Two men I love

Two of the men I love the most gave me the same gift for Christmas. A book about love, written by an author (a man) I love. 

Today is also the birthday of two other men (one an author) that I love. 

A day for reading about love, thinking about love -- not a bad way to spend a day. 

One of a kind

At least we're certainly hoping that this Christmas holiday will not need to be repeated. No family gatherings, no Solstice party, and certainly no big gala for New Year's Eve. 

Still, it's giving us memories we won't forget. 

Think of the stories from the pandemic of 1918 -- the year my father was born. I can only imagine how worried my gramma must have been, hoping she wouldn't get sick while she was pregnant. 

We'll all have our own stories, though I'm sure we'll be happier when they're well in the rear-view mirror. 

Onward, towards the new year, but for now, let's celebrate Christmas. 

Comin' back

This week brought the news that we may well be starting the long road back to some kind of normalcy, with the first people receiving injections of vaccine against the virus that's ravaged the human race. It feels like the first sign that the world we used to know might be comin' back. 

Tomorrow (or, here on the West Coast of Canada, 2am tonight) brings another kind of coming back --- the one we are blessed with every year, the Solstice, when the days again start to grow longer and hope grows along with the daylight. 

This year also brings a conjunction between Jupiter and Saturn that hasn't occurred for hundreds of years, maybe another sign that life on Earth is soon to improve. Because those 'conjoined' stars will be so bright, they've been dubbed this year's 'Christmas Star'. 

Those iris sprouting in between the leaves outside my local library looked like a harbinger of spring not impossibly far off. 

Good things on the horizon, getting nearer all the time. 

The blessings of friendship

This is the time of year when many of us think about friends, especially those from long ago, ones we hope to stay in contact with. 

I'm one of those oddballs who still likes to send (and receive!) Christmas cards. 

Quite a few of the ones I send are homemade, often using bits of old cards, recycling them into new creations. 

This one was quite fun, already such a beautiful Christmas tree. All I had to do was tear the paper around it and attach it to a green piece of cardstock (that I'd added gold and red bands to). But then, the most fun part of all: in my collection of paper clips, I found a star-shaped one. So I cut a hole near the top of the tree and clipped it in. To cover the torn spot, I stuck on a glittery red circle. Voila! 

And yes, this one's going to a friend from long-ago, one I've been lucky enough to find and reconnect with. Something I treasure. 

But I've also been rediscovering other kinds of friends -- the kind in the image at the top of this post -- like that darling girl, Anne with an E. 

I think I might have started this kick earlier this fall when I went back to Philip Pullman's wonderful series, 'His Dark Materials' and reread the first in that trilogy, The Golden Compass. There's nothing quite like riding along with Lyra, hanging on to the fur of a very big polar bear. 

Ah, so blessed am I -- even when I can't hang out with my usual, nearby friends, I can still pal about with those friends in the pages of well-loved books. 

Neighbourly

The other day, the doorbell rang -- an odd occurrence these days. One of my neighbours was standing on the deck with a mask on her face (but of course) and a gift in her hand. She'd noticed that we still had (have) a pumpkin out front and figured it was time for us to shift seasons. 

She brought us this lovely little wreath she had made. To match the "Peace to all who enter" flag by our door, she made it in the shape of a peace sign (hard to see, as it's now interwoven with the black metal knocker). 

Besides getting me into a little bit of the spirit, the wreath has made me think about just what this year's Christmas will be like. 

It doesn't look as though we'll be able to have friends or family over for any kind of celebrating (not even the traditional Solstice celebration), as with rising numbers, we all need to be vigilant towards keeping safe. 

So instead, I plan to make up tiny gift packets for my neighbours. I'll leave them on doorsteps and pretend that Santa's responsible. 

We can all only hope that this year's Christmas with its restrictions and worries is one we'll never have to observe the same way again. 

Picnic by firelight

Because it gets dark so early now, it's easy (and fun) to have a 'campfire' at home. 

Last night, with a fire in the chiminea and no rain (for a welcome change), it seemed like a good night to have a picnic supper. 

Nothing very fancy -- buns and sausages along with a pot of beans. Homemade quince cider in big metal mugs. 

I suppose this is a post that should likely show up on the old "What's fer supper?" blog, but the celebratory feeling from eating outside by the fire made the meal feel like something better than just 'supper'. 

These days, we keep seeking (and luckily, finding now and then) ways of bringing a bit of spice into the restricted lives we're all now leading, even if tonight that 'spice' was mostly raw onions on what some would dismiss as 'hot dogs'. 

Every now and then, some silly idea comes along, delivering some joy to break up the dullness. 

The wonder of the light

Today is the 12th anniversary of my mother's death. The little angel in the photo is an item she gave to me -- a gift I am pretty sure was something 'regifted' -- but I'm thinking that makes it all the better. 

