One thing I strongly recommend is to NOT watch the trailers or the commentary before seeing the film. Both are full of spoilers. Make sure you've seen the film at least once and perhaps twice before diving into the other information on the disc. I almost wish I hadn't watched the commentary (and I love commentaries) because there are certain almost unresolved issues that are made concrete in the commentary and sometimes it's nice to leave them unresolved in the viewer's mind. Then the film tends to linger in your psyche long after you've watched it. --- Mya

I never knew until this year that there was controversy over the celebration of the holiday--apparently some people have misgivings about the origins of Thanksgiving. I heard about this on one of the writers' forums, although the person who mentioned it didn't go into detail.

I thought about that for a while and then decided I would continue to celebrate my blessings on Thanksgiving. I think it's good to take time out to give thanks for the opportunity to see the world as a human, to interact with people, to experience nature, and to share life, love, sorrow, and hope, with friends and family. We take so much for granted and there's so little time in a hectic day for quiet contemplation of the good things in life. I like to slow down once in a while and simply be happy and thankful.

I suppose this year, I have something extra to be thankful for. My cat doesn't leave dingleberries and skidmarks on the carpet. Thank goodness for that. --- Mya

It's an interesting movie if you like speculative fiction (science fiction, fantasy, etc.). If you don't read science fiction and you didn't grow up with the Star Trek series, you might be somewhat lost in the beginning of the movie. If youdid grow up reading or watching science fiction, this movie has quite a good depiction of technology as it might manifest in the future. It also has a few details that aren't internally consistent with the future scenario, but hey, they're small and they didn't really detract.

The extras are very interesting. I especially enjoyed the segments that revealed Spielberg's fabulous, child-like creative gifts. --- Mya

I wasn't sure where to hunt for turkeys. Having eaten vegetarian for big chunks of my life, I didn't exactly want to go to a slaughterhouse and two days isn't really enough time to bushwhack for turkeys when you don't have any idea of where to look for them. Plus, I didn't want to go into a hunting area in case some turkey (the kind without feathers) mistook me for Thanksgiving dinner and shot at me by accident (this is not a criticism of all hunters, just the ones who aim at anything that moves--I once lived next to someone like that). After thinking about it for a while, I decided Canada had more trees and thus, hopefully, more turkeys. I packed my bags and, by Saturday morning at 7:30 am, was on my way to the Great White North (which is about 20 minutes from my house).

I'm Canadian/American. I've lived half my life in Canada, half in the US. Half my family and friends are in Canada, half in the US. I've worked in both countries and I've had books published in both countries, so heading off to Canada wasn't that much of an adventure, but it was better than spending the weekend on the couch!

I decided that taking a ferry, while not the best way to hunt turkeys, would at least give me a scenic respite. I caught the ferry at Tsawwassen and rode the bumpy whitecaps to Swartz Bay. I had to content myself with watching seagulls instead of turkeys.

From the bay, I headed into Victoria, where I stopped at one of the best bakeries on the west coast and indulged. Yum. From there I visited friends and, by the end of the day, had forgotten all about my mission to talk to turkeys. Oops. --- Mya

In Zen and the Art of Motorcycle maintenance, Robert Pirsig talks about taking backroads. I can really relate to this. I love backroads. On the main roads, the pace is too fast to sightsee and we're subjected to too much industrial and commercial development and advertising. On the back roads you get a feel for the countryside, the people, and the flora and fauna that are aggressively removed from main thoroughfares.

Aerial Delights. I decided to head back out toward Swartz Bay and get off onto the side roads. I wondered if there might be turkeys in the area surrounding the airport, where there are quite a few hobby farms and even some larger farms. Then I saw a sign. No, it didn't say "Turkeys here," it said, BC Aviation Museum. Well wow! One of my novels-in-progress includes a character who is a pilot. I've already done quite a bit of research on aviation, I love planes, but I've never been to this museum. I was planning to visit some of the aviation museums on the west and east coasts, but I never expected one to drop right into my lap. I followed the sign and pulled into the small parking lot. There were some very interesting planes and helicopters in the fields surrounding the museum. I couldn't wait to see what was inside the corrugated hangar. Little did I know that at the back of the hangar there was a sad surprise. For now, I was enthralled with the planes and their history.

