Netclix, Family Mysteries and Hot Tips

Posted on March 24, 2021 by JeanEB

There are so many new words and phrases that have come into English usage this past year, “social distancing”, “lockdown”, “flatten the curve”, “maskne”. “doom scrolling”, covidiot”, to name a few. Here’s another one: “Netclix” – constantly (compulsively?) refreshing the Netflix homepage to see if there’s anything new. Recently I noticed that the #1 Trending show was “Groundhog Day”, which seemed appropriate.

I’ve been watching more shows than ever this past year and I’m not alone in that. We cut the cable cord a few years ago once NFL started streaming but there’s lots of options. In addition to Netflix we subscribe (on and off) to Crave and HBO, Brit Box, Amazon Prime and MHZ Choice. A friend on the other side of the country and I touch base most weekends to exchange “what are you watching” Hot Tips. Here’s my very eclectic list of recent watches:

My Octopus Teacher – my absolute favourite film of the past year. The pure magic of inter-species communication and dare I say, friendship. It opens the heart and blows the mind.

This 8-part Danish police procedural series The Investigation was compelling – and the differences between it and the typical American cop shows was very interesting. This was on HBO but another recommendation for other European series is MHZ Choice, a streaming service available here that carries shows from a lot of different countries with English sub-titles, many (not all) in the mystery, suspense, cop show genre.

This weekend saw the drop of the third season of Formula 1 Drive to Survive, a behind the scenes series about the drivers and teams of Formula 1 racing. Three years ago I watched the first season, which immediately converted me into a huge F1 fan, following the races and players during the season – Race Highlights and Paddock Pass on the F1 website on race weekends. Last year the first race was scheduled in March but then all hell broke loose with the pandemic and everything got cancelled for a few months. They managed to save half the season once they figured out how to deal with masks, distancing, health protocols and no fans in the stands. But TV still works just fine to watch a race. This weekend the new race season starts again and I’ll be there.

Also starting up again for the season this past Equinox weekend was the weekly UK gardening show, Gardener’s World hosted by Monty Don, a huge favourite in this house (no surprise there) and a Friday night watching tradition during gardening season, streamed on Brit Box.

Other films that have kept my attention:

Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom
One Night in Miami
The Kominsky Method Season 2
The Dig
Dancing With the Birds
The Trial of the Chicago 7
Lupin
Midnight Diner
The White Tiger
What Would Sophia Loren Do?

But the biggest Hot Tip of this month has to be a show streaming on CBC Gem, a documentary called For Heaven’s Sake. It’s about an unsolved missing person case from 1934 in rural Ontario. In October of that year, Harold Heaven walked out of his cabin, carrying his rifle, leaving the door open and the lamp on and was never seen again. Now his young great great nephew and friend have become amateur detectives to try to solve the case and created an 8 part series about their adventures looking into his disappearance.

Why this show? Well the Heaven family properties are just down the road from my family’s cottage property at Minden. I think it’s safe to conclude that foul play was involved and this is one of those shows that looks at a number of theories as to what could have happened. One of them was that Harold Heaven was murdered and his body was dumped in our lake. I say “our” but my grandparents didn’t buy the property till 1948, 14 years after the disappearance so it’s safe to say our family is in the clear as suspects. Last summer while filming the series, the film makers organized a dive in our lake ostensibly to look for the rifle Harold Heaven had with him the night he disappeared, so on one of the episodes I can actually see the bottom of the family lake on film and watch a scene filmed at our picnic table at the beach with the very distinctive raft in the background. It’s the story of the two young film makers’ quest to solve this 86 year-old mystery and at times they are very funny. It was a blast watching the scenes of places I’m so familiar with – a cemetery scene at a little church nearby (my aunts are buried there), a drone scene over a barn across the road that was once owned by people considered suspects and now owned by my cousin (that was her dog barking madly at the drone overhead), recognizing a friend in his boat in the background of a scene filmed at a nearby lake, and a glimpse of someone else we know in a scene filmed in the local bar.

Once I finished the last episode I was beside myself with excitement and called Cousin Sharon the next morning for a good chin wag as we talked about all the theories and scenes in the film, sharing memories of our childhoods at the cottage as well as – of course – discussing our own musings of what must have happened to Harold Heaven.

I went back to the family property 3 years ago after a very long absence and wrote about it. Check out that post At the Lake and when you look at those bright, beautiful shots of a sunny day at the lake, remember: you never know what may be lurking in those depths.

