Lakehouse

My grandmother's cottage and I have always had a rather bizarre relationship. This is partly, I believe, due to my childhood tendency to attribute personalities to otherwise lifeless objects, "humanizing" them, if you will.

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At quite a young age, I decided that "Changra-La," as it was christened (the spelling mistake is deliberate, if you're wondering) was an elderly being. I continue to think of it as one who spends their days reflecting on their youth, satisfied with everything that was to the point where future, present and past seem to mold together and time becomes less and less as a reality, more and more a memory.

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At the age of about fourteen, I started to spend considerably more time at the little lakehouse, growing to appreciate the wonders it held. Wonders, for the most part, from the past. Beaded antique lampshades, Muppet-themed mugs, blankets "borrowed" from army barracks shortly after the war, water-stained paintings of ships sailing through stormy seas... everything was wondrous in my suburban-born-and-raised eyes. All senses were pleased; the sight of white-caps on the lake, the soothing sound of the water against the rocks, the musty smell of the porch curtains, the coolness of the hardwood floors, the taste of my grandmother's remarkable baking... all mixed with the overall air of adventure. It was almost too much for my little heart to take.

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Soon I was staying alone, enjoying relative liberty and self-imposed iscolation in all its glory.

To me, the cottage still represents utter freedom. Within its four walls, the unbridled self is let loose, perfectly comfortable doing just about anything (even the potentially bodily-harm-causing). Skinny dipping, late-night wanderings, losing myself in forests, getting stranded on the lake during storms, being chased by the "water police", testing out odd berries... Nothing is really taken seriously, and I revel in the lightness of everything.



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My cottage life is dictated by almost primal needs, which seems selfish (and sometimes is) but since I'm often alone there's not really much else to consider.

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Unfortunately, things change upon my return to my parents' house. The sharpness of reality cuts like the knife it is, and everything that seemed so clear, so obvious, gets replaced by conflicting emotions that run rampant in urban environments. Actions that seemed so free and natural in the country become reckless or frivolous upon my return, but the memory of my motives at the time keeps all regrets at bay.



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And yet sometimes this transition is not completed. Sometimes ideas fromed in the country have time to solidify. Sometimes, no matter how much I think and think and think, notions formed in my Changra-La fail to be replaced by cold reason. Usually, this is very much a good thing but every once in a while I'm afraid they cause more harm than good.

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So there you have it, reflections and blatant honesty from a girl who can barely take herself seriously, nevermind take a train of thought from point A to point B.

Frogs, Rocks and a Blazer

Guess who found herself a camera?

That, my dears, would be me! WARNING: I'm very much an amateur, so please bear with me for a while. I proooomise I'll get better, guys. So, without further ado, here's a post!

(Silly camera, its not 2009!)

A few days ago, we went to a lil' park near my extremely suburban homestead. I'm talking SUV's, an abundance of IGA's and peewee soccer games around just about every corner. Tucked between two rows of bright red, stereotypically new condos was this gem!

Actually, the word "gem" doesn't quite fit. See, it's a man-made lake. And when I say man-made, I mean, designed by architects and other adult people who use phrases like "modern twist" or "Let's put an avant-garde aluminium statue in this patch of trees, the people will just love it." Still, a lake is a lake, so we might as well just enjoy it, right? Right!

We  even met this little crayfish nemesis! I say nemesis because I believe these little crustaceans are the most terrifying, heart-stoppingly freaky (for lack of a better word) creatures in the world, and therefore cannot be trusted one bit. I suppose it's a blessing my camera takes such horrible quality pictures, since a blurry crayfish is worlds better than a clear crayfish, in my books.

On a less childhood-scarring note, we also found a skittish frog, as well as a friendly one! If you're wondering, their names were Percival and Rupert, respectively. Unfortunately, due to (more) camera troubles, Rupert won't be appearing in this post, but we'll be sure to give him a nice little spot on our Odd Birds Flickr account, as he was quite the cutie.

Afterwards, we took a run over to the other side of the lake to see Isabeau et les Chercheurs d'Or, a bluegrassy, Quebec folk band. If you're interested, you can check them out by clicking on this here link.

Don't you just love the guy in the brown corduroy blazer?

The music was fun and varied, but I must admit my favourite part of the evening was the audience! Yes, watching the watchers is a bit strange, but there were so many joyous young 'uns dancing about, I just couldn't help myself. I toyed with the notion of stealthily snapping a picture of a curly-haired little whippersnapper dancing to and fro on a picnic blanket, but taking pictures of tykes without first asking for permission just seemed so wrong and suspicious that I soon decided against it. 

And with that, I'm out of not-ridiculously-pixelated-and-embarassing-photos! I guess that means it's time for me to say adieu.