I heard part of an episode of Tapestry today, a CBC show that deals with matters that might be called spiritual. Author Richard Van Camp was doing what he does best: telling stories. I loved the one he told about heaven (being like the West Edmonton Mall). But even more, I liked his idea about a full moon practice -- giving things away, which is why I like the idea of regifting, especially of things we love. 

It isn't full moon yet -- not until month's end. But what I'd like to give away today is the idea of forgiveness.  

In truth, I don't think it's all that easy to hold a grudge, but some of us seem better than others at this. 

I'm in the process of writing a letter to someone I love, and I'm hoping that his heart will soften enough that we can be close again. 

But the person I'm sure my mother would most like to see in my life again is my youngest sister. The last time she spoke to me was at our mother's funeral. That seems like an awfully long time to lug around whatever transgression she believes I committed against her. And yes, it would help if I knew what it was, as it would make an apology so much easier.. 

But maybe that's the little miracle I can hope for today (or soon). In the meantime, the little angel stands guard over the tealight candle in the kitchen.  

New traditions, old remembrances

I love that even our buses help us remember, especially where this is a year when we can't have any gatherings to observe Remembrance Day. 

We listened to the ceremony from Ottawa with its speeches and haunting bagpipes, and even managed to catch a glimpse of the old planes doing their flyover here. 

And a new tradition (one that won't be repeated) is the fact that this is the day I send off my manuscript so review copies can be printed. It certainly feels right, being that the book is about Harold and Maude, a film with such strong anti-war sentiments. 

But that's not all I plan to do today. Our local arts council has set up a number of online activities to help us observe the day. My favourite is an excellent demonstration of watercolour technique. I think I feel inspired enough to try painting my own. 

And beyond the traditional poppy, I've started my annual amaryllis bulb, and hoping it will bloom in time for Christmas. And yes, that will be the day of Alex Trebek's truly final Jeopardy, so the bloom -- in addition to brightening up our home -- will serve as a kind of virtual gift to him, one of both remembrance and of gratitude. 

Awww, Canada...

It was a weekend when two memorable Canadians died. 

The first reported was the much-loved host of Jeopardy!, Alex Trebek. Tributes and remembrances have been on every news outlet. My kind-hearted sister expressed concern over how sad I might be, as I'll admit to having been a fan of that show for years. In truth, I remember the first series with Art Fleming, as my gramma watched it, with me by her side, probably pitching as many answers (er, questions) as I could come up with. 

Less notice or fanfare went to the passing of another Canadian, Howie Meeker -- not only a great hockey player, but a longtime feature on Hockey Night in Canada, a program that was a Saturday night tradition in so many households. Meeker had a unique style as a commentator, overly excitable, and with a high-register voice (brought to our attention by the satirists at SCTV). News reports reminded us not only of his many accomplishments, but (as was also the case with Trebek), his humanity. And really, it seemed all too appropriate in this morning's NYT crossword puzzle (one of my addictions) to have a clue, "Golly!" with its three-letter answer -- completing a phrase used often by Meeker -- "Gee". 

Both men were recipients of our country's highest honour, the Order of Canada. Two of our greats, Adieu.

Whew!

This has been a difficult week, filled with uncertainty and worry. There've been a few personal concerns too, but those were mostly overshadowed by the unsettled (and unsettling) results of the US election. 

The other day I was down at the beach, mostly I suppose, seeking some kind of solace. 

It was only for a moment, but I managed to catch a part of it -- beneath a sky filled with glowering dark clouds, a band of sunlight broke through. 

It brought me the comfort of a small bit of hope. And now with this morning's news, I'm feeling that the whole world can finally exhale. 

Ghostly

That's kind of how it felt on Halloween. It was the first time in just about forever that we didn't celebrate by handing out goodies to Trick or Treaters. There were quite a few houses decorated for the holiday, but I don't think we were the only ones holding out with the treats. 

And here it now is already November, the day I was raised to believe in as "All Souls' Day" -- a day when we were told we could say a certain set of prayers, and a soul would be released from the agonies of purgatory -- sort of a 'get-out-of-jail-free' card is how it seemed. 

The traditional Day of the Dead (Dia de Muertos) is the celebration in Mexico today, though it doesn't seem anywhere near as grim as the day of kneeling and praying I was supposed to observe. 

And tomorrow, well who knows what that will bring. I can only hope it means a change for calm, respect and peace. Otherwise, it's hard to say what the rest of this long winter might bring. 

As for me and my love of holidays, I can't help but wonder about Christmas -- probably not a long table full of friends and family sharing the traditional Swedish meatballs. 

Still, we can only hope for the best, can't we.

What's a bigger word than disappointment?

I suppose those little posies above the kitchen sink will be the last bouquets for the year, as we had a flash of frost the other night. As always, the brass swans seem oblivious, but the little pie crow looks like he's happily singing to them (no one ever told him he's not much of a singer). 