At The Lake

Posted on September 18, 2018 by JeanEB

During my trip to Ontario this past summer, I spent some time in cottage country at a place that is near and dear – a place I have visited since I was 8 months old – a long time. But I hadn’t been back for many years and it turned out to be something of a memory pilgrimage. I returned home with rekindled memories and a lot of new ones to sustain me.

My maternal grandparents bought the vacation property seventy years ago, in 1948. They were 50 years old at the time, living in Windsor, Ontario, the 3 youngest of their 7 children still at home when, as the story goes, my grandmother saw an ad in the church newsletter for a property for sale in central Ontario, 10 miles from the town of Minden. In those days it would have been quite a hike to get there from Windsor, long before the days of Highway 401. The property was 150 acres with a private lake, frontage on two other lakes, extensive woodland, an old farmhouse and a few cabins. A little piece of paradise. The story also goes that when the deal went through they danced around their living room at home – happy, happy.

For the first 15 years of my life I spent every summer there, hanging out with my cousins and being co-parented by the Aunts. There were 15 cousins although not everybody came up regularly. Each family had their own cabin – in those early years there was no electricity, no running water, the heat came from wood stoves and night time was the time of kerosene lamps and Coleman lanterns. “Mrs. Murphy” was down the path, out back. My memories of those childhood days are for me, the happiest of times. We spent our days running around outside, swimming, rowing, sailing, building intricate cities in the sand on the beach, campfires on the point complete with marshmallows and songs, weekly horseback riding, a long walk to the local lakeside store after dinner for 5 cent cones and a small brown paper bag of penny candy. My cousins and I would spend hours on elaborate role playing games and once a summer, we’d put on plays, or carnivals and charge the parents to attend.

The Aunts would take turns making supper for the brood, or making heaps of sandwiches, watermelon and Kool Aid to deliver down to the beach for lunch. I guess we must have all sounded alike: if one of us would shout out up the bank “MOM!!”, you could count on 2 or 3 Aunts calling back in response. My Aunt Paulie always drove a big station wagon and would pile us all into the back for the trip along the dirt roads to town (what seatbelts?) where we’d go on a jaunt to the movies at the tiny Beaver Theatre. The Uncles would show up from the city from time to time.

Of course, there was drama going on all around us – still is. It’s a big family, after all. But those oblivious childhood days are so clear and happy in my own memories, a wonderful gift – oblivious is great.

Later, all grown up, I continued to go to the lake sporadically in my twenties, then more often as I brought my own children there. By then we young mothers had better equipped houses to stay in – no more hauling buckets of water or cooking on wood stoves and Coleman burners, as our mothers had done. But I hadn’t been back for a very long time – 20 years give or take. This summer I finally returned.

For 8 days this summer I walked the land, stared at the views, canoed around the shore, swam in the lake and feasted on the sights and memories. Me being me I was drawn into the forest – a different forest from the ones I’m used to now, filled with a mix of huge oaks, maples and my very favourite, birch. Every morning I spent hours in the woods walking the 150 acres, sometimes going to places I’d never been before.

I was astonished to find that the cabin my family stayed in when I was really little is still standing. Over 70 years old and appears to be balancing on a rock. It hasn’t changed a bit since the days I stayed in it way back when. No, I take that back. Twenty five years ago, or so, there was a major renovation. An extension cord was run down the bank from the big cottage providing electricity to the cabin and with it a refrigerator instead of an ice box and electric light at night. This may not be to code.

The lake is quiet – no motor boats allowed. The noisiest thing on the lake is the paddle boat – itself a relic I was surprised to see still there and still afloat. It has its own history, including the memorable incident that spawned the ‘duh’ rule – no more late night boat rides.

Not much else has changed. The family has protected the property intact. Aside from the old unchanged cottage, the other buildings have been replaced or renovated over the years, but the essence of the place remains the same. I hung around The Old House for awhile, peering into the windows. This was where I brought the kids and stayed with my mother for so many years – years that also saw visits by good friends, who also became family there. I’m not there anymore but the place remains with me still. As are the people who are no longer with us who inhabit that space of memory. The word love comes to mind.

