Journey to the Edge: Flin Flon to Churchill

Having played Warhammer 40,000 for a lot of years, the industrial moonscape of the mining operations around Flin Flon was eerily familiar, but as soon as you are south of the town you enter a network of beautiful lakes and curvy roads. Unfortunately, everyone else in the Flex nodded off, so I was unable to snap any pictures from behind the wheel; perhaps on the way back.

Just outside Thompson, we followed my Uncle Wendell into the Paint Lake campground, and he and Lona made us a delicious lunch so we wouldn't be starving when we boarded the train. He also arranged to let us park at the bus depot instead of the train station, since it is a little more secure.

I'm not sure why,but I expected the Thompson train station to be a little bigger, but it is a fairly small building. Tara was ready to produce the tickets we'd printed at home as well as the ID proving who we were, and the ages of the children travelling with us, but they looked her up by last name and handed the tickets straight over. Never having travelled by rail before, I was unprepared for just how casual the whole affair was. Watching our bags sit on an open platform, and eventually loading them onto the baggage car ourselves was a real departure from being asked if you packed your bag yourself, having them x-rayed, getting frisked and then waiting in a security area before being asked to board in an orderly fashion, but the eight of us ended up pretty close together on the train anyways.

Train seats are not altogether different from bus seats, in that there are no seat belts or cupholders, and they do recline. There are two improvements however: they can be rotated so that two pairs of seats can face each other to facilitate conversation, and there is a foot rest that can be unfolded to make sleeping easier. On a journey scheduled to last 17 hours, this was of paramount importance!

We had heard conflicting reports about the availability of food on the train, and had packed a cooler and bag accordingly with dry sausage, fruit, snap peas and a two pound bag of Jelly Bellies, plus banana muffins and protein bars for breakfast. It turns out there actually is a simple dining car, with a number of burgers and snacks, as well as some $7 entrees, like shepherd's pie and Thai coconut curry. These were essentially decent quality microwave dinners, but eating a hot meal in a rocking rail car as we trundled towards the tundra only added to the sense of adventure. The accompanying roll was fresh and tasty, and butter was warm and spreadable. Being able to enjoy a beer or a highball while we lingered afterwards playing Blokus on the iPad and eating jelly beans was a real treat.

There are a number of communities north of Thompson served by the Churchill train, so the first half of the journey is punctuated by stops along the way at places like Gillam. We got off at one to stretch our legs, and to to meet a couple of friendly local mutts.

We crossed the Nelson river about 8:00, and there is just enough of a curve that you can see the engine from the dining car, so tried to snap a picture with my iPad. There are some pretty patches to be seen from the train,but in many places the trees come right up to the tracks and obscure whatever view there is. When there are breaks, you are treated to a broad horizon, trees which get lower as you travel further north, and lakes, marshes and bogs. Still no moose sightings though; aside from a coyote in northern Saskatchewan, the viewing has been mammal free.

About 9:00 we started bedding down for the night, getting the conductor to swing our seats forward again, extending the footrests and unpacking the blankets and pillows we'd brought. Audrey and Glory watched Jaws on one iPad while Fenya and I watched Django Unchained on the other. I'd forgotten Django was three hours long, so when it wrapped up around midnight we were more than ready to get to sleep. Each seat has access to a wall outlet, so I was able to plug in my CPAP and rest it on the floor; this was critical, because without the CPAP, not only do I not sleep, but my snoring will keep other passengers awake, or make them think the train is experiencing a catastrophic mechanical issue.

Once the train turned to the north, the ride became noticeably less smooth due to the unsettled mature of the tundra and muskeg we were driving, and instances of fairly pronounced rocking became frequent. Once I'd wedged myself into a somewhat comfortable sleeping position (Protip: Don't wear shorts on the train, as part of the footrest is vinyl, and your calves end up sticking to it a bit...), the rocking was actually a comfort, and helped send me off to Nod. Who needs a sleeping berth for +$300 a night?

