Busy day today, we make two house calls, the first to the Waldorf seniors residence to visit Amber's Grandma, and second, to the house of Carry and Katie-Lee to sing the mice out of their house.
The first visit took us westwards, into Cote St. Luc, to sing about an hierloom ring, gold with a ruby and diamond embeded withing
We baked a plate full of ginger-bread rings for the occasion, complete with well melted cinnamon hearts, to be munched on during the serenade.
The ring in question was not present for teh performance. It is currently locked away in a safety deposit box in Calgary, Alberta. This fact was inspiration for the song. Lyrics were constructed around the idea of keeping objects "safe from harm." The process of stowing away the things we hold the most dear, so that they cannot be damaged, destroyed or stolen. How does this efect our memory of an object? What happens to an object's identity when it is removed from its usefulness? Where does the desire to shelter things come from? Is this process of sheltering similar to sheltering people, our children, parents, grandparents?
The song was, in part, a round. We were joined by the lovely Kiara Albina to make the round a triangle, and to add eerie dulcimer twangs on the track.
The second performance of the day was just a close walk away from home base, on Henri Julien, in the Plateau. Katie Lee had complained of mouse troubles. While not inanimate objects, we decided that the idea of writing a song to lure the mice out of the house would be an interessting challenge. We began the evening by reading some excerpts from french erotic landscape poems (a mouse's least favourite poetry, according to wikipedia) and taking turns playing the saw and wine glass in cat masks. This process was so irritating that the mice began to pack up their meager belongings in bindles, and head for the front door.
Not wanting the mice to feel unwanted in this world, (only in this particular house)
we changed pace and proceeded to sing a sweet lullaby on the front landing with ukulele and viola. No word yet on the mouse situation over on Henri Julien, but the sound of tiny feet pattering on pavement was heard as we headed home.