The Old House – The cottage I used to stay in with my own kids when they were young

For the first time in 9 years I hung out with my brother, who lives in Korea but spends time every summer at the lake. I hadn’t seen him since I lived in Asia. I saw some of my cousins who were there at the time of my visit, most I hadn’t seen in a couple of decades. Some have settled and made their homes close by, one has winterized his cabin and since retirement lives there all year round, a lifelong dream of his. To my eyes everybody is exactly the same. The funny thing is how much some of us now physically resemble our ancestor relatives. This one looks like his father, that one looks like Grandma, this one looks like an Aunt, another resembles a cousin.

I looked at the smiles and heard the laughter and shared old memories and I can still see the little cousins in those faces even though we are in our 60’s now or heading in that direction. We may all “be” the same, but our bodies are all too human and there is no mistaking the passage of time as the organ recital discussions have already begun. Invariably conversations lead to this hip or that knee or this ailment or that illness, sharing the benefits of this vaporizer over that one, and the CBD capsules and salves for this ache or that pain. Time passes, we’re all just along for the ride. Some of us have become grandparents as our own children now have kids of their own – a new generation of little cousins starts to appear.

I look around at who is there and who is gone and a thought occurs to me. The thing is, we are The Elders in the family now. Good grief.

2 Brothers at The Lake – Mikey and Stevie 1988

Home Again to Another Big Smoke

Posted on August 22, 2018 by JeanEB

I always knew my trip would be good, but it wasn’t – it was GREAT!

I’m back home after my epic pilgrimage to Ontario, an 18-day trip that covered 4 billion year-old rock in pre-Cambrian Shield country, an urban landscape accommodating over 6 million people, deciduous forests and included 8 days of gawking at the Most Beautiful Lake in the World. I reconnected with beloved old friends, a brother I hadn’t seen in 9 years and assorted cousins, some I hadn’t seen in 20 years give or take. I endured late planes, “lost” luggage and planes that never showed up at all. I slept in idyllic cabins, on couches, in airport hotels, and in a cottage with a view that pulled memories out of wherever memories live, deep in the soul. As well as these old found memories, new ones were created to sustain me.

When it was finally time to leave Ontario cottage country to drive to the airport to begin a long journey home, it was through a scene of Toronto traffic very similar to this:

I landed back to my now home town here in Qualicum Beach with its single traffic light and its locals complaining about all the traffic from the “summer people”. Ha!

Culture shock anyone?

When I was gone, it felt like months had passed. Now, 5 days after returning, I’m still in some kind of betwixt and between state, neither here nor there. Kelly advises me to live gently with the recovery, not to rush it. Good advice that. The first few days back I spent resting in the garden, regaining my strength, and looking at the garden transformed to its August blowsiness and playing with a camera lens. While I was gone the figs ripened on the tree that I’ve been waiting 4 or 5 years to fruit. Wouldn’t you know, I missed that harvest but still find a few left – some over-ripe now and (over) sweetened into fig newton territory. I watched sky divers floating over the little airport close by and took portraits of hummingbirds gorging on the flower nectar.

However idyllic it may have appeared in those first days back, all is not well in this little piece of paradise.

Once again, for the second summer in a row British Columbia is burning. (See last year’s post When the Moon Turns Orange). When I left 400 fires were burning. I return to nearly 600 and another declared state of emergency. From the plane window, coming home, I could see the blanket of smokey haze covering the entire mainland. Only the tops of the highest snow-covered mountains were visible and even then appeared reddish-pink through the haze.

By Sunday the smoke had descended upon us, over on Vancouver Island, as well. There are fires burning on the island to the north, although not in our immediate area, but heavy smoke from the mainland made its way across, so bad that we’ve closed all the windows, fired up the air purifier and for the most part stay inside, trying to avoid the watery eyes and scratchy throats of this dangerous air quality.

Forest Fire Smoke at Qualicum Beach

Although we’re lucky the fires are not in our immediate vicinity right now, the smoke from them is stretching across the Prairies as far as Winnipeg and down across Washington State (that has its own fire problems) and beyond. We have the dubious distinction of having the worst air quality on the planet at the moment and nothing is going to turn this particular tide but Mother Nature in the form of rain, which is nowhere in the current forecasts. The night before last, 30 more new fires were reported, most from lightning strikes and flights are being cancelled and disrupted in many parts of the province, even affecting the ability of fire fighting planes to take off in some areas.

As it is, for now at least, here in our part of Vancouver Island, we wait it out, believing that soon the winds will shift and clear up this thick smoke that blankets the town. I’m OK with staying in for awhile – I have hundreds of photographs to sort through, countless memories to absorb and probably a few tales to tell.

As I wish for rain for this beleaguered province.