I'm normally a side sleeper, and I change positions 3-4 times a night, so a really good night's sleep was out of the question, but even though I woke up regularly to shift about, I managed to go back to sleep every time. I woke up about 7:00, feeling fairly well rested, which surprised me, but not as much as the conductor who walked by 5 minutes later saying we would be pulling into Churchill in an hour. Somehow I'd gotten it into my head that we were arriving about noon, but the arrival time was actually 9:00, which we beat by an hour.

The Churchill train station is also a Parks Canada heritage building with some exhibits inside. The town itself (pop. 815) is low and long, a mix of tourism and industry. Overcast skies and a crisp wind made us glad we had left our jackets unpacked. Parker met us on the platform as we sorted our luggage out, and said, "you are going to get a taste of real Churchill weather; they are calling for 50-70 km/h winds today, soon boats are going out, and it will be grey and cool most of the week."

"That's fine with me," I replied. "I brought a great rain coat, and it isn't like I came here to tan."

Journey to the Edge: Edmonton to Flin Flon

Almost a year after we first entertained the idea, the four of us (plus my Mum, Tara and Jerry & Jason in a second vehicle) are journeying to Churchill, Manitoba, to visit my cousin Parker and his wife Belinda, who run the Tundra Inn up there.
If Canada's silhouette has a more distinctive feature than Hudson's Bay, I don't know what it is, and I am very excited at the prospect of seeing it in person. The first step in seeing it though, is getting there, which will take a little bit of doing.
There are no roads there, to paraphrase Corb Lund, so we can only drive as far as Thompson, where we will board the train, one of three ways to get into Churchill, and the only one by land.

Today was the first step, driving from Edmonton to Flin Flon, about 11 hours in all. We got some McMuffins at 7:00 this morning, ate sausages and cheese and snap peas for lunch, and made pretty good time over all. Thank goodness that the girls are both excellent travellers; the only peep we heard out of them was when they asked us to turn down the Husker Du playing on the USB key so they could hear Les Mis which they were watching on the iPad in the backseat. How times have changed...

The last few hours on Hanson Lake Road is pretty heavily treed, with miles and miles of nothing but miles and miles. Highway 40 N of The Battlefords was pretty scenic though, with some picturesque abandoned farm buildings begging to be photographed.
I visited Flin Flon once as a child,but even that was after the peak of the mining business, so it's fair to say the town has seen better days. We did stop to see the statue of its fictional namesake, Flintabbety Flonatin.

Tomorrow we have about 5 hours to reach Thompson,with a short trip to visit my Uncle Wendell for lunch at his campsite in Paint Lake. Then it is time to sort out our first train journey which will take us to the edge of the nation.

Math: Where No One Has Gone Before

I like numbers now, for the most part, but there was a time when they kicked my ass.

Math was a chore and a struggle for me as a child.  I remember vividly the mimeographed and photostatic drill sheets Dad brought home to aid me with my multiplication tables in the 4th grade, and how I would have to fight back tears if we should be driving home and he would blurt out "What's 6 times 9?" without warning.

Still, the drilling paid off, reinforced with some of the catchier numbers from Schoolhouse Rock (which is still how Glory remembers her three and eight times tables), but then some wiseacre had to mix in numbers with the letters, and the struggle returned.  By the time I went to college, my zeal to escape math was so profound, I not only embraced the liberal arts, but took two semesters of Latin rather than learn calculus.

In this, my daughters and I are alike, and now it has fallen to me to help Glory sharpen her math skills over the summer so she doesn't have too rough of a time in grade 6 come September.  We bought a workbook from the Education Station, and she has been pretty diligent about completing three pages a day.  Marking them is not too bad, what with the answer key and all, but correcting them can be problematic; it's now been long enough since I've done long division that not only is it a chore to remember, the bloody methodology has changed!  Who would have thought that there were any advances left to be made in this field?

At any rate, converting Glory from remainders to decimals have proven to be pretty challenging, but I think we are making headway.  The biggest hindrance is still the numbers themselves, but she is a good worker with a keen head for patterns, so I have every confidence that eventually the times tables will begin to 'click' for her and feel more natural than they do now.

