We Shot a Movie on the Weekend! ~ Solid Rock

Last weekend a bunch of us from the Southern Manitoba Filmmaking Community - hey! that should be a thing - came together and participated in the CWVFF 48-hour Film Race. It began at 7:00 on Thursday evening, and the next morning everyone came to our place, we nailed down our story idea, rustled together the costumes, did some shot listing and location scouting, and headed out to the set. It was a growing weekend for all of us, with many laughs and a few frustrations. Below are likenesses of the good people involved. Keep an eye out for the finished film and the - even better - behind the scenes reel.

Before Mom took this picture, she said, "You all look so stiff - put your arms around each other."

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#movies #filming #films #pictures

Happy 2019!

Everybody and their dog was just at my house, sitting on my couches, playing hockey on my pond, talking to my family, and playing games in my bedroom. It was nice of every single person I know to visit all of a sudden. It was also nice of them to leave their dogs outside. It gets quite loud enough in here with just a hundred people and all their millions of little siblings.

Just now, however, it is very quiet in the Lawrenson household. The mountain of hostess gifts is sitting quietly on the table. The mountain of lost and found is waiting forlornly in the entrance, forsaken by its various partying owners. The big, muddy lake by the door - that was mopped up after everyone fished their skates out of it and left, almost twenty-four hours ago.

Guys, its New Year's Eve. It seems like just yesterday was 2018's New Year's Party, and yet, can you believe that this year began with the Olympics? It's been less than twelve months since snowboarding!

I am home alone. When that coincides with the last day of the year I usually choose to wax eloquent in my diary. Here, for your enjoyment, are my thoughts on the occasion.

December 31st, 2018

I am for the second time in my life approaching the end of one year and the beginning of the next with exhaustion and oblivion being the key markers of my mental state. I always look forward to the coming twelve-month, wondering what all will happen in it.

I will be nineteen. There are zero disadvantages to being nineteen. Nineteen-year-olds have everything going for them and nothing to go wrong - except, of course, if nothing were to go at all, everyone were to marry somebody else, no accomplishments or connections were to be made, and all the delicious nineteen-year-old time were to be frittered away. But there is hardly any danger of that, is there? Of course, 2019 could bring on WWIII, but even that would be a fine time to be alive. All the best war stories are about nineteen-year-olds anyway.

I can't believe I will actually be nineteen. I used to imagine I was sixteen, but only other people - tall, handsome, beautiful, charming people - were nineteen. What an idea! The first paragraph of my eulogy completed. Over. Done. No edits can be made to that part of the story.

I feel as though the only response to an ancient teenager like me is "Oh, you just wait." I can't wait! Life is going to get so exciting I won't see half of it if I had forty eyeses. I know I need to cherish every minute of these happy, golden years. The years when there are so many DSLRs running around the house that sentimental memories are effortless. The years when even if I drag my heels life is a whirl of gaiety.

I am not about to do any dragging of heels going into the new year. I hope to start off 2019 healthy, happy, hopeful and any other positive H-words you can think of.

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#mydiary #mybrain #mylife #current #christmas

The Rats

Disclaimer: I wrote this short story after us cousins and the Uncles killed 98 of the rats in my Opa's bale stack one Chirstmas some years ago. It was a ton of fun and I did not feel sympathy for the rats, but one event, namely 40 or so rats running (between our legs) for cover from under one of the bales Opa lifted with his tractor, made me think that they had gathered for some purpose, and during the after-Christmas lull I wrote this story.

Note: I adore the book Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH, and feel for the rats more strongly than I do for any human in a book, but this does not transfer to real life. I'll gladly kill any rodent.

It was a chilly December afternoon; chilly, but warmer than it should have been, above zero, in fact, and that is why the Mouse family had decided to make today moving day. The rats had invited them to their cozy home in a giant network of bales on a farm near the Mouse family's old dwelling. The move was supposed to be for the winter, but the beginning of winter had come faster than expected, and they hadn't had a moment to move, let alone pack up, and besides, it had been far too cold for most of November and the first half of December. Now it was the week of Christmas and it was finally warm enough to get the little ones out and make the short trek to the farm with their belongings.

The father, Jeremy, pulled the cart carrying all the bedding, and the twins, Johnny and Cacao, bounced on the top. They arrived and an old Grandmotherly rat who introduced herself as Caroline came out and bustled them inside.

The rats had been living in the bales for more than a year, and the tunnels and cozy rooms were very elaborate. Caroline led the Mouse family along a spacious high-roofed passage to a room lined with straw.

“This will be your home,” she said, arranging a couple beds before leaving them to unpack.

The rest of that day was busy. Mr. and Mrs. Mouse hurried about, keeping the twins out of trouble and helping the rats prepare for the Christmas feast. Mr. Mouse carried chairs and tables to the main hall, which was in the bale stack beside the one where they had made their new home. Mrs. Mouse busied herself with affairs in the kitchen, cooking up goodies for tomorrow's celebration. They were tired at the end of the day, but they fell into warm, cozy beds and slept until morning, without having to worry about predators or if the twins had wandered off.

****

In the morning it was colder, but still warm in the bales from the heat of so many bodies, and the twins could run about without catching cold. Caroline bustled into their room early, bringing warm water and some oat crackers.

“Everyone is just eating a snack this morning, instead of breakfast, so they will have room for the feast later on,” she explained. Cacao stuffed her chubby face with the crackers and smiled up at Caroline.

