Honour's First Highland Dance Competition

In case you hadn't heard, Honour has been taking Highland dance from the Blackman School of Dance since last fall. I started thinking about it a couple years ago when the girls were interested in dance of some kind and I wasn't so thrilled with the idea of them going into ballet. My cousin did Highland dance for many years, and we do have some Scottish back on both sides of the family, so it was a natural consideration. I remember sitting with Honour and watching some videos on Youtube and she was quite interested and positive about the idea. So last fall we followed through and signed her up.

A couple months ago, we decided to enter her into a competition, upon her teachers recommendation. We almost ran into a bit of a crunch, as I didn't send off her registration for the Canadian Highland Dance organization (Scotdance) until the start of June. She needed a dance card to be eligible to dance and when the strike struck, her card was still en route. Fortunately, it arrived the day before the competition. (Phew!)

Honours teacher has been very positive about her progress and potential in Highland Dance, which of course we're very pleased about. I was happy to put her into a competition, because I think there are elements of competing that are good for kids to experience. Plus, it's like preparing a piece of music and having nowhere to perform it. It just loses some of it's appeal.

So yesterday was the day. I was up late the previous night getting her outfit ready, packing lunches and bags of all the paraphernalia we were going to need, as all four kids, plus Honours friend Tia were going. Then neighbours setting off fireworks at 3am didn't help matters. My mind started whirling again and between nerves and monitoring the clash between another neighbour that ran out to tell them off, I lost a good hour there. The alarm went off at 6am. Ugh.

As we drove, Honour was excited and giddy, telling us all how she wanted to win a First, a Second, a Third and a trophy. I tried to soften her expectations somewhat... :-)

The competition was taking place in Embro, which is about an hours drive west of us. It was happening as part of a larger Highland Games festival which attracts about 5000 people each year. We got in the gates, through admission and planted ourselves on some bleachers.

The competition started about 9:00am. Out of four possible dances Honour could have done, she was only entered into two of them, as the others weren't ready for competition yet. She would be dancing the Highland Fling and the Sword Dance. She was in the Beginners 7 group, which appeared to have about 18 girls entered.

I nearly goofed right at the start. We'd only seen one competition before, Honour and I, a few months ago when there was one happening in Ancaster. I had forgotten that they dance all the girls (I should say entrants; there were a few boys) through the same dance, all the age groups. Then when that is done, they all dance through the next dance. (Yes, it means you see and hear the same dance about 15 time in a row :-).

I had forgotten this, and even though there were groups up there dancing a different dance from Honours two, when they called the Beginners 7 group, I took her up to the ready tent.

Fortunately we realized the mistake and pulled her out before she got up on stage!

I had a severe bout of nerves for her as the Fling dances started and I didn't recognize the music. Honour has been practicing every day for the last two weeks or so (and close to everyday before that) with the help of a sticker chart on the fridge. But for the physical ability, I could dance those dances myself, I've heard them so many times! I knew that some girls might dance the various dances with slightly different steps from each other (making it difficult to focus on your own dance), but I didn't realize that it wouldn't be the same music. I was just sure this would throw Honour off completely, but she surprised me!

With just one tiny mis-move of her foot, she danced her Fling quite nicely. I was so relieved I could have cried. Over my life time, I have sung for thousands of people, and sometimes even that many at one time; none of these compared in how nervous I was for Honour.

By the time the Sword dance came around, I felt significantly better. She did great with the Sword, but touched it as she danced, a no-no. She would likely be out of the running for any medals because of that. I really didn't care: she had done it! Gotten up and danced in the sun in front of hundreds of people!

We got her out of her outfit after that to have some playtime. It was a clear shining day and the kids were anxious to get away from the bleachers for a while. We had some lunch with other dancing friends from the Blackman studio under a tent one of them had brought. The kids had lots of fun.

Soon after, one of the moms mentioned to me that Honour should get back into her outfit for the awards ceremony. I guess I hadn't really thought that she might win anything and had figured we would get her back into her outfit if we really needed to. It seemed I needed to. :-)

At 12:30 we made our way to the arena for the awards, as further festivities were happening out at the stage area during that time.

