The Great White North

Yesterday afternoon was going to be the new year's first acting class, but it got cancelled.  Instead I saw the documentary In Search of Mozart at the Bloor.  Lots of Mozart music and discussion of his musical development.  Shame that it had only one showing and Moira missed it because she hadn't yet returned from Kingston.

This afternoon was the latest ROLT event.  A dozen people had said they were coming; a made a reservation for six; three showed up.  One of them was the author M.H. Callway, who read an exciting passage from her new novel Windigo Fire; the other was a Parisienne who's only been in Canada a few months.  I read Pauline Johnson's poem "The Song My Paddle Sings"; the passage in Jack London's The Call of the Wild where the dog Buck tows a thousand pounds of flour a hundred yards to win a bet for his master; the passage in L.M. Montgomery's The Blue Castle where Barney saves Valancy from an oncoming train; and the passage in Mazo de la Roche's Young Renny where Renny visits a farm and a woman reads tea leaves and tells his fortune.  Next month's topic will be folklore.

I've finished watching that Hollywood series on YouTube, except they don't have the second-last episode about Clara Bow and John Gilbert. (It had some BBC content that got it blocked.)

This last week I got careless about taking my Cipralex in the morning, and had some intense dreams.  One was this Harry Potter-Lord of the Rings type of adventure story where a race had to leave the surface of the earth when their enemies took over, and took a descending path lower and lower into the bowels of the earth, meeting many different species, until they came a bottom level with really primitive creatures, then started their return to the surface, planning to defeat their enemies when they arrived back.