Today, especially, I am needing a splash of colour, as I learned some devastating news. The Peace River diversion at the Site C dam site (damn site) occurred on October 3rd. Sure, BC Hydro put an announcement on their website, but how many of us monitor that corporate hype. 

It was only by a small accident, communicating with someone not in government, that this tragedy came to my attention. Surely this will now provide the excuse that indeed we have passed the point of no return on this project. 

Worst of it all is that it took place while we were in election mode in this province. And even though Sonia Furstenau, our wonderful Green Party leader, raised a question about Site C during that forum, she didn't receive much of an answer -- and the premier certainly didn't reveal that the diversion had occurred (which surely he knew). 

Disappointed is too small a word for all that's going through my mind right now. I can't help but feel that the people of BC have been betrayed by a smarmy kind of avoidance I never expected from our public representatives. 

A peaceful and green anniversary

Reading the news this morning, I realized that I knew where I was fifty years ago tonight. At a Greenpeace (or as it was apparently then still thought of, as a name composed of two words, Green Peace) concert with a friend. 

Unlike some of the people mentioned in the article, we both knew about James Taylor. That somewhat-raggedy looking album cover in the photo is the first one I had by him, though more are stacked in the pile of LP's I still have. 

Taylor was the surprise guest of the event, something I am pretty sure owed to the fact that he and Joni Mitchell were supposed to be an item at the time. 

In the semi-darkness between performers, a tall lanky fellow came onto the stage and moved from amp to amp, apparently checking settings and such before he picked up a guitar, walked to the mic and said something like, Hey there, I'm James Taylor. 

The Greenpeace button in the photo isn't (I don't think, anyway) the one that was sold the evening of the concert. Still, it's been around for nearly as long as that album. 

I just wish the friend I'd gone to the concert with that night were also still around. Sadly, he's the one referred to in a not-too-long-ago post, the one about the empty shirt. 

Never again...

...at least not in this life of mine. 

One of those numerical sequences I can't help but noticing. 

Today, October 10, 2020 translates into 10102020, so how can I ignore something so elegant?

Next time such a pattern will occur is November 11, 2222 -- or, 11112222, a date I'm quite sure I won't be here to notice. 

Oh, the goofy things that make me attention... 

P.S. The next group of sequential numbers holding major significance will be happening soon: January 19-20, 21. Fingers crossed!

Foraged

Autumn can be one of the most enjoyable seasons -- not too hot, not too cold, and sometimes not even too wet (an important consideration in this part of the world). 

We spent a day wandering through forests, mainly on the lookout for edible mushrooms. As always, most of the ones we spotted were either not safe to eat, 'pre-chewed' by slugs or other forest residents, or sometimes just gone at the stem to some other mushroom-seeker who beat us to a particular patch. 

Because luck was with us, we found enough for a big panful fried up (with butter, olive oil, garlic and chives) that made their way to the top of a pile of fresh linguini. 

Yum!

The rest have been drying and are almost ready to go into jars where
they'll wait for special occasions when I'll cook with them (and put them into our Christmas stuffing for sure). 

Yet, it isn't just mushrooms that get found in the forest. Walking almost silently (except of course for the intermittent tinkle of the bear bell I wear) over the deep carpet of moss makes me think I'm in the land of The Lord of the Rings or maybe on another planet, like in Avatar. 

One of the most important 'foraged' items I bring home with me is an awareness of that quiet place within, maybe the spirit, that takes such comfort and solace there. 

Just about a perfect day

After last week's heavy rains, which seem to have cleared the smoke from our skies, today feels just about perfect. 

Temps are warm enough to not need a jacket or sweater, and the sky couldn't be bluer. 

The quince are now getting ripe. In fact, I can smell the scent of them wafting through the house as the Dear Man is making a big pot of quince-ade, a delicious and refreshing drink that I associate with this time of year. 

Yesterday was World Rivers Day this year dedicated to the salmon, our wonderfully important (and delicious) fish whose stocks have become so sadly depleted. 

But today I am happily celebrating World Rivers Day again, albeit a bit belatedly, as it seems I'm no longer so alone-feeling when it comes to questioning the sense of going ahead with the Site C project. A letter from people who matter cites many of the reasons it's time for this project to stop. It seems that our beloved Peace may indeed soon get the respect (and the reprieve) it deserves. This is a cause I've been concerned about for quite a few years. 

As part of my wanting to celebrate and to belatedly pay tribute to World Rivers Day, here's a short video with yes, the sound of a river, always such a comfort to me -- something to enjoy, a little piece of memorabilia from our recent camping trip, this time the sounds of the Similkameen.  

Change-o-rama

Just back from a week away -- off-grid and offline -- what a pleasurable way to spend time! Out in the forest, with ravens and plenty of ground squirrels in evidence (not sure what's in the image above -- kitty? big squirrel?) and fortunately, despite cautions, no bears. 