They started calling up all the little wee ones (4, 5 and 6 years old--soooo cute!) and they all got a prize for dancing. The best of the little ones were given medals for placing.

Suddenly Honours teacher came running over asking if we'd heard them call number 135. That was Honours number (which I had kinda forgotten). We hadn't; the sound system was not the best quality and was rather muddy sounding in the arena. I was confused, because I didn't realize that her entire group wouldn't be standing there: they would only be calling the numbers of the winners with the older dancers. Once they went up to the presenting area, then we'd find out what they'd placed in. I figured they would call them again and a few minutes later, they did. To our great excitement, they had called #135. "This means she's won something", said her teacher. I grabbed Honours hand and started around the back of the crowd to get to stage right where the dancers were lining up. I noticed that all the little girls were clutching their blue dancers cards. "Does she need her card?", I asked one of the ladies in charge. She answered affirmatively and I scurried off to my purse, thankful that I had it close on hand. I delivered it back to Honour before her line proceeded across the presenting area. Phew!

They gave out the awards for the first dance that Honour hadn't danced in. Then came the awards for the Fling.

First was awarded.

Second was awarded.

Third was called....#135. We all broke into cheers and claps!

Strangely though, the lady handing out the medals did not come over to Honour. Honour kept looking around with a slightly anxious look on her face, but did not say or do anything. A bit of commotion broke out amongst the other parents from our studio and the teacher. They had called #135, hadn't they? Why weren't they handing her the medal? I was fairly sure that the lady presenting had gone down the line and handed it instead to #145. Ohhh dear....

Fortunately, Honours teacher is extremely experienced and judges competitions herself. James had even seen some of the organizers consulting her during the course of the morning. She hurried herself over to the announcer and at a pause, discreetly inquired as to the true winner of 3rd place. The awards froze for a moment while the kerfuffle was sorted out.

In the end, the medal was taken away from #145 and given to the the true winner, Honour wearing #135. I was so relieved. I would have felt badly for poor little #145...(if she didn't already have a couple medals around her neck:-)

They went on to announce the Sword dance winners and the other dance that Honour hadn't competed in. The parents around us congratulated us all, and, as nearly all the Blackman Dancers placed in more than one dance each, were beaming themselves.

What a fabulous day! When's the next one!?!

Our little Peanut Butter Freak

I don't remember when it was that we discovered Jairus' deep and abiding addiction to peanut butter. It's been at least a few years, as this summer will mark 3 years that he's had his augmentative communication device (his talking computer) and when I was programing the All about Jairus page, I just couldn't resist...

My name is Jairus

I am 7 years old (at the time)

I have brown hair...

I like to eat peanut butter out of the jar.

I suppose I've always found that humorous because while I do like peanut butter, and thankfully we have no allergies in this family, the thought of pulling out a spoon and scarfing it down had never entered my mind.

And so this was why, when I saw the ads for the Kraft Peanut Butter contest, I immediately thought of Jairus and how many times I've caught him at the pantry eating PB out of the jar, found a PB covered spoon lying next to the PB in the pantry, or actually opened up the jar to find the spoon still stuck there (oops! caught in the act!) How, though, could we actually videotape him doing it?

Well, in the end, I had a vision for how his PB thievery could be caught on film and we set about doing it. I think it's absolutely hilarious! You can see it here.

I'll admit, I really hope, and think we have a chance of winning it. Maybe that's because he's just so darn-giggly cute, but maybe it's also because (and not that this is a criteria for winning) of why we want to win this.

As I'm sure all who are reading know, Jairus cannot speak. He does make sounds, they do sometimes sound like words, and we who have lived with him for 10 years can usually figure out what he's trying to say (usually). But we pray nightly over Jairus that the Lord will heal him and he will be able to speak someday.