Until next time, thanks for reading :)

On Fairy Tales & Frustration

It all began with a French children's movie called Les Enfants de Timpelbach. I couldn't resist renting it - not that I really tried to - as it involved most of my favourite things in cinema; careful set & costume design, children having misadventures, a fairy-tale atmosphere, messy hair, and whimsically mismatched clothing. It piqued my love of storybook eccentricity to a degree that might embarrass anyone who actually believed that they were a grown-up (as They say, growing old is inevitable, but growing up is optional).

Enchanted, I decided that I just had to find something - anything - in the city with that kind of magic. So I sent a search request to my good friends at Google, and discovered...nothing. Which might be the expected result, seeing as the internet is no place to look for magic. I tried searching for images, art, blogs, anything that captured that atmosphere, too, but came up with nothing. I started to despair. Poor V received a very frustrated and somewhat ragey message lamenting the predictable artificiality of everything. Everyone seems to try to conform to a style! I said; I'm not asking for originality (doesn't really exist, does it?), really, just creativity, said I.

But, after a some time & distraction, I saw my own silliness. That atmosphere of magic isn't something you find, it's something you make! At risk of sounding nauseatingly saccharine, it's the everyday wonder at what is and what could be. In the film mentioned above, everything is markedly unusual, and the children, in the fashion of children, turn everything upside-down and backwards. My habit of classifying certain people & behaviours as 'grown up' often frustrates others because they don't know what I mean, and all too often I'm not articulate enough to explain it - but essentially it's jadedness. It's the idea that you've been there and done that, and you know what's what and it's all very unsurprising.

But it isn't! It never is! That 'storybook eccentricity' just exaggerates the oddity of life - and adds a bit of stylization, I'll admit. The idea that things are ever the same, predictable & unchanging in life is completely erroneous. The differences are just sometimes not very noticeable or exciting. And the idea that you know anything - now that's just avarice! Children, because they're relatively new to this world, see more possibilities in things. Naturally, they want to feel like they've got a good grasp on what's what, so they tend to be obnoxiously, obtusely insistent about what they know. But, to quote the authority on Growing Up, C.S. Lewis,
"To be concerned about being grown up, to admire the grown up because it is grown up, to blush at the suspicion of being childish; these things are the marks of childhood and adolescence. And in childhood and adolescence they are, in moderation, healthy symptoms. Young things ought to want to grow. But to carry on into middle life or even into early manhood this concern about being adult is a mark of really arrested development."

So, that's my review of Les Enfants de Timpelbach - and it's pretty clear that being a film critic is not my destiny, unless the position is open at the Chronic Rambler gazette.

All Timpelbach stills from here - I'm afraid they really don't do the film justice, though!

Wilkommen, Bienvenue

Welcome to Odd Birds' inaugural post! Manners dictate that on such an occasion, introductions are the appropriate course of action, so without further ado,

I'm Katherine

And I'm one half of this blog.

I'm Victoria

And if my fractions are correct, I'm the other half of this blog.

To be honest, it's rather difficult to summarize what this here weblog is meant to be, or give it any kind of outline - we don't even really know ourselves what it will end up being! But that's the approach we take to most things, and we've found that it's led to adventure - the be-all and end-all of most of our endeavours, frankly - happily often. And this is where our latest adventure took us;

Essentially, every Sunday during the warmer months a respectable portion of Mount Royal becomes a sort of gipsy encampment - and boy, do we love us some gipsies! For one day (and one day only) a week, all sorts of interesting folk come together to, well, be together.

Now don't get us wrong: we don't all sit in a circle and sing kumbaya (not that we wouldn't really enjoy that). Instead, we stand/sit/whatever-floats-your-boat in a semi-circle (an important difference!) with our djembes, tambourines and dancing shoes - okay, bare feet - and just enjoy ourselves!

 (Yes, that's us, letting loose - you've no idea how difficult it is to take decent photographs of a dancing subject!)

Montrealers get to dive into a world of spontaneity and originality, and judging by the impressive turn-out, they're quite enjoying it (we can vouch for that)!

So what did our little eyes spy today? What sorts of oddities have we Odd Birds to offer?

Well, since you asked so politely...

A LADY WITH A SNAKE!

A NUDIST FLUTIST

A HARE KRISHNA MONK(?) PLAYING SOME SORT OF ACCORDIAN-LIKE INSTRUMENT AND GIVING OUT FREE BISCUITS

(Biscuits not pictured, but they were delicious)

AND SOME CAMERA-SHY ARTISTS!

(We did expressly ask her permission, though!)

Although our favourite bit was definitely the dancing, we had quite a time browsing the little kiosques, full of glittery gems, beaded bracelets and some mighty majestic llamas.

(Thanks again to the man selling these crystals for keeping an eye on our bags while we were dancing!)

Llamas, yeah!

Such is the truly bizarre, unpredictable, magical gathering we'll be attending just about every week.

Come to think of it, those might be the perfect words to describe our (mis)adventures, and what we will try our very best to capture here, in our clumsy words & amateur pictures; the complete and total oddness of everyday life, especially when you're an odd bird.

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