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.