To this end, we are in a constant search and battle to find and provide any solutions that will help. I've taken him to cranial sacral therapy, Turner's therapy (chiropractic), looked into Hyperbaric oxygen therapy. He's seen naturopaths, countless specialists, and of course, speech therapists. Today I'm taking him for an appointment at Blue Balloon, for a screening to determine if he'd benefit from music therapy. And last fall we went to Toronto and had an intake consultation at The Listening Centre, one of the few places in the world that offers Tomatis listening therapy.

I've been especially excited about this one, as my Musikgarten training last summer included information about the five foundations of the curriculum. One of them, ironically was the work and research of Dr. Alfred Tomatis. I hadn't known this before I headed off for the week of seminars and it was really amazing to find this connection; I had been introduced to Tomatis therapy a few years before, even contacted the centre the previous year, but hadn't yet followed through due to the great cost involved. It was going to be about $5000 for Jairus to take the 6 week course of daily listening therapy.

After we followed through with an appointment last fall, I really set about trying to pull the funds together. There were a number of charities recommended by the centre to help with the costs. One by one, we were turned down by them for various reasons--usually that they didn't help with such an 'unorthodox' therapy. (Tomatis has been around for at least 30 years, how long does it take to gain acceptance?) We did receive some help from the Jennifer Ashleigh Foundation and a bit more from our church, but the bulk of the money has remained out of our reach.

So this is what the money would go to, if Jairus' video should win. I'm kindof tickled that he could be getting this therapy due to his own terrible cuteness, his proclivity for peanut butter and the opportunity to show the world how sneaky he can be!

SO blessed...

The last five days or so have been very car-stress heavy.

We're old car owners. I would say Dave Ramsey car owners, but I've heard him say that he doesn't like people calling their clunkers DR cars because of course, he's advocating that if you do things right, in due time you will be driving a very nice car. Like he does. But I digress.

We buy 8-10 year old Hondas (only one exception and it taught us a good lesson) outright with cash and have been rather proud that we don't have car payments. The Hondas usually do us well and I still extol the virtues of our first Accord Wagon which was about 16 years old when we had it towed to the great junkyard in the sky, with nearly 700 000 KMs on it. I'd been hoping to get to 726K kms which was the dealership record where we took it for service.

We bought our first Odyssey in 2005 when we finally couldn't fit all our kids into the Wagon. We upgraded to a 2000 Oddy in 2008 and then just two months ago traded in the 2000 for a 2003 with about 216K kms on it from a little shop in Stoney Creek called Motormax. (Yes, I mention the name on purpose).

We were pretty gleeful for a few weeks....and then I went to turn the van on and noticed it had gone through a voice change. It was now revving a little lower than before and I was pretty sure I detected the sound of an exhaust system problem. We took a look at our warranty but after a good mechanic friend listened and told us what he thought was wrong, we were chagrined to find it was a part not covered by the warranty. Of course.

Then about a week later I went to put my key in the ignition and it wouldn't go in. Numerous tries finally got it in, but it would not turn. This began a pattern that would continue up until now, that each time I tried to start the van I'd have to give it about 10 running starts to get the key in to the 'sweet spot' that would let it turn. My brother who owns a CRV said that a similar problem he experienced a while ago proved to be some loose doohickeys inside that get jammed up.

We had the repair of these items on our budget todo list when last week I started to notice a few odd things when I shifted from park to drive. It would hesitate a bit and then give a jolt before driving off normally. Then after running some errands on Friday afternoon, I was coming back into our neighbourhood (driving around 40km/hr) when for a brief moment the engine revved quite high--without my pushing on the gas any farther, and then returned to normal. I was concerned, but also had stuff to get done and put it out of my mind.

Going back out again a couple hours later, I was just about to get on the parkway near my house when the high revving happened again, but for longer, and this time was accompanied by a loss of power to the wheels. Every time I pushed the gas, it would rev far higher than I was pushing, and sometimes gave me spurts of power, but mostly not. I got off an exit before I needed and hoped I could coax it along a side road to my destination. No such luck. And having forgotten my cell phone at home, there I was knocking on some strangers front door.

After calling hubby, I went back out and restarted the van. I managed to get it the few blocks to my church parking lot, with two or three stops to restart it along the way.