“Dan-too,” she squeaked, her voice muffled by the crumbs. The two Mouse parents and the rat Grandmother laughed, and Caroline took her leave, still chuckling.

Later that morning finds the Mouse family hurrying along the corridors of the rat colony, trying to find a place to sit down and rest, for Mrs. Mouse was feeling a little queasy from not having had enough to eat. At last, almost at the banquet hall, they found a room off to the side and turned into it.

“Oh! Oh!” Mrs. Mouse gasped. “I hear a big, rumbling, green machine! It is tearing up our lovely home! I see Men, oh, Men! Lots of them, with big sticks and clubs! They are hacking, hacking, hacking! It is horrible, oh, horrible!” She stopped for breath, and Mr. Mouse tried to calm his wife.

“It's all right, darling, you just need something to eat.” He called out the door of the room to a passing young rat. “Hey, you! Bring us some food, will you? Anything; just get it quick!” The rat nodded and sped away. Then, in the moment of silence that followed his going, all four of them heard it; a low, rumbling sound, just like the big green machine Mrs. Mouse had described. Mingled with that sound came sharp cries and yells that could only mean one thing—Men.

Mrs. Mouse whimpered, clawing at the floor. The whole bale stack shuddered. Rats continued by outside the door, without appearing to worry. The Mouse family made their way along the corridors to the banquet hall. Everyone was laughing and joking, drinking beer and playing games. They were oblivious of the pending disaster. Mr. Mouse scrambled up on a table, shouting at the top of his lungs. The room fell silent on the instant, and as it did, Mr. Mouse fell silent too. The rumbling was quieter now, but still loud enough to be heard when all the rats listened.

“You hear that?” He asked. “That's the sound of Men coming. Coming to rip apart the bale stack and kill every one of us, the women and the young ones.” From the far side of the room an old rat spoke up.

“Hold on just a minute there, mouse. What do you know about all that stuff? The men come all the time; they take bales, they even poke around our home some, but it never bothers us, and they don't intend to bother us. Why would they? We don't bother them, in fact we're helping them. Once they even left a whole sheep carcass for us. It fed us for for months, and they didn't take it away. Don't bother your head about a tractor. Come join the feast.”

So Mr. Mouse joins the feast along with his family, and the tractor turns out to be just taking a couple bales. Everyone lives happily ever after. Right? No. We know that's not what happened. Instead, this is what took place.

Mr. Mouse considered for a moment and said quietly,

“What about this time last year?” There was another moment of silence and the old rat rubbed his forehead with a paw, looking suddenly very tired. Three rats from different parts of the room spoke up at once. There was a sudden rabble of shouting and a half-empty pitcher of beer was thrown over the heads of the crowd. Mr. Mouse jumped off the table and, gathering up his family, left the room in a huff. Outside in the hall it was cooler and they could hear the tractor more clearly.

“Forget it,” Mr. Mouse muttered. “Let's get out of here.” They started toward the front edge of the bale stack, but the bale above them shifted without warning and lifted into the air altogether. Mrs. Mouse screamed and ran under the other bale stack. The twins scattered, pressing close to the ground and running as fast as their little legs could take them. Mr. Mouse looked up and looming over him was a colossal black curving thing that he couldn't see to the top of. He started forward, and the ground behind him exploded from a terrific blow. Dirt, oats and canola flew past his ears. He ran, dodging more blows and weaving in and out between more giant rubber structures. At last there was no more pursuit and he flung himself against one of them, panting. Almost at once it shifted and began to roll away, crunching over one of his forepaws. Not even feeling it or responding to it, he ran steadily as fast as he could until he was over the grain pile and beyond, tucked between two round bales.

At last he could rest. After a while he stopped panting and crept to the corner of his bale to peek out. A terrible sight met his eyes.

The bales had been taken away all the way up to just before the banquet hall. The huge green tractor rumbled back and forth, biting into bales and hauling them away to a different stack. The bale yard was full of Men, some standing around on the grain pile, some poking at the east entrance to the banquet hall, some looking over the fence, all of them carrying long sticks. Mr. Mouse shuddered, but he couldn't take his eyes off the scene.

The tractor came back and slowly lifted away the top two bales. Mr. Mouse saw the rat whom he'd asked to get food on one of the top floors, exposed. By the action of the Men he could tell that many of the young rats had gone up there to have a party of their own. He hoped they had the sense to use the corner exit. (Note: they did. Right onto my head, as it happened.) There didn't seem to be any men in between the stacks. He could hear no squealing. They must have got away or have died quickly, he thought.

Already the tractor was back, lifting the next two bales. There were no rats on the second floor, but as the tractor passed close by him he suddenly spotted his wife, clinging to the bales as they were carried. After the tractor left he slipped back into the bales and ran among them to his wife. The twins were with her too, and after many tears shed and stories exchanged, the Mouse family was on their way away from the rat mansions just over twenty-four hours after they came.

What happened to the rats, you ask? And the coming feast? Well, two days after the Mouse family hit the road, a swallow brought them news. The banquet had been interrupted. Only six rats had made it out alive. The men even came back the next day and killed more, including Caroline and the babies in the nursery. When the remaining rats convened to bury what dead the Men had left, there were counted to be almost a hundred dead or missing rats.

The End

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#rats #christmas