Beautiful Bourbon

I am not generally a doggy person, my only puppy experience many years ago having been fraught and misguided. The wonderful Bourbon, despite his own difficult puppyhood, was impeccably behaved and won my heart. He allowed me to sleep undisturbed on the bed settee in his lounge whilst he quietly lay on his own bed from the moment his owner and trainer Lani said goodnight until she signalled that he could arise next morning.

Mind you, I would probably do exactly as Lani bid as she is a redoubtable no nonsense woman who will not be swayed, whether into eating vegetables (a lifetime horror), or allowing her lovely husband Maurice to succumb to the throat cancer from which he has just been given the all clear.

Maurice is a sculptor and wood-carver. He has also just recovered from a badly broken hand managing to avoid the usual pins and plates and regaining full control of his smashed fingers. Maurice cooked for us the post tender pork marinaded in coffee grounds (a cowboy recipe, making the most of left-overs), divine and sophisticated vegetable dishes and the most pure, light corn on the cob I have ever tasted, bought straight from the field.

Food for Thought

As it happened, there was a bit of a theme running through the three shows and the talk that we were booked in to.

I last saw the powerful rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar in about 1972 and was glad that it still retained its hippy tinge. In the interval I found myself trying to give Beth, who is half Jewish, a brief synopsis of the life, times and work of JC.

The following day we listened to Ghandi Peace Prize winner Dr Izzeldin Abuelaish talking about his campaign for an end to hate, for the education of women and for the world to understand the terrible plight of the Palistinian refugees who are virtually imprisoned in the Gaza strip. I felt I was hearing the same message as from the day before and with it a challenge to stand up and be counted. If you don't know what to believe, go and see for yourself, he said. And then tell the world.

John Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath, masterfully adapted by Frank Galati, follows the Joad family, turned off their Oklahoma land, heading west to the the land of plenty. Their story of idealism, disappointment, hardship and desperation is tragic. Referred to by others as "Okies" they are dismissed as dirty, lazy and ignorant. I could not help but think of the many asylum seekers risking all for safety to be so shamefully treated in my own country.

So what I wondered, would Titus Andronicus add to this maelstrom of emotions? One of Shakespeare's earliest plays, some say his worst, some say not his at all, it is a tale of relentless revenge, each atrocity building on the last until it is impossible to see any reason in the dying. Despite the many mutilations and murders, all the gore was saved for poor Lavinia, raped, her hands cut off and tongue ripped out. But still she named her violators and they were brought down, served up as a dainty dish for their mother. And for why? Because the same foreign mother's son had been sacrificed and she wrought a terrible revenge.

A familiar story.

Stratford Ontario

The British immigrants who settled along the north of the USA border brought their country with them.

Loyalists who did not want to share American independence dedicated patches of the the New World to the memory of the home.

Stratford lies on a landscape flatter than the rolling hills of England but with an Avon river every bit as beautiful as its namesake. The Shakespeare Festival has grown from theatre in a tent to a season of inspiring world class productions in a network of state of the art venues, drawing audiences from across North America to this small rural town.

Aspiration Alley

On our way to the train station we cut through a most wonderful space. Hanging from the soaring archways were a series of banners with words of advice, encouragement and challenge. A series of photo panels carried the words of some of the great personalities of our generation.
Willie Nelson: Be here. Be present. Wherever you are,be there."
Vanessa Redgrave: "The most important thing to treasure, to be defended and advocated and followed scrupulously, is international human rights law, as being the highest law there is to date, superseding sovereignty"
Nelson Mandela: There are few misfortunes in this world that you cannot turn into a personal triumph if you have the iron will and the necessary skill. It is what we make out of what we have, not what we are given that separates one person from another."

Then on to Stratford and four more portions of food for thought....

Mother and Son

All week I have been meeting Beth's friends and she has many amazing friends, just as I do.

Today we made our excursion to Niagara Falls in a Mini, owned by Louise and driven by her lovely son Corey.That was very kind of them as it is a long way and Beth no longer owns a car having become a serious cycle commuter. What is extraordinary is that Louise and Corey have only known each other for a month as he was adopted by another family at birth, 46 years ago, when Louise was 16. And, apart from the obvious differences in size and age, they are like twins, so alike in body and soul it is uncanny.

Louise is a bright and sunny person who travels the globe to talk about HIV and community health care. She wears yellow, has blue fingernails and doesn't like water, but we all went out on the boat together. She said she hadn't done this with her son before. To catch up with 46 years of motherhood is a quite a challenge.

Misty Maid made it

The Falls are an amazing misty marvel that mankind has failed to diminish with the gaudy trappings of tourism. You can stop over at a Travelodge that seems to be an integral part of a Haunted House, ride the ghost train with the Pirates of the Caribbean or venture into the foaming jaws of the Horseshoe Falls where last week a woman slipped in, some time ago an eight year old boy survived being swept over the top in just his bathing trunks and water wings and a 62 year-old woman made the same journey in a barrel.

We donned our regulation blue rain macs and fearlessly rode one of the many Maids of the Mist deep into the spray. The boat which seemed a reasonable size when we boarded was as nothing more than a toy when tossed and pitched by the torrent of water pounding down onto the rocks. But Health & Safety rules, and we live to shake off the water, to tell the tale and to buy a sparkling souvenir snow globe.

Sunday lunch

In the rustic Rectory Restaurant on Wards Island, we lunched. Seizing an opportunity which may never come my way again I ordered a bison burger which was delightfully juicy. Neither this, nor the very tasty beef burger I ate for supper this evening, resemble any burger I have ever eaten. My failure as a vegetarian is complete.

This delightful eatery is where Beth's son Sam had worked for several summers and it felt like we were given extra special treatment. It was a shame then that I completely miscalculated the bill and underpaid by ten dollars, a fact brought to our attention by the flustered waiter who returned to seek us out as we were leaving. I really can't take me anywhere.