It wasn't all that different with Fenya, and I felt so bad about the struggles she had with some of the word problems from school, I thought it might help if I took some of the perimeter and area questions and put them into a bit of narrative.  Figuring that  familiar characters might make the task a little less onerous, so I decided to use Star Trek, and dusted it off tonight for Glory.

A landing party from the USS Enterprise has beamed down to an outpost on Omicron Ceti IV to help the scientists prepare for an imminent Klingon attack.  Captain Kirk immediately has Chekov take a security detail and establish a perimeter.  Not too long after, Spock’s tricorder has a map of the perimeter: 
 “The Enterprise has more than enough poultrax mesh to build a basic fence along this outline, Captain,” says Mr. Spock.  “Logically, this should be the first part of our defense.”“Very good, Spock.  Have Mr. Scott beam down the necessary equipment and a work detail.” * How big is the outpost’s perimeter?   * Each roll of poultrax mesh can make 500 m of fence; how many rolls should Mr. Spock ask for?   While the engineers are constructing the fence, Mr. Spock continues. “Obviously, a simple fence will be a minor obstacle to ground forces, but will be of no aid whatsoever against an air attack, or disruptors fired from the Klingon ship in orbit.  We shall need to improvise a force field to cover the entire area.”“Like a roof…” muses Kirk.“Precisely,” Spock nods.  “I shall have Mr. Scott transport down enough anti-matter batteries to establish a satisfactory force field.  It will also combine with the poultrax mesh to protect the sides of the outpost as well.” * How big will the top of the force field be?  * If each battery can power 2 km², how many batteries do they require?   Kirks’ communicator beeps, so he removes it from his belt and flips it open.  “Kirk here.”“Scott here, Cap’n,” replies the voice of the ship’s chief engineer.“I hope you are able to keep up with all of Mr. Spock’s requests, Scotty,” jokes the Captain.“Aye, sir,” chuckles Mr. Scott.  “I just needed to ask how high the force field will be.”  Kirk raises an inquisitive eyebrow at Mr. Spock.The science officer furrows his brow.  “The standard height of a Federation force field is 1000 meters, but given the power of the Klingon weapons, I suggest we double it.”“Aye aye, sir,” affirms Mr. Scott.  “2000 metres it is.  Now, about the atmosphere generators…”“Why would we need those?” interrupts Kirk.  “This is a class ‘M’ planet with a breathable atmosphere, isn’t it?”“The forcefields are airtight, Captain, in order to keep out harmful gas and radiation.  If the Klingons should place the outpost under siege, they could conceivably run out of air.”  Spock explains patiently. * How much volume will be contained within the forcefield?   * If one atmosphere generator can recycle 11 km³ of air, how many will they need?  Mr. Sulu runs up to the two officers.  “Captain, I think we have a problem!  My tricorder readings show that the local star is so intense, its rays will blind everyone in the outpost when it refracts through the forcefield.”Spock checks Sulu’s readings.  “This is good work, Lieutenant, I had not anticipated this.  Now we can have Mr. Scott re-set the north-facing generators so they do not allow visible light to pass through.” * How big is the north facing ‘wall’ of the forcefield?

Don't get me wrong; it was still math, it was still not a choice, and I was still the bad guy for making her do it, but in the end, marking it and talking about it was easier because there was a story we could hang it on.   Even if the story was terribly contrived.  Worse still, the 'poultrax mesh' reference was lost on Fenya, since she wasn't familiar with chicken wire in the first place.  

When I ran it past Glory tonight, she didn't get it either, but she agreed to take a swing at the Defense of Omicron Ceti IV tomorrow anyways.

Brush Up On Your Shakespeare

My relationship with the Bard over the course of my life has been inconstant, to say the least.  Shakespeare's legendary presence precedes his works, making it difficult if not impossible to appreciate them simply as stories in their own right.  I started out seeking Shakespeare, but found him difficult to comprehend in reading.  Taking on Julius Caesar in Junior High though, in the 'gifted' class, meant taking the time to learn the background and context of the Imperial Rome, and reading the parts in turn.