James came and got me (I won't go into how this forced an immediate overhaul of all our plans for that evening) and tested it out around the lot. (What is it with guys never trusting their wives description of car problems?) only to have it completely lose power whilst not in a parking space. Mrs. Muscles here had to help push it into place.

We went home and pulled out the warranty. Though we've never had a transmission problem, it sounded like what I've heard one is like. We breathed a sigh of relief that the warranty, still one full month from it's time limit would cover a transmission.

That sigh caught in my throat however when James drew his brows together and asked me how many kms we had put on the van since we bought it. I wasn't sure...but 45 minutes sitting staring at my dash while waiting for James was giving me a sickly feeling that it was more than the 3000km limit on the warranty. James went back over in his civic to wait for the tow truck...and confirmed that we were 278 kms over the warranty.

The garage we took it to didn't have a diagnosis until Monday. He apparently called the warranty company and gave it his best shot, but nope, they weren't covering any of it. It was going to cost $2900. I could have cried right there in my kitchen. And that wouldn't even fix the exhaust system or the ignition. I would still be driving a van that sounded like David Meece's mother. (Her car that is...you have to have heard him tell the story in concert...hilarious).

As all this was going on, we were getting into the nitty gritty of buying the property. (Have I mentioned how the girls bring us their quarters and nickels and want to put it towards 'the poperty'? Melt ma heart...) One thing we were scheduled to do on Friday night was meet with our realtor and sign our first offer. We still did this, and by mid Saturday we heard back of a counter of about 5K higher than our offer. We were pretty thrilled, but then the issue of whether or not HST would apply came up. Ugh. After checking around various sources and talking to the lawyer who did our wills, we discovered that it would be applied. So last night we sent back a new offer that would include the HST.

Our savings, which had looked quite adequate to cover a thousand dollar down payment (due upon acceptance of the offer) was now looking a little scary in light of a $3000 car repair. Again I had thoughts of 'are we nuts' to be considering buying a lot and building.

This morning brought some good news though. James called the warranty company and pled our case personally. It was an interesting turn of events that led to them agreeing to pay about 40% of the repair.

When we had first found the exhaust problem, James called and asked about the repair being covered. He was told to take it into the garage that they dealt with and get an estimate and they would go from there. Well, after our mechanic friend told us what the part was, we knew it wasn't covered and so didn't bother taking it in. This was noted on our file at the warranty company though.

The guy James was talking to looked back and saw this note. He asked James what had happened with that and why it wasn't followed up on. James told him the plain truth about finding out it was a part not covered. This guy was so impressed that we had not tried to lie and push the repair through as one that is covered, that he offered on the spot to cover nearly half of the repair of our transmission. I was pretty blown away. And thrilled. :-)

So, at the end of this long story, what I really wanted to say was that after reading a blog post by Simple Mom yesterday, I decided to read it to my girls this morning for their geography lesson. I followed a link from that post to an amazing story about Compassion, whom we sponsor a little girl through. As I read the Simple Mom post to my girls and watched their little jaws drop at the sight of the room this Philipino family of 5 had to live in, I was convicted anew about taking for granted the blessings I enjoy in this country. As we traced the route it would take to fly from our country to theirs on our atlas, I thought about how my ancestors might not have come to Canada from the various countries that represent my heritage. Today, I could very well be sheltering my four children in one room the size of a walk-in closet. I know we read that kind of rhetoric all the time, and click away from it often when we see it on TV, but every once in a while it seems to really hit home. You know what I mean?

I'm off Facebook.

Again.

It kind of makes me feel a little fickle....that doesn't seem like quite the right word, but you know, someone who just can't stick to their guns. Flip flops. Can't make up their mind and knuckle down. It's only the second time I've done it though, that can't be too bad. I'm sure there are lots of people who have gone back and forth many times. There has to be---one of the click boxes FB provides when it asks you as you are deactivating, why you are doing it is, This is just temporary. I'll be back.

I clicked 'other'. I wrote in the box It's so shallow.