This is a wonderful little museum. It's run by volunteers who are passionate about planes and flying. It really shows. The craftsmanship that has gone into some of the restoration projects is fantastic and everyone is so eager to share knowledge and stories. I had such a great time taking the historical tour of the restored planes, the odd-number-cylinder engines, and the workshop. One of the planes in the workshop was an incredible home-made (not kit-built) plane that the fellow never finished. When he came to the arduous task of setting the tension supports inside the fuselage, he said enough-is-enough and donated his labor-of-love to the museum. The tension has to be just right on these planes or you're going into the air in an accident waiting to happen. It was sad to think he had put so many years into crafting this plane from scratch only to abandon the project, but at least it found its way into the hands of people who might be able to finish it.

It was getting late. The museum closes around 3:00 pm. Our guide told us we wouldn't be able to see it all and we hurried through the last few minutes. Then I bought a photo card and decal of a biplane (a beautiful yellow Moth) from the gift shop.

Aerial Disasters. But I have to backtrack. I almost forgot to mention something, or my subconscious temporarily blocked it out. Outside the museum, in the back, is the aeronatic "graveyard." This is not just a poetic term--it is a reality.

In the back are mangled plane parts, not just cast-off parts. As I was looking at the parts and taking a photo, the fellow who was our guide said, "...he was the artist." Suddenly, I stopped and turned and looked him in the eye.
"This is Toni Onley's plane?" I said.
The guide nodded and said, "The gray parts."
For those who haven't heard of Toni Onley, he is one of Canada's pre-eminent artists. He began by painting really lovely representational watercolors and moved into more abstract acrylics and oils.
I turned, completely overwhelmed by this unexpected news. As I looked at the shattered parts I said, quietly, "I knew him."
The guide looked at me and didn't say anything for a while.
Then I said, again quietly, and without looking at him, because I was struggling with my emotions, "I guess there are worse ways to go."
I was trying to see this tragedy in its best light. Toni was a very genial man. He was a professor at UBC and knew many people. He loved to fly, loved to paint. He often flew his plane into remote areas to find scenic wonders with different color schemes, different shapes from those you might find in your back yard. Toni was a Canadian from the Isle of Man. He liked talking about the Isle of Man, even though he had long since settled in Canada.

I found the sight of Toni's plane wreckage especially difficult to take because Toni was one of my supporters. There was a time in my life when the people around me laughed at my creative pursuits, at my efforts to push the envelope both visually and verbally. I was trying many new things, calligraphy, creative writing, painting. Toni is a purist. He says so (or said so), himself. He doesn't like mixed media as much as he enjoys pure use of media. Many of the other people around me had the same preferences, but they were more rigid than he--downright disdainful, in fact.

I owe Toni a debt that I can never fully repay. He ran block when others were trying to discourage me. He stood up for me in the presence of people who could have made his life difficult. He saw something in me others didn't see. He praised my efforts.

Onto Other Subjects. Okay. I took a short break. I'm back. I'm going to leave the subject of Toni and his plane wreck and talk about what happened next.

After leaving the museum, I took a backroad around the airport instead of the highway leading to the ferry. I needed to get something to eat and I was eager to get moving before dark. I took a country road and discovered a hobby farm with an unusual buff-colored horse, several geese, a pen full of chickens, and then, to my astonishment, when I had forgotten about them, a turkey. No, not one turkey, a dozen turkeys! Just when I had given up my search, there they were. So many things in life happen that way. (That's how I found my boyfriend in college. When I stopped looking, there he was.)

I wanted a picture and I wanted to look a turkey in the eye and discover what turkeys think about, if anything. I had been told that turkeys were stupid. I could provisionally accept this, but I wanted to see for myself if it was true.

Unfortunately, there was a water-filled ditch, a fence, and a menacing swath of blackberry bushes between me and the turkeys. The ditch was about two feet deep (I was wearing Birkenstock sandals--they are definitely not designed for slopes), and the fence was at least five feet high (on top of a four-foot steep rise of brambles). I didn't care. I was determined to get up close and personal with turkeys, so I took a deep breath and jumped the ditch.

Big mistake. Biiiiig mistake.