It turns out, for me at least, that reading Shakespeare's plays is the least effective and enjoyable way to experience them.  Hearing the intonations and seeing the actions make the words that much more memorable, and prevent the narrative from becoming bogged down in archaic language or sentence construction.

Not being a big one for live theater though, I have enjoyed many cinematic adaptations of his work, my favourite probably being Kenneth Branagh's brilliant Henry V.  His Much Ado About Nothing was also highly enjoyable, as was Mel Gibson's Hamlet, Ian McKellen's Richard III and Baz Luhrmann's Romeo + Juliet.  I'm also looking forward to Joss Whedon's b&w take on Much Ado About Nothing, which he did on a shoestring budget after completing The Avengers, a sort of cinematic sorbet to cleanse the palate, if you will.

Two weeks ago, our friends Scott and Margaret took us out to see King Lear, performed outdoors by the Free Will Players at Hawrelak Park.  The initial ambiance provided by the thunderstorm (which accompanied the tragic King's departure into a similar deluge in an example of perfect timing) soon turned into a full-on downpour accompanied by hail, and after a 25 minute break saw no hope for a let up, the play was sadly called off.

Since our hosts were leaving town shortly and were not going to have an opportunity to use their rain checks, they gave them to us and suggested we take the girls to see the festival's other offering, A Midsummer Night's Dream.  This seemed like a much better choice for an 11 and 14 year-old's first live Shakespeare, so last Friday we did just that.  I had not doubt that Fenya would enjoy the production, as she is a voracious reader, and appreciates period language, but I was concerned that Glory might find the story's multiple settings confusing, or worse yet, boring.

Liz Nicholl's review found this rendition of MSND to be a bit much, but the colourful, farcical and immersive production was a lot of fun for those of us who don't get out much.  The minimalist stage (also used very effectively for King Lear) aided only by some giant flowers and grassy green blocks, moved us effectively from the halls of King Theseus to the forest court of the Fairy-King, Oberon.

Some of the entrances and exits took place in the very aisles next to where we sat, including a brief prelude which suggests Nick Bottom to be an everyday modern(ish) Greek who heads off to the agora to drink ouzo with the other men, accompanied by a shout of "Don't be an ass, Bottom, go home to your wife!", and who might be experiencing the play (and the play within a play) in his dreams, almost Inception-like.

The entirety of the cast were excellent, but special props need to go to Jesse Gervais and Sheldon Elter as Lysander and Demetrius for their characterful slapstick, and especially Kevin Corey's Robin Goodfellowe (more commonly known as Puck), who eats up most of the scenes he is in with voracious aplomb.

Most importantly, the girls had a great time: Fenya probably got more out of the language and plot, but Glory might have enjoyed it even more, and leaned forward on her seat for almost the entire performance with a gigantic grin on her face.  Seeing Shakespeare live and outdoors, it is hard to imagine a better way to experience the legendary playwright for the first time.  I certainly hope it isn't the last, and with any luck, we can return next year as well.  In the meantime, it looks like Whedon's Much Ado is out on Blu-ray October 7th, and Branagh's ginormous 1996 Hamlet is patiently awaiting our attentions on the PVR.

Families, Tied

 

If you were to rank words in order of how 'loaded' they are, how full of meaning and potential for being misused or misconstrued, I think 'family' would show up fairly close to the top.

While in college, Audrey became pregnant during summer vacation. She had the opportunity to start a family, of a sort, and that's what her mom and dad would have liked, but without her degree, a job, or a father to help out, she didn't think that would be a good choice. There was even a family member that might have adopted the baby, but that felt a little too close to home as well, so she instead chose adoption through a private agency.

She kept in contact with the adoptive parents all the while Bryce was growing up, and eventually had the option of meeting him and his new family face to face about 7 years back. I won't lie; I had reservations about this. Knowing families to a be a delicately balanced chemical reaction, I was averse to messing with a proven formula. What if we were too different? What if we just didn't like each other?