It was about 4 years ago I think that I got off FB for the first time and I had some specific and pretty much completely different reasons for that which I won't go into here and now. This time however...I'm just tired of the shallowness. Now, for anyone reading this now who is still on FB, please don't take offense. As I heard recently, and quote with satisfaction: "this is descriptive of my life, not prescriptive for anyone elses".

I'm just tired of seeing status update after update about trivial things that people are doing. But it's not even that so much, it's the lack of interaction--true, real interaction. People just making flip, sarcastic comments, trying so hard to be the funniest, the cleverest, the cutest. I was falling into it myself.

And then the politics. People accepting friend requests who don't even know each other, people cutting others out of their friend lists without even as much as a 'hey there'. I'm just tired of it all. You send messages to people that they don't respond to...as a real friend of mine said recently on FB, she wonders why it's become acceptable to ignore invitations or stand people up. I learned the hard and disappointing way that FB allows you to reach this huge group of people...only to have 75% of them ignore your plea. That hurts. And we shouldn't be doing that to each other.

So now I've deactivated and I've got a page up that will show me how to actually delete (cuz you know when you deactivate, you're still actually there...what makes it different from logging out is beyond me). My husband wondered why I just didn't stop going to it....because I'm weak I suppose. I keep thinking of things that I'll miss and regret about doing it...a few friends who I enjoyed seeing their posts, the PRS group I started and now has over 700 members actively talking and sharing their experiences and problems. My business page is a sticky problem that I'm working on and should be able to get around...I hope. But even if I don't fix it...is it really going to make that huge of a difference if my business doesn't have a FB page? I suspect not.

So, for anyone who's reading (mom, lol) this is why I'm not there today. Or tomorrow. And hopefully not ever again.

Little boys

As you might have read, I watched a live performance of Annie on Friday. Sometime on the weekend, I pulled up some of the songs on youtube, specially the ones from the 1999 movie remake, which I favour. One song I watched though was the old Carol Burnett version of "Little Girls". I remember quoting some of the words on my blog when I found out I was having Afton and would therefore have 3 girls. :-)

But I don't think you can find a song about how exasperating little boys can be. Not that they aren't...lol.

I was just directed to this through Cindy Beall and read it with interest...but as usual, I sigh at the end. I don't like to be the mommy that's always pointing out that my boy is different, but it's a little like being a handicapped person who has to be the one to speak up about the lack of ramps around the church, school, whatever. So many resources out there are addressing.. ...ahem...typical boys (that's specialneedsspeak). Certainly I can read that post and take things from it. But alot of it I can't. And after 10 years of reading advice that I can only use 1/2 of....it gets a little discouraging.

Tattle-Tale

Or is it tattle-tail?

I have a real problem with the general parenting philosophy that discourages tattle-tales. I've heard it since I was old enough to have ears, you've heard it just as long, tattle-taling is wrong. A sin, right?

Well, I would love to be enlightened with the scripture on that one.

Now that I have kids who are well acquainted with the blessed skill of tattle-taling, I've been questioning this more than ever. Let me tell you why I have a problem with the anti-tattle-taling movement.

• We tell kids that if they are being bullied, they need to come and tell a parent. Of course, we don't call that tattle-taling. But how's a kid to know the difference? Take this even further, we tell kids that if they are being abused or molested by an adult, they need to tell someone. But just don't tattle.
• When Cain asked God "Am I my brothers keeper?", he was not setting an admirable precedent. He was being sarcastic, because, yes, we're supposed to be concerned with the safety and well-being of our brothers, friends, neighbours, etc. We want to teach our children to be sensitive and compassionate, ready to reach out and help someone in need. And yet when we tell them not to tattle-tale, we're instilling a sense of apathy, of self-centredness.

I started to realize this when I would go to have a shower, or otherwise leave the kids playing somewhere where my eyes were not watching every second (down in the basement or backyard, let's say) and have to admonish Honour to keep an eye on her siblings. I would often add, 'But don't come running to me every 5 minutes tattle-taling'. But then I'd rethink that and say--unless they are doing something dangerous. I used to often say that 'it's not tattle-taling if it's happening to you', to encourage my kids to stand up for themselves and get help from an adult if they were being hurt by someone else. So now we have two exceptions to the tattle-tale rule. That's alot of distinctions to expect from 5 and 7 year olds.

