on Nova Scotia Power’s site.

As we turn away from the construction site fence, there are two young men pulling empty rickshaws coming toward us. On a whim we hop on for a ride back to the car in the parking lot. Nellie is snuggled in my lap and Noah is nestled close to me with my arm wrapped around him. The ride is less than five minutes. It’s an incessant giggle, laugh, squeal. Noah declares that he wants to do this everyday that we come to the waterfront. I have to deflate his expectations and let him know that this will be an occasional special treat. Regardless of the short duration, it’s a ride to remember.

We round out the morning with a first time visit to the Isleville Park Playground. At this age, playgrounds are better than candy stores. Letting them loose to run and climb and slide is developing motor skills, social skills and is building a foundation for healthy lifestyles.

One more stop before we head home. It’s a domestic bliss trip to the grocery store. Noah and Nellie are side-by-side in the cart as I wheel inexpertly through the store in search of the items on my list. It’s like a treasure hunt – can I find it, is it the right product?

The kids have been great all morning. They are eager to get home to see maman. She isn’t feeling well today and this is one of the reasons we’ve made ourselves scarce – to give her a needed and well deserved rest.

As they bound through the front door it’s a chorus of maman, maman. Maman hears all about the fine adventure and sees that we’re all glad to be home.

Read Full Post »

Girl powered down memory lane

The tunes are at full throttle – à tue tête– as we spice girl down the highway. The full moon is sweeting up the sky tracking us all the way to the airport. A little ziggy, ziggy ah here and a little ziggy, ziggy ah there. Even buckled in, the slam your body down/wind it all around lyrics are working some seat dancing magic.

Eldest daughter Makyla remains a devout Spice Girl fan though her tastes branched out long ago to the rave scene with electro, trance and numerous sub-categories of unfamiliar-to-me esoterica. Alexa, at a younger age, was also an acolyte, just loving up those tunes. She now has a solid list of her own favourites which span the 60s, reggae, grunge and the alternative scene. (Any misrepresentation of either of my daughters’ musical tastes is unintentional).

The grooving, winding, jumping up, dance, dance is what it’s all about. Kyla and I do a little boogie – her mostly, me barely – in the parking lot before we head to the terminal. Yes, this girl of mine is a storm. She winds up her waist smooth like the swell of salty sea rolling into her mother’s Bajan island home. Tonight we are good under the moon and stars, beaded moments of togetherness – smile, breathe, breathe, smile.

The previous evening, younger daughter Alexa and Makyla tried to get me out to Reflections to trip the light fantastic. It was years ago that I was there last to hear Carol Pope. No amount of cajoling or wheedling could get me to cross the harbour again and make for a late night into bed. The girls had to sublimate their desire to dance and do the social vogueing scene.

We we were already returning from some fine entertainment at Bayer’s Lake. As much as I deplore the big box multiplexes and the death of local cinemas, that night I really appreciated the comfortable, reclining seating with plenty of stretch room. I was bagged while watching Taking Woodstock not from illicit organics but a full day of pressure washing the vinyl siding on the house. That theatre seat was a feel good warm embrace. It rocked, cradled and smiled me high just like the movie.

I was about a decade too late for Woodstock and the wave of hippiedom. I tried it out though just the same. It was a watered down late 70s, early 80s urban fascimile. There was no possibility of recapturing the real thing, or of being swept up in its heyday. Gradually, over the years, my long hair and technicolour dress gave way to number 2 buzzes and more predictable and pedestrian clothing styles.

Along the way I did meet some fascinating members of the orginal hippie tribe including Stephen Gaskin, the founder of Summertown, Tennessee’s The Farm and the inspiration for a sister community in Lanark, Ontario – my original connection with them through Larry McDermott. The Farm’s NGO – Plenty International – hooked up with David Moodie, captain of the Baltic trader ship Fri , famous for its interventions in the Mururoa Atoll during France’s nuclear testing. They chartered Fri and Moodie for a reconnaissance voyage in the Caribbean.

This was eco-friendly international relief in 1983: sail power instead of jet fuel to travel the islands; projects that focused on the production of soy beans as an affordable, high protein staple. The Farm folk dropped by our house in St. Michael, Barbados and did a soy demo for a group of neighbourhood friends.

I had first read about soy’s transformative potential in Food First: Beyond the Myth of Scarcity, a mid-70s publication that provided an alternative analysis on how the planet feeds itself. A quick google shows that an institute continues to carry on the research, policy and advocacy work pioneered by its co-founders Frances Moore-Lappé and Joseph Collins.

In June of 1982 I travelled to New York to march with co-workers from the Christian Movement for Peace in a No Nukes rally during the UN’s Second Special Session on Disarmament. It was a happysmile flowertime day for the international gathering of budding buddhists, long hairs, peace and social justice workers, feminists, marxists, leninists, environmentalists and peaceniks who brought midtown Manhattan to a standstill. The crowd that meandered, danced, chanted and sang its way from the UN Plaza to Central Park was estimated to be one million strong. Not one arrest was made that day either during the march, or the follow up concert on the Great Lawn featuring James Taylor, Bruce Springsteen, Jackson Browne, Joan Baez, Linda Ronstadt and others.

It wasn’t the same impetus as Woodstock, a different vibe altogether, but still a day that stood out. Nor did this demo, one of the largest in America’s history, have anywhere near the same cultural reverberations. There is a surprisingly light google imprint on this event that happened just over 25 years ago.

Makyla’s presence took me a wandering, a walkabout reminiscing to times just before and just after she was born. From girl power, to hippies and beyond. Now it’s university days on the horizon for both Alexa and Makyla. More on our visit in the days ahead.

Read Full Post »