Most of the time we were camping in Manning Park, a great place for hiking easy trails and just plain

relaxxxing. 

Nearly everywhere, I kept finding interesting rock art. As I so often do, I took waaaay too many photos of these, but it was hard not to, as every time I saw one, it just seemed too fun to ignore. 

One of my favourites was this 'abstract' one which may well have been an 
accident, or might have even served as someone's painter's palette or drip-catcher. I'll never know. 

Coming home serves as a change -- back to the nice, big queen-size bed and of course, electricity and water on demand (hot even!). 

Tomorrow marks another change: the autumn equinox occurs early in the morning when I trust I'll still be sleeping. I doubt that the day will look much different, as leaves have been turning and temps have been cooling down for a while, but the new season will be official. 

But oh -- an even bigger change is coming here in BC. We're having an election. And I think quite a few of us aren't sure it's a great idea. 

One constant that we've been told will endure, even if our government is changing, will be the steadfast reporting of updates from our provincial health officer, Dr Bonnie Henry. One point of continuity will be her regular updates when she always includes her oh-so-quotable mantra, which even showed up on yet another example of rock art in the woods. 

Not quite an eclipse

Not a solar eclipse, there isn't one coming this way for a few years, but light from this afternoon's sun is definitely occluded. These smoky skies are the result of fires to the south of us, in Washington state, and probably from Oregon and California as well. So much of the West Coast is burning -- yet again, only this time worse than ever. 

Among reasons for this season's mega-fires is, of course, climate change with its much drier summers. Another contributing factor may also be the fact that when we replant a forest after it's been logged, we generally plant a single species (a monoculture) to replace what was probably a more natural, mixed forest. 

Earlier today, when the sun was directly overhead and shining through the skylights, it cast an almost orangey glow onto the wood floors. 

About the only word that comes to mind for it? Eerie. 

Then and now...

Today's the first day of school in our province. It's just teachers today, with students heading to classrooms on Thursday.  

Because I used to work in schools, those first-day jitters still have an effect on me. And last night I had the dream of being back there -- only not in a way that was fun (seeing colleagues and students, happy to be back together). This was definitely a nightmare. 

Similar to other anxiety dreams I sometimes have, it was all about not being prepared. 

I was in the high school library where I spent my happiest school years, but I was teaching an English (or maybe Socials?) class, and I completely lost any sense of control. The kids were definitely the ones who were in charge, and the situation was complicated by a few senior students who'd decided that, since it was the library (open to all), they could sit in the midst of the other students and talk as if they were the only ones around. 

When I woke up, I was relieved at it being a dream, but it made me think how much times have changed. 

Students used to take pencils and notebooks to class. Now the 'notebook' is a laptop, and they're also packing hand sanitizer and packets of cleansing towelettes. 

As for the calculator, if you look closely up top, there's a pencil box with a sharpener tucked into one end. Looking even more closely, you might see a sliding 'bar' along the ruler that tops the box. It served as a non-mechanical calculator of sorts, back in the dark ages when I was in Grade Three. You slid the bar along the ruler and could find answers to the times tables, numbers we eventually had to memorize. 

Not quite a 'slide rule' (an object I never mastered), and certainly not something today's students would have on their list of school supplies to keep in their backpacks. 

There but for the grace, etc. go I during these challenging days. And hallelujah, just about three o'clock -- time for the bell. Bless 'em all, and may they be safe. 

The empty shirt in the empty chair

Those of us who live in British Columbia have much cause to observe Overdose Awareness Day. Over the past months, more people in our province have died from using drugs than from the much-more-publicized COVID-19. 

During July of this year, 175 such deaths were reported. That's over five a day. If a similar number of deaths were the result of car accidents, plane crashes, or drownings, everyone would be screaming at the government to do something about it. 

But no, too often the person who died is someone who lived in poverty, eking out the best they could to get by, one of the people who have become invisible. 

For the most part, I prefer to call these deaths what they are: deaths by poisoning. Too many of them are the result of a person using drugs that have been cut by unscrupulous entities, often with fentanyl or carfentanyl or their even deadlier cousin, isotonitazine (iso).

Yes, Vancouver has long been home to safe injection sites, but during these 'virus days' with rules about social distancing and staying home, too many people are using in isolation and as a result, not only using alone but dying alone. 

The city has several memorials to those who've been lost to this latest spate of drug-related deaths, including murals in the Downtown Eastside, and an array of shoes fastened to the Burrard Bridge. 

While I don't have anyone's shoes to mark the day, I do have a shirt from a friend who died a few years ago. To the best of my knowledge, his case was not yet one involving fentanyl, but was blamed on a batch of overly powerful heroin that had made its way into the city. 

