Glacial Melt

It's true. The glaciers are melting at what seems like ever-faster rates. The latest chunk to fall off of Antarctica is bigger than the state of Rhode Island, or 70 times the size of Manhattan (though without the skyscrapers).  

And yes, old-growth trees continue to fall -- or at least they will if protesters at Fairy Creek don't soon make a difference to our ever-distracted premier. It seems that really all the protesters are asking is that the government honour the standards they've already agreed to uphold. Only they aren't keeping their word. And they've used the power of the courts (an injunction) to hammer their fist down.  

But worst of all is the news that 215 children, some as young as three years old, are buried on the grounds of what once was one of our federal government's residential schools. 

So, with all such terrible news, I can only offer the photo above which gives you a glimpse of my own glacial project -- defrosting the pantry fridge, a luxury (despite its manual defrost needs) which I remain thrilled to own. 

Even though it's now starting to feel like summer outside, the chunks of ice I tossed out into the back yard hadn't all melted by morning -- shades of Newfoundland, but on the west coast!

Truly, things can only improve. 

Traditional and not

Today, as I observe (I didn't say 'celebrate') Victoria Day, I can't help but think about the things I might usually do. 

For one thing, it's traditionally the day for planting things -- thus, the shot of the beautiful black soil, looking as though it's ready for seeding. 

It's also the day I usually put my two hibiscus trees outside, so they can soak up the summery sun instead of being reliant on light that comes in the window, the situation they must tolerate from Thanksgiving and through the winter. Today, because it's rainy, I'm too lazy to drag them outdoors (besides, they've grown for so many years, they're heavy -- I'll wait for better conditions). Maybe by tomorrow. Who knows. 

One thing that doesn't happen very often, but happens to be the case this year is that we're observing it on the actual date of her birth, the one that goes with the old rhyme. 

At least we managed to have an outdoor meal on Saturday -- kind of a picnic -- a way to kick off what we hope we will be a decent summer.. 

What's fer supper?

In 2009, I started a blog that answered that question every night for a year. That first post wasn't very exciting, though over the year (and beyond) I like to think it got better. Heck, how many people do you know who could tell you what they had for supper twelve years ago (even if they are off by a day)? The post for May 17th seemed more appropriate (and looked more delicious too, though maybe I'm just hungry). