Abandoned Ontario Farmstead

Back in July, Glenn and I were out sightseeing around the central Ontario countryside. We found this abandoned farmstead and I had to stop the car. It was a bizarre timecapsule. The last piece of habitation evidence dated from 1991. Clearly it's been used to store stuff and there was evidence that feral cats were fed on the property at some point, otherwise it's pretty much been left as it was.

The area in which this farmstead is situated is pretty marginal farmland. The soil is thin, the ground is extremely rocky and the region is prone to flooding and deep puddles. Imagine being the settler granted this 100 acre parcel, opening it up, clearing out the trees and rocks (as much as possible) and then still not being able to make a truly viable go of it. In later years, many of these farms have become pasture for cattle and sheep, but the majority of them have been abandoned or allowed to fallow indefinitely. It's much better cottage country than it is farmland.

I didn't venture into the cellar because I didn't have a flashlight, and halfway up the stairs to the second level my eyes started to water because of the smell of guano. I decided I could live without a bird/bat poop party or asthma attack.

The Sprunging of Spring

It's spring. The world in London, ON is coming to life. Were I in Whitehorse, I'd still have another month to wait before the furry crocuses opened. I admit it, I prefer my spring to come in April. The days are lengthening, there's more sunshine (although a fair bit of wind and rain, yet) and generally, I'm in a better humour.

My flowerpots, sitting neglected on the veranda, still harbouring the skeletal remains of last year's plants, are whispering my name every time I pass them. I will shortly make a pilgrimage to Canadian Tire for potting soil. It's time to rake up the detritus of winter and turn the soil for planting. As I currently have no intention of leaving this apartment, I presume I will return to my role of 'gardener'. Such a grand old house deserves a pretty garden.

Last year taught me a few things about what grows best, so I shall opt for more geraniums, nicotiana, and perhaps regionally appropriate flowers. I won't waste money on impatiens; the western exposure dries them out and I can't be out every afternoon watering them with individual attention. I will look for hardy plants that can handle competition from shrubs and day lilies, but still offer up bright blossoms. Maybe I'll do a drawing and make a bit of a garden plan.

I love the anticipation of what might come.

A new look. Again. And other stuff

You know what? Let's just talk about the "other stuff". Which other stuff? Let's talk about Glenn.

Glenn is my boyfriend. He's a kind, giving man, funny, articulate, and damn smart and he lives with a quacky cat. He plays guitar and sings, impersonates voices and works as a retail manager. Sometimes he worries too much.

I met him in the fall, October, to be exact, on plentyoffish.com right about the time when I'd decided to give it up. I'd met and dated a few nice (and not so nice) guys and the novelty had worn off. I was taking what was essentially one last survey of what was out there when I came across a profile with a goofy, but not unattractive guy staring out, accompanied by what was probably the most open and honest bio I'd seen. So I sent him a message.

We had our first date at the Alex P. Keaton, my favourite (lately closed) pub in London. By the time I'd finished my first pint, I'd informed him that the photos on his profile didn't do him justice, because he was "kind of hot." I still maintain this. By two pints and a bit, my inner monologue had leaked out and I stated quite bluntly, "You know, I'd totally shag you silly." He seemed taken aback, but not displeased.

Many doubts about my feelings for Gareth made me freak out a bit in the beginning, and I'd be lying if I said they didn't sometimes catch me off-guard now, because they do. But I like Glenn. A lot. And since New Years or so we've been exclusive. I don't know where this relationship will go, or how long it will last, but it's good and healthy and I care for him a great deal. So that's the story about Glenn.

Or at least part of it. I could talk more, but I don't know if I feel comfortable doing so in this forum. Funny, eh?

Insight

Thanks to a discussion I had with an artist on dA, I offer you my insight for the day. Or week. Or however long it takes for me to come up with another vaguely insightful journal entry.

I had an illustration teacher in high school who was often quite sage, despite continuing to wear the same polyester pantsuits he'd been wearing since 1973. He particularly liked me, maybe because I could see beyond lavender and plaid, and he let me sit in with him when he graded students' work (mine included). "I give ---- a good grade because he's clearly done good work; the composition is good, the flow is dynamic. But he's in a rut. It's the same exact thing, with different characters, every time. He shows no growth. Artists have to grow. Their work has to develop. Even Disney wants a well-rounded portfolio from their artists, more than big eyes and Barbie waists, even if that's all they'll end up drawing..."

A movie review of Slumdog Millionaire

Slumdog Millionaire is not City of God, so if you didn't like the latter, you might still like the former. I loved the latter, by the way. As far as I know, Slumdog Millionaire is not based on a true story, although there is arguably a lot of truth in it, but instead based on the prize winning novel Q & A.

The film uses a creative and non-linear approach to telling the protagonist's story, which I won't go into, through flash-back and recollections juxtaposed with the present. I often dislike the flashback approach, but this works, telling many stories that build the whole. The cinematography is outstanding. Often quick and jarring, it's never nauseating, pretentious or overdone (by which I mean there's none of that spinning, shaking or ridiculous crane shots). The editing does what it's supposed to do, enhance the telling of the story, and at no time is the story subsumed by look-at-me-aren't-I-clever shots or unnecesary artistry. It feels very honest, all the way through, which is important because one of the film's themes is honesty.

The acting is good. I won't say that it's great, because it's not, but it is better than adequate and, in the case of the children, who were/are slum-dwellers in real life, utterly delightful and humourous as only kids can be. The lead, Dev Patel, is very good. At first I wasn't sure of him, but he totally folded me into the story. He's not ridiculously handsome - he's believably cute in a real-person kind of way. He's a little bit goofy looking. The female lead, Freida Pinto, had apparently never acted before, although she's an Indian fashion model. She's not bad. She fulfills the need of being beautiful while not taking away from the film. Once again, I want to stress that the kids are fantastic. The Brits are amazing at finding the perfect, real, natural children to play in film and they did a great job with this one, too.

Slumdog Millionaire is really good. You should go see it. It makes a perfect date movie, being equal parts action, drama, comedy and love story. I have no idea if it deserved the Oscars it won - I didn't see any of the other nominated films - but it was an excellent film and undeniably deserves praise.