Because I recently had to write a piece about grief, I did a fair bit of research. One of the expressions I kept coming across was that of 'the empty chair' -- the place at the kitchen table that will never again be filled by the person who has died. 

And yes, the green shirt hanging on that empty chair is in fact a shirt that once belonged to my friend, he of the unexpected death one Easter weekend. Yet another person who erred in thinking he could use alone. 

Over five deaths a day?? That's completely unacceptable. Our laws need to change -- and soon. 

Small perfections

Okay, it's just a little plate of tomatoes. But they're still warm from picking. Come winter, I'll be grumbling, and probably ready to pay whatever it takes for just about any kind of tomato I can find. For now, they're free gifts from the garden. And yes, the yellow and orange ones are exactly the colours they're supposed to be. Golden and delicious. And just right to eat right now. 

Berry hopeful

That's how I've been feeling this week, even on those days when it rained. This has much to do with the fact that I spent at least two of those rainy evenings watching the Democratic Convention from the US. Wow, some speakers!

And because I am, in addition to being hopeful, feeling pretty lazy, the link above not only tells you about the event, but provides links to excerpts from some of those outstanding speeches (see especially those by Michelle and Barack Obama). 

Besides, I've just spent nearly an hour picking some of those wonderful blackberries -- now at their peak of sweet ripeness -- so I reckon I now need to do something with them. Maybe even make a pie to keep in the freezer for a wintry day when we need a shot of summer, even if it's only a taste of it. 

Lazy days of turning pages into new worlds

Summer days can be an excuse to be lazy (though I'll admit, I can probably find an excuse to be lazy during any season). 

One of my happiest ways to be lazy is to hide myself away in the pages of a book. And this summer has brought me some fine hiding spots. 

I suppose the string of great reads started some weeks back, with Marion Toews' powerful novel, Women Talking. It's not a happy book, but the facts behind it were important to reveal. From there, quite by accident, another library book came my way and, oddly enough, it seemed to link up to the Toews' book, even echoing small details. That one, The Grace Year, though classified as YA didn't really seem to be very YA -- just a terrific and memorable book. 

Without really meaning to, I moved into books about trees. The atmosphere for reading was probably enhanced by the fact that our house is surrounded by a miniature forest. I keep meaning to post something on Goodreads about these (more of that laziness keeps winning out), but they are The Overstory and Greenwood. 

The Overstory by Richard Powers won the Pulitzer Prize, so I'm not the only person who wants to sing its praises. It's broken into two main parts -- the first introduces readers to the cast of characters, the rest unfolds all that happens to (and with) all of them. It's very much related to The Hidden Life of Trees, but the humans and their complicated interactions make the science so much more real. 

Likewise, Michael Christie expresses a similar deep understanding of the nature of trees in his novel, Greenwood. It's a sprawling book, spanning the breadth of our continent, time-travelling to the past and into the future. There were times I wasn't quite sure who was who, but it gradually unfolded, like leaves on the page. 

And now, I'm doing another kind of time-travel, as I've just started David Mitchell's Utopia Avenue, a trip into the Sixties and its music. No comments on that one yet, as I've only just started it, though I suspect I'll enjoy it, as I've read and liked all of his other ones. 

I've got a nifty outdoor living space, with a comfy old couch, a great place to curl up with a book. 

I hope your summer reading has been as pleasurable as mine. And remember, I love hearing recommendations. 

Midsummer Bee-yoo-tee

Perhaps it's just part of being a contrarian, but I can't help wondering why today (or maybe tomorrow) isn't the day called 'midsummer' as in Midsummer Night's Dream. After all, August 4th is pretty much midway between solstice and equinox -- in other words, the middle of summer, i.e., midsummer. 

The midsummer festival is apparently a very big thing in many places, especially in Sweden, with much in the way of eating and drinking and even doing a sort of 'froggy' dance as part of their celebrations. 

This year, as part of my trying to learn more about this observance (as truly, it has puzzled me a long time, at least as far back as Woody Allen's A Midsummer Night's Sex Comedy), I poked around and even found a novel The Hidden Beach. 

The book is set in Sweden, and the festivities feature prominently. Unfortunately, I only made it about halfway through, as the sub-plot proved to be overly romantic for me. Maybe I gave up too soon, but really, an awful lot of other books are always calling to me. 

As for me, I think I will do my own celebrating tonight. The moon is nearly full, and we're just about exactly halfway along the path from summer solstice to the arrival of autumn on September 22nd. Until then, I'll keep picking blackberries while the bees buzz their work-songs in my ear, and be glad that we're all still able to spend so much time outside. 

More of what we're calling the 'new normal'

This is the way authors now go about promoting their books -- with a virtual reading and conversation. 

I can't really say that I'm complaining, especially not today, when it's hot outside (at least for here, 28 degrees), so travel into Vancouver (had he been present, and not online) would have been miserable. I would likely still be caught in traffic or riding a train or bus, trying to get home.

