I have always been slightly afraid of chickens … until now. Last weekend my partner and I had a long overdue opportunity to visit my sweet friend, Georgia and her backyard chickens.  I’ve been meaning to go and see “the girls” ever since she got them, but have never actually been organized enough to catch Georgia while she had some spare time, being the vibrant, involved, active person she is.  She recently finished a cross Canada bicycle journey – the chickens stayed home to bond with her Dad.

When my kids were in elementary school, I used to look forward to Hanukkah, even though I am not Jewish. But we are fortunate to have dear friends from Isreal whose kids are the same age as ours, and every year, the wonderful Havi would go into the kids’ classrooms to tell them the Hanukkah story (she didn’t pull any punches – they got the whole story of Mattathias and the Maccabees) and to prepare a feast of potato latkes, and the most delicious jelly doughnuts I’ve ever tasted, that Hanukkah special – Sufganiyot.

It is December 1st.  The cats woke me up early, even though this is a Saturday, and I would have liked nothing better than to sleep in, since this is a two-show day ( I am currently performing in the Arts Club Theatre’s production of It’s A Wonderful Life), and I am doing everything I can to recover from a nasty bout of laryngitis. But, since they did manage to get me up at a dark 6:45am, once I had fed and watered them, and given them their required stroking attention, it seemed fruitless to go back to bed, only to have them meowing at the door in indignation.

Well, it’s cold, again.  That “crawling up your back, hunching up your shoulders, why didn’t I put on the big bulky sweater, I can’t feel the ends of my fingers” kind of cold. November has come to us in full force and although I wouldn’t normally welcome facial hair, I have been looking almost enviously at my male friends who are sporting moustaches for this month, in support of prostate cancer research and programs and men’s mental health initiatives. 

Today is Remembrance Day here in Canada. Our coats are sporting the poppies I remember from childhood, sponsored by the Royal Canadian Legion – I don’t think the poppies have changed in all the years I can remember, and the challenge is always to get them to stay on your coat without poking you, or falling off. Part of the fondness I have for this ritual is buying the poppy from the veteran who is more than happy to patiently guide you through the technique for poking the pin back through the poppy itself.

I didn’t blog last week, as I have been steeped in rehearsals for a very special play:  My Mother’s Story.  We are a cast of eight women, telling the stories of ordinary women’s lives – except that they are all extraordinary. The call went out last year, to women on Vancouver’s North Shore, to write the story of their mothers’ lives, in 2000 words.  From all who sent in stories, eight were selected to be woven together into a play.  So we, the actors, each play the writer and her Mum.  The stories range geographically far and wide, and cover many ethnicities. 

This week, I am fortunate to be in rehearsal with some incredible women, working on a new play:  My Mother’s Story. The director we are working with is asking us to use senses and muscles I haven’t used in years. I come home from rehearsal every day very tired … in a good way.  We are working very physically, almost dancing in some parts and since most of us are NOT dancers … there is a lot of laughter.

LADY MACBETH Yet here’s a spot. DOCTOR Hark! she speaks. I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly. LADY MACBETH Out, damned spot! out, I say! Any chance I have to work a performance by my favorite actress, Judi Dench, into this blog, I will seize.  The clip is worth watching, if for nothing other than the eerie scream at the end.

It seemed to happen overnight.  From hot, stultifying, nothing moving, enervating afternoons of direct sunlight, to a damp smell of wet earth, and the smallest hint of chill in the air. Fresher breezes, cooler evenings, and is it true?  Can it possibly be?  It seemed only yesterday the kids were getting out of school, and I look up in the blue sky … and one leaf dislodges from our apple tree and makes its death spiral to land on my foot.

Since my venture two weeks ago into the wonderful world of nougat, I have been craving nuts with my chocolate. The squirrels in the hazelnut trees in our back yard have begun their insane, amusing, upside down  scramble to get them all before the next squirrel does and before that happens again this year, I am determined to harvest some myself. Suffice to say, I succeeded, got my fair share, and am feeling smarter than your average squirrel.

Another Road Trip, Another Show! Oh, I love summer for so many reasons, but sitting in the evening in an open air theatre, watching the stars come out as the show goes on, is one of my very favorite. For years, I have been meaning to attend a performance at the Caravan Farm Theatre, in Armstrong, British Columbia. “ Caravan Farm Theatre is a professional outdoor theatre company based on an 80 acre farm, 11Km NW of Armstrong BC.