So then I analyzed, why do we discourage tattle-taling?

Well, it's cotton-pickin' annoying for one. We can all remember a whining, constantly complaining kid in our past who came running to you or his parents or whomever with a teeth-grindingly exasperating litany of "she did this to me, he did that to me".

So is annoyance a good enough reason to lay down a wide-spread moral law to keep your hurts to yourself?

We can see this played out to the final result on your average cop show. Bad guy or witness gets caught, is being interrogated and encouraged to tell the police what he knows. But he won't budge--why? He ain't a snitch.

If there's something that really gets my goat, it's when I see people or kids getting angry at someone who 'told' on them when they've done something wrong. This is just so wrong in itself! My kids do it all the time--they get told on, or tattle-taled on and found out for the wrong they've committed, but they aren't remorseful or repentant...instead, they are angry at the person who told on them! I'm usually quick to nip that in the bud. If you do the crime, you do the time--no one else can be blamed for your bad decision and all that.

There is the heart condition of the tattler to consider however, and perhaps therein lies the key to this. We don't like tattlers because they are smug. They are usually self-righteous. They are often quite pleased to have caught someone else--often a sibling, in a wrong. This is so far from a godly attitude that it's not funny. We are told in scripture to graciously uphold and correct one another. We need to remember when we're 'tattling' that there but for the grace of God, go I. Even a child can recognize that they themselves have likely done the very wrong they are tattling about, or could easily do it.

I don't know where this leads. I'm not writing a nice, neat, loose ends tight, Focus on the Family type article (No offence to FOTF meant WHATsoever; I'm highly supportive of them, but you know what I mean, right?)

I think it will mean for me that I will not be so quick to lay down or enforce the "don't tattle-tale" law. Because if in the future one of my girls is making some really bad decisions and putting herself in mortal (or moral) jeopardy, I want her sisters to feel they can come and tell me. I just can't be present and involved for every minute of my children's lives and sometimes, I'm going to have to rely on others to be eyes and ears for me--until they reach the time that they are fully accountable for their own actions.

A review of "Annie"

On Friday, I took the girls to a production of Annie at Hamilton District Christian High school, which is a quick 5 minutes away from me. I've never written a review for something like this, but I thought I would give it a shot.

We arrived at about 11:40 for a 12noon matinee showing. We were directed at the front door by a student who was apparently part of the production, that they weren't quite ready for guests to come in. We sat out on the front patio for a few minutes before one of the girls indicated a need for the facilities, so we went in to get that task taken care of.

When we came out, I decided to head for the gymnasium as it was now between 10 and 5 to the hour. I was a little chagrined to come in and see about 75% of the seating already filled. This would put my little girls and I about 3-4 rows from the back which was a little disappointing. Fortunately we were facing a bonafide stage which was raised about 4 feet off the floor. Still, we ended up stacking their chairs so that they didn't need to perch uncomfortably for the entire production.

And it was fortunate that we did that, as the the production ran, with intermission, a full two and a half hours. Phew! My five year old barely made it.

I took note of a live orchestra/band off to stage right, but on the floor and prepared myself for the inevitable sounds of a high school band.

The production began only a minute after 12 with an exuberant introduction by a teacher (I assume) who was part of the direction of the musical (I assume). He told us his name, but I don't recall it.

Unfortunately, I can't tell you the cast, as there were no programs, and my online searches have not turned up any listings. They did have a 'Wall of Stars' outside the gym on a large bulletin board, but I didn't take the time to note any names. So I'll just be referring to the actors by character.

The musical began with a view of the room where the orphans live, plain metal beds lining the back wall of the set. The girls took their places and the lights were dim; they were obviously supposed to be sleeping. A slightly confusing moment occurring shortly after as Annie enters to calm the nightmares of little Molly, leaves the viewer wondering why Annie was up and roaming the house at 3am.