Though really, for a chance to hear David Mitchell, a writer I quite love (having read all but one of his novels), I may well have braved the travel, especially where this latest one, Utopia Avenue, is set in the 1960s, an era I know all too well. There was talk of the "strange convergence" between much of what's happening now, and all that was happening then -- change, change, and more change.

The conversation was meaty (and fun) enough to keep me feeling I've had a small fix of literary entertainment, something I can never quite get enough of.

Part of signing up for this particular Zoom event included the option of buying the new book, but drat, it hasn't arrived yet. I can only it's going to be here soon. An in-person event would have meant I could buy one on-site, I am sure, and who knows, maybe even snag an autograph. Ah, the stuff of groupie dreams.

The trouble with masks

They make me sweat. They make my nose itch. They bother my ears.

They protect those around me in case I have to sneeze, cough, or speak. They afford me some safety as well.

In other words, they're not so troublesome at all.

I remember when seat belts were first introduced. Up to then, the only time I'd ever used a seat belt was on a plane. And really, I hate to say it, but aside from keeping us in place during light turbulence, on a plane they are more a matter of mental safety than survival equipment.

But seat belts in a car make a huge difference in a crash. They've been mandatory in British Columbia since 1977, earlier than that in other jurisdictions, including the US. Although poking around for information about their use, I've discovered there's no law regarding them in New Hampshire. 

When they were first introduced, there were plenty of gripers -- belts were uncomfortable, they wrinkled your clothes, they seemed unnecessary. Yet, as time went on, we all grew accustomed to them, to the point where most of us now would be uncomfortable driving (or riding) without one.

As we keep seeing the numbers of COVID-positive cases rising, especially in the US, it's getting easier by the day to take the time to don a mask. Soon, I can only hope (at least while this pandemic reigns our lives), the matter of putting on a mask before entering a store or public place will become as automatic as getting into the car and clicking the belt.

Response to a bad idea, badly timed

I'll admit that I've never been a big fan of the police -- just as I'm sure there've been times they've not been too fond of me. Still, I don't pretend for a minute that we don't need them. There've been times I've needed to call them, and times too when I wish someone had called them for me.

But whatever ambiguous feelings I may have about them, I'm not alone in worrying about proposed changes for the police force in our city.

Our mayor was elected at least partly on the promise of replacing our police force (the RCMP) with a local Surrey force. He hardly received an overwhelming mandate, winning only 41.1% of the votes. This was in part because there were two serious opponents, and though neither of them accrued a higher total than he did, the votes they received together (in other words, votes cast against McCallum) constituted 51% of the vote.

As you can see, there are signs on lawns opposing the move to oust the RCMP. And though petitions filled with many signatures (40,000 by February) have been presented, Mayor McCallum remains hell-bent on his plan for this new force. Despite petitions -- both online and on paper -- asking him to reconsider his stance, he continues his persistence, with pleas from the public falling on deaf (or perhaps plugged) ears.

Looking at the steps required to become a member of the RCMP, the process appears to take quite a while with interviews followed by training, which in itself takes half a year. Especially with recent events demonstrating a widespread call for better, extended training for those serving as officers, it isn't the right time to employ any shortcuts to selection or training.

Unless Mr McCallum plans to have a police force that's undergone a much less rigorous application and training process than the standards set for the RCMP, it looks like anyone wanting to apply will have to hurry up, as the timeline is getting awfully tight. Yet not even the website for getting information on how to apply is active yet -- only an announcement that a board has been hired.

Canada Day was barely a week ago. That day meant there were exactly nine months remaining until April 1, 2021, the day when this supposed police force is scheduled to take over from the RCMP.

While it may only take nine months for a human pregnancy to be fulfilled, I suspect the transformation of Canada's largest RCMP detachment will take longer. Maybe the gestation period of an elephant (the one in the room?) would be a more appropriate time span to allow.

The delight of reading children's books

I used to work in schools, most of the time as a teacher-librarian. People used to comment about how lucky I was to be able to read all the time. Ha! It was rare to get any reading done beyond reviews, requests from teachers for particular titles, or documents outlining curricular changes (ugh). It was only when school finished at the end of June that I could once again dive into the pages of any book, simply for the pleasure of reading.

Only I found I wasn't able to start right in on what might be called 'adult' books. My regimen would always be to start off on a few Tintins. After that, I'd wean myself from pictures to words, but I'd still stay with what are called (foolishly perhaps) children's books.

Usually, these would be books I'd read before: The Secret Garden, the Narnia books, the lesser-known but wonderful Greene Knowe series by Lucy M. Boston.