The instant my Birks hit the damp grass, they slid off my feet and hurtled down into the ditch. My feet sank into the blackberry brambles that were poking through the grass and dug through my socks into my feet. Because of my weight, I was sliding slowly down the almost-verticle slope, toward the ditch, but my feet were hooked by brambles and my skin was getting torn.

Now Who's the Turkey? I knew I was in trouble. I couldn't lift my feet. The brambles were dug deep in the skin and there was nothing to grab to stop my slow downward slide except thorn-studded blackberry canes. The canes quickly punctured my hands and arms (after already puncturing my feet). Great. It's seventeen years since my last tetanus shot and my hands, arms and feet were punctured in twenty places right next to a paddock full of def.ecating farm animals. Why do I do these things?

I was in pain. The brambles hurt and there was something else stinging my hands. It might have been nettle, but I never had time to verify this because I was trying to yell for help. Since I couldn't disengage myself from the brambles, someone was going to have to do it for me. Fortunately, I was rescued (not without some additional pain as he helped pull the brambles out of my feet) and lifted to the other side of the ditch. I was so embarrassed.

"Why were you doing that?" my rescuer asked me.
I couldn't very well tell him I wanted to commune with turkeys to see if they had any brains after doing such a brainless thing myself, so I just said, "I wanted a picture of turkeys."

He was wearing more appropriate hiking shoes and kindly took some pictures for me. You would think I'd be happy with that and head out for the ferry a little wiser. The only problem was that the fence was in the way of the turkeys. I wanted a GOOD picture of turkeys--up close and personal.

When I got the camera back and thanked my rescuer for taking the pictures, I started off down the fenceline, looking for a place to jump the ditch again. Yes, I know, what a foolhardy thing to do, but I was a writer with a mission and my mission was to get a look at a turkey's brain (or at least its skull) and get a good picture, Birkenstocks or no Birkenstocks.

Natural Deterrents. Unfortunately, the blackberries obscured the entire length of the turkey pen. It's probably a good thing. I suspect a few people might decide to avail themselves of a free Thanksgiving turkey if they could just reach over the fence and pluck one off the ground. One thing I noticed right away is the turkeys were very friendly (or maybe they just thought I was there to feed them)--they eagerly sidled up to the fence but there was no way to get close to them in Birks. Then I remembered I had sneakers in the car. Duh--why didn't I put them on in the first place?

I switched into sneakers and skulked the fence again, looking for an opening in the brambles and a place I could jump and land without sliding into the ditch below. I finally selected a spot at the lowest point of the paddock and jumped. Yes, I slid again, but this time I didn't get a foot full of brambles. I managed to work my way up to the fence and climb on a bit of log so I could get high enough to take some photos. It was pretty precarious--I was definitely in danger of falling and sliding into the ditch--but I managed to wobble around and get some pictures of turkeys.

Turkeys are beautiful birds. The males fluff out their feathers and tails to impress the ladies and jiggle them in an irridescent display that is almost as impressive as the colors of a peacock. They have the neatest heads. Yes, they are naked, like vultures, but they are so rich in color and texture, it's worth it to look past the ugly nakedness and see the beautiful shapes and colors.

Turkeys are very vocal birds. They really do gobbledy-gaggle. They do it in concert--a whole symphony of gaggles arises at one time as they beat their wings and create a resonant gaggling buzz. If you've ever listened to the laugh tracks from comic soap operas, where the laughter suddenly starts and just as suddenly stops, it sounds a lot like that.

What cool birds, though. I don't know if they're smart. It was kind of hard to tell, but they have a wide variety of vocalizations and they are very curious. One turkey, a female (or perhaps a young male) flew up on the fence to take a close look at me. She turned this way and that, trying to discern who I was and what I was doing. It was so much fun. I'm glad I found a decent pair of shoes in the car so I could see them at closer range.

I've included a closeup of the feathers of one of the males so you can (hopefully) see the irridescent colors.

Well, it really was a surprising day all round. Stumbling upon the air museum, Toni's plane, a paddock full of turkeys--it's amazing the things that happen when you travel with a loose agenda. I'm so glad I made the trip, even if I'm still picking brambles out of my skin. --- Mya