It appeared that each girl was outfitted with a head mic affixed along their cheeks, however the sound quality left something to be desired, quite muffled and fuzzy sounding (my technical words). I grew accustomed to this as the show progressed, so it wasn't a lasting annoyance.

The first vocal number arrived, with Annie consoling the young pigtailed Molly as she insisted that her parents would be returning for her, performing "Maybe".

While Annie's arrival on stage had been somewhat lackluster and void of definite function (was she the kind big sister? The tell-em-like-it-is hard nose? Not sure...) this young actress had most definitely been chosen for her singing voice. Pure and clear, with a strong sense of pitch (a necessity when accompanied by a high school band), her songs from beginning to end were strong. Her range from low to high was fairly consistent, her very highest notes slightly thin and less full bodied, but still quite adequate for the part. Her very pleasant voice nearly made up for her somewhat stiff appearance, her acting not quite reaching her eyes.

The rest of the orphan cast were average singers, with none standing out particularly during their one-liner opportunities. "It's a Hard Knock Life", usually a rousing, attitude laden number, was somewhat less saucy then hoped for. I would have to give the girls the benefit however, as the kind of belting, broadway type voice needed to give that song real oompf, is just not commonly found among teen girls. They did the best they could.

The shining, wise-cracking breath of fresh air arrived with Miss Hannagan. I would truly say that she was the star of the show. Full of vim and vigor, and just the right amount of sleaze, Miss Hannagan was all I hoped her to be. Young actors can often overdo the anger emotion, and Miss Hannagan came dangerously close as she arrived on the scene to scold the early rising girls, but she reigned it in and showed us some coy stylings that were a delight to watch.

A beautiful Golden Retriever made a quick appearance during Annie's runaway street scene...with the dog nearly running off with her. I suppose it was necessary to have a leash on the dog, although a simple leather or even rope lead would have been a little less distracting to the 30's style set than the bright blue extend-a-lead. While I applaud the director for incorporating a real dog into the cast, poor Annie had to adlib a stage right to left movement during the climax of the flagship song as Fido decided he needed to smell something particularly yummy, singing actress on the end of his leash or not. Annie graciously and easily finished out her song with a quick kneel to give the dog a squeeze (and warn it to behave, I'm sure!)

A poised and beautiful Miss Farrell arrives to introduce Annie to her future father. The assistant to Oliver Warbucks was well done, her cultured yet not arrogant character just the right blend of style and competence. As Annie catches her first glimpse of the Warbuck mansion, we meet the timeless Daddy Warbucks. Also well done, Warbucks is tall and striking, his strong baritone sometimes rushing his lines just a bit. The staff, including butler Drake are crisp in black and white, appropriately demure and helpful.

Hannagans brother "Rooster" and his dame are next to arrive on set. As sly and greasy as his dame is ditzy, their trio "Easy street" was arguably the weakest song of the production. Again, the kind of vamping required for this big band/New Orleans jazz number can hardly be expected from high school students. The incredibly high key of this, and other pieces throughout, also handicapped many of the singing actors. Miss Hannagan made an admirable stab at all her numbers, but it was apparent that her chest voice vastly out performed her head voice. I would imagine that little could have been done about this however, since the band provided live accompaniment and incidental music for the full 2.5 hours of the production. While the musical fare was as you'd expect for a high school band, I have to give them kudos for keeping it up for that length of time. (And a weekend of performances to follow...poor little chops!)

The sets were quite impressive. Two large panels on either side of a middle entrance doorway were expertly hinged to swivel from the centre, creating the two main sets of the orphan bedroom and the Warbuck mansion. A few stand alone panels were rolled out to add a street scene, the Oval Office, and the orphanage door from a street perspective. All were artistically rendered and scene changes were smooth, if not somewhat lengthy.

Overall, I would give the production three out of five stars. For a such a reasonable entrance fee (free!) I would head over to HDCH again. Especially if Miss Hannagan found her way out of New York!