The other day I ran across a list of favourite children's books as reported by various 'grown-up' authors. I was familiar with many, though not all of the titles -- but as you can imagine, I've started requesting some of them from my public library. Even though it's still closed, they've worked out a system so we can pick up requested titles when they come in, and for that I am grateful.

So, where it's now July, I'm giving myself permission to go back to some of those kids' books, as I suspect they'll be very good at helping me get back to feeling some of that old summer magic.

Magic in the forest

Even though Solstice has come and been, it hasn't been easy to convince myself that it's summer. It might be officially so, but the weather hasn't agreed. It's been cool temps, with the occasional light rain spitting just enough to dampen spirits.

Although I've put in some hours on a contract project, made a few jars of jam, and kept up with the usual domestic chores, with the weather so cool, I've mostly just wanted to curl up with a comforter, quietly turning pages, reading. And while I've managed plenty of that, yesterday brought a different kind of interlude.

A friend had done some repair work on an old violin we've had poking around here, and when he brought it over, he also brought his own. Not only did he bring it, he played an entire concert for us --

outdoors, of course, complete with the requisite social distancing.

It was pretty magical looking into the trees of our mini-forest while the music drifted over us. And maybe doubly magical for me, as the book I've been immersed in, Greenwood by Michael Christie is permeated with such a deep understanding of the forest and the interrelatedness of the trees that abide in it. It feels as though I've been living and breathing trees all week. Not a bad feeling at all, especially when accompanied by a private concert.

And now, I am hearing that there are violin concerts across the US, commemorating yet another man beaten to death by police. Devastating.

Row on row

The other day, because I had a small somewhat out-of-town errand to run, I had the good fortune to drive past a place I call my 'favourite' field. The farmer was on his tractor and in the process of cutting the hay.

A lot of people would likely sneeze at the thought of witnessing such an event -- and probably if I'd hung around for any length of time, I would have too -- but I found it so beautiful I had to stop and take a quick photo. The shot doesn't begin to match how gorgeous (at least to me) it actually was, still, it might give you a bit of glimpse of the freshness and the greenness of the tidy rows.

And then, because I always like to find some kind of theme for a post, I started fiddling around and looking for something along the line of rows.

Of course, "In Flanders Field" came up, but I knew that wasn't what I wanted, so on with the search I went -- until I found this very old poem, "Row On", credited to being found in the logbook of a whaling ship. The chorus especially, with its line, "There's dawn beyond the night" seemed apt for the difficult days we're in, a reminder that hope lies over the horizon, but that it's there, waiting.

Neighbourhood bunnification

  
I'm not sure why, but lately there's been a proliferation of bunnies around here. They're awfully good at holding still -- something I'm sure they do as a protective response, feeling safe as if they're wearing little invisibility cloaks. I don't mind, as that stillness makes it easier to take photos, even allowing me to zoom in on them.

And no, they're not part of our city's official beautification plan, though I admit to seeing them a bit
that way.

They tell me that our little biome, a mini-version of the temperate rainforest, must seem natural enough for them to move in. Although, maybe it's because we're one of the only such areas left around here.

I hope that's not the reason, and can only say I'm grateful for bunnification over gentrification, though I suppose not everyone will agree that a neighbourhood in suburbia isn't already 'gentrified' space. Still, we're seeing an awful lot of mega-development nearby and know that it's only a matter of time until we'll be crowded out by giganto homes and/or condo developments.

For now at least, home still feels like a haven, even after having been mostly confined to it for so many weeks.

And in case the bunnies want to move in and stay, we've even built a tiny little house for them. Silly? Probably. Fun? For sure.

Sturdy

Resilience.

Understanding.

Justice.

Acceptance.

These are big words. Unfortunately, they're words I'm not hearing often enough. And I'll admit, I dread watching what might transpire in tonight's news.

As always, I find myself turning to poetry. Here's a piece I found on one of my favourite websites. It's called "Any Light" and was written in response to events of the past week. It's posted on Rattle Magazine's website, and they've set it up so you can listen to the poem while you read it.

As for today's odd photo, it's a dandelion that found a way to grow through a fence -- an example of the sort of sturdy resilience we all seem to need these hard days. And it's not just me feeling this way. The theme for our local arts council's current show is also Resilience. Have a look.

A little bit country...

...a little bit wild.

And that's how I like our yard to look.

Sure, the grass, complete with clover and buttercups, gets mowed now and then, but there are spots where I like nature to do the landscaping.

This wild rose has been here since the last century (the 20th is the one I mean, but who knows), as have the daisies, which have now inched their way into what passes for lawn.

Today was particularly dark and rainy, so I took refuge in a nap, and also in the pages of a book, where I was lucky enough to find what feels like a timely reminder. It's from a collection of writings gathered by Graeme Gibson, and from an author named Aldo Leopold who, in turn, cites yet another famed writer, Thoreau: "In wildness is the salvation of the world."