It turns out I needn't have worried; we are very distinct households, but with far more similarities than differences, and I experienced the strange sensation of not just seeing, but feeling my family grow. The girls have called Bryce their brother ever since, and the fact that his father and I share not a drop of blood doesn't make him feel anything less than family to me. At that first dinner, I made a toast: "To the families of choice."

Last weekend, the boy called Robyn (still Bryce's middle name), now a man of 24 years (!), got married to his high school sweetheart, Sara.

We've known Sara for years, and she is a delightful gal. Bryce bought her wedding ring with money collected saving thousands of pop cans, hence the garland. When I introduced myself to her father last weekend, he grinned at me like I was mad, and said, "I know you! I've got your family picture on my fridge!" He gave me a hug, and once again I felt the familial geometry shift to accommodate him and his wife. It didn't feel uncomfortable; it felt overdue.

The ceremony was great, with a pastor who's known the two of them since they were children officiating. Audrey was introduced as 'Bryce's first mother,' and was warmly welcomed by everyone. There weren't a lot of dry eyes when this tall young man walked his two mothers to their seats just prior to the entrance of the bride. This photo shows Audrey, Sara's mom Barb, and Bryce's mom Rinda.

At the reception, there was a lot of reflection about the twists and turns life can lead us on, but Bryce's dad, Robb, characteristically hit it on the head when he said to Audrey's parents, "It had to be hard for you to see Bryce go, all those years ago, not knowing where your daughter's child would end up. And now here you are, and God's brought you full circle to a place you couldn't have imagined then, watching your grandson get married, and knowing you are still a part of his family."

I expressed my wonderment to Robb later on, and he shook his head in similar amazement and said, "There are so many ways each of our lives can turn; what can we do except look forward in faith, and look back in gratitude?"

Let's continue to define our families as much by our choices as by our blood, and remember to be grateful for all of them.

 

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Pacific Rim: Should You See It?

It was a foregone conclusion that I was going to see Pacific Rim, Guillermo Del Toro's summer blockbuster about giant robots fighting giant monsters.  I was never a huge fan of Japanese-style monster movies as a kid (although I saw more than a few during Saturday matinees at the Gaiety Theatre in Leduc), but fighting robots and mecha?  That takes me back; back past the Warhammer 40,000 dreadnoughts, past the Battletech miniatures, back even past the Star Wars AT/ATs and the powered armour of Starship Troopers.  I'm thinking it probably goes back to comics I read as a child, like Rom: Spaceknight, and the Shogun Warriors.

The worst thing I can say about Pacific Rim is that there are hardly any surprises.  The movie delivers on its simple premise, and does so in a spectacular fashion.  Visually, Del Toro is in a class all his own here, delivering not only brilliant action sequences, but also reminding you about the scales involved with a delightful playfulness, such as when a missed punch sends a metal fist deep into an office building and you see the effect it has on a single desktop item.  Be advised, though: in terms of surprises, few is still more than none.

Pacific Rim is also one of the few movies I am going to recommend you see in 3D if you go.  Most directors have a few gags with the effect and then seem to forget about it (as does the viewer, until reminded by the next gag), but Del Toro uses the additional depth of field in a way the few people outside James Cameron do, in order to immerse you in this insanely detailed world he has created, most effectively within the switches and panels and holographic heads-up displays of the jaeger cockpits, but also outside as snow falls around you in a suddenly too-quiet city street, or as the camera passes through the smoke rising from a stricken jaeger

In fact, so detailed and immersive is this world that he invites the viewer to join him in it, by giving us this excellent Jaeger Designer website to play with.  You have to love a man who not only plays with toys, but shares them with others.

Both the mecha designs (which brilliantly reflect their countries of origin both inside and out) and the creatures (designed by Wayne Barlowe, of Barlowe's Guide to Extraterrestrials, a seminal book from my childhood) are bold and distinctive.  This is important, because without a driving aesthetic, you end up with a Go-Bot slugging it out with a rubber dinosaur, and then it doesn't matter if Anthony Hopkins and Meryl Streep are in the driver's harnesses; we just won't care enough to go.