We can use some wildness, not the riot-in-the-streets kind, but the wild of wilderness, from which we all come.

Snow in May?

While those may look a bit like flakes of snow, that's not what they are -- and am I ever glad! Parts of Ontario and even places in BC are still getting the occasional dusting, but fortunately, not us.

It's a chunk of lichen, knocked down from the roof -- the result of one of those nearly-annual jobs of ongoing maintenance that go along with being lucky enough to have a home. Plenty of moss came down too, as well as an awful lot of spruce needles.

When I started to look up information about lichen, I had no idea what I'd be getting myself into. It turns out that are so many different kinds, and that they serve so many different purposes, well, it was a lesson that could have led me to needing to go to grad school for a PhD.

But I guess that's one of the things I love most about being able to explore the internet -- and like everyone else, that's about the most exploring any of us get to do these days.

Once upon a time, it was called armchair travel, only as I poke around for a definition of that term, I find that armchair travelling looks more popular than ever. If nothing else, the price is right, and no passport or currency exchange required.

The things that happen when a person decides to do a bit of home maintenance. Like Dr Seuss said, "Oh, the places you'll go!" 

Rainy day weekend

And on what's supposed to be a long weekend.

The Victoria Day weekend is supposed to mark the beginning of summer. It's the time people put plants into the ground, or bring their indoor ones outside. It's often observed by having the first barbecue or picnic or trip out of town.

It's also always been the weekend for the Cloverdale Rodeo, though this year, along with just about everything else that might draw a crowd, it's been cancelled. It's not something we always go to, though last year, with out-of-town guests visiting, we took in one day of the fair.

Because yesterday was dark and gloomy and rainy all day, I figured it was a good time to start a jigsaw puzzle. I'm lucky enough to have a few on the shelf, as they're another of those everyday items whose price has skyrocketed owing to the demand from bored stay-at-homers.

The photo on top shows how far I managed to get on the first day of puzzling. Not even all of the edge pieces in place, as several of those were well disguised (at least to my eye).

Today after breakfast, I dove back in, trying to put the rest of those cheesy pieces in place.

Not too surprisingly, the Swiss cheese section was the hardest. Even looking at the picture on the box didn't seem to help.

Slowly, trial-by-error, taking a piece and trying, trying, trying it -- that was my method, hardly very scientific, I am sure.

But as I fiddled, my mind wandered, and I thought there are probably quite a few things in life that we manage by exactly the same method. We try something, if it works out, great. When it doesn't, we try to get over it and move on, and try another way of addressing the problem.

And then, just as I was in the home stretch on the cheese, to my surprise and delight, the sun burst forth.

I don't really think that had a lot to do with my finishing the puzzle, though the coincidence felt fun.

And who knows, maybe next time there's a rainy long weekend, I'll have to see if making a puzzle works the same weather miracle.

What's next?

The other day someone asked, "What's the first thing you want to do once this whole social distancing thing is over?"

After thinking for a bit (quite a few things came to mind), I decided that one of the first things I want to do is probably give a hug to our letter carrier.

She's continued to faithfully bring bills, pleas from charities I've never heard of, magazines (which do generally manage to brighten my day), and even the occasional (way too occasional) cheque.

She's also brought a small semblance of normalcy to life. There she is, nearly every day, stuffing something or other into the letterbox. Even when it's just another real estate flyer or pizza promo, it feels like a little bit of contact with the 'outside' world.

The most amazing items to have arrived during these weeks of isolation have been the personal ones. An Easter card, a wonderful letter from an 'auld acquaintance' and even a thank you note.

Days when there's nothing there, I admit to a stab of disappointment, as if I've been forgotten. One result of these days is that they've made me a little bit better at sending out cards and notes of my own. Even though sending notes through the post is slower than the instantaneous e-connections we've grown accustomed to, our communication doesn't always have to be via email, or worse (in my mind at least), by way of Facebook.

And hmm. I seem to have a pile of postcards I've collected over the years. What, exactly, I'm saving them for, I'm no longer sure.

I think it's time that I start sending some of them around -- if for no other reason than to maybe give a postal employee along the line a small reason to smile.

Five and five

Today, Cinco de Mayo, or 05/05, seemed like the right day to get my toes (all five and five of 'em) out from their wool socks and duck shoes. Starting today, and probably to October, it's likely I'll be wearing sandals. At least that's the plan.

Because today also happens to be Taco Tuesday, there are quite a few Mexican recipes floating around the internet. And since we just happen to have some homemade tortillas (yep, we're doing all sorts of crazy things in the kitchen these days), soft tacos will probably be part of tonight's menu.

One of my friends has a tradition of hosting a party to celebrate this day, but this year, along with the rest of us, she's staying home on her own.

But that doesn't mean the rest of us can't find a way to celebrate -- and it doesn't have to be as goofy a way of celebrating as getting your toes out into the sunshine.