A movie with such impressive visual and kinetic chops could try to find its way to success without an emotional core, but the growing sophistication of audiences and the high standards set by movies like The Dark Knight and The Avengers means we get to eat our cake and keep it too.  Certainly,  the washed up hero being given a second chance at a desperate hour is not the most original of arcs, but a little familiarity goes a long way to grounding a movie like this where the fantasy could overtake all the humanity, and since that is what the jaeger pilots are trying to save, well, it only makes sense.

All the characters behave in an appropriate and consistent fashion, even when making foolish (or foolish-looking) choices.  There are a few mysteries of the heart and mind to be sorted out before the climactic battle, but again, no drastic or game changing revelations at the eleventh hour.  Best of all, it is a plot that requires exactly zero stupid people to either advance or resolve itself, putting it leagues ahead of a lot of other monster movies.

Acting wise, the leads do a good enough job, and it always good to see Max Martini, who I think brings a brilliant blend of machismo and vulnerability to nearly every role he takes, even with an Australian accent.  The mad-science comic relief duo of Charlie Day and Burn Gorman are excellent, and Ron Perlman, unsurprisingly, owns every scene he is in as Hannibal Chau, a black marketer profiteering in kaiju organs and...stuff.

Apparently though, no one told Idris Elba he was in a retro-pastische, Saturday-matinee, burger-meal tie-in toy tentpole throwaway movie, because he brings the same intensity to his role as Marshall Stacker Pentecost I've seen him bring to The Wire.  You could lift him out of this film and drop him straight into Stratford and the people in tights would be all, 'what's next, sire?'  He brings a level of belief and conviction that dares the viewer to treat the imminent destruction of this cinematic world as anything less than the real thing, and draws us in in a manner that even Del Toro's masterful use of 3D can only scratch the surface of.

Like all great summer movies, Pacific Rim is very well paced: exposition comes to the characters in a fast but natural fashion, with no Star Wars briefing room to ease up the tension.  Character backstory is revealed as a part of the challenge in linking the minds of two pilots within a jaeger, and emotional resolution is achieved in a hurried fashion, in a grimy corridor prior to what may be a final farewell.

The title of this post suggests that I am going to tell you whether or not you should see Pacific Rim or not, but if you have read this far, you probably already know the answer.  Just in case though, let me be explicitly clear:

• if you have an inner child, AND
• if that inner child wants to see brave men and women defending the rest of us against horrible monsters, AND
• if the idea of watching a 250 foot tall robot treading out into the surf to do battle gives you the least bit of a thrill, then,

YES, you should see this movie.  Hell, yes.  And soon.  And in 3D, if you can.

Bachelor Survival

In junior high, there was a home economics-type class for the lads called 'Bachelor Survival', wherein they attempted to pass on the basics of cooking and mending to fellows in their early teens.
Last week I got to experience a bit of Bachelor Survival again, since Audrey and the girls headed down to High River to help clean up after their basement got flooded out. This left Nitti, Dude and myself to our own devices.
The quiet evenings were a bit offputting, but a nice change in some ways, but cooking for one is something I haven't done in a while. Thankfully there were enough leftovers to assemble that I didn't need to deploy any frozen pizzas or ramen. I fact, the remainder of a cheddar sauce, some leftover steak and dry pasta shells made for a splendid repast Thursday night, and covered Friday's lunch to boot. The fact that I take any measure of pride in this is laughable, but the dual leftover finishing move is like the household version of clearing a Tetris.
Nitti has always been easy going, although he gets a bit neurotic when left on his own, which meant he needed to sleep in Audrey's spot most nights. Dude is laid back but completely disinterested in eating the now dessicated crickets littering his enclosure, which leaves me to provide him with his preferred dish of nutritious, delicious wax worms.

Take time to chew, boy, you'll enjoy it more.
Being cold-blooded, each meal requires him to spend a certain amount of time afterwards pressing his belly against an electronically heated rock in order to digest it. Certainly nothing we ever covered in Bachelor Survival, but we all made it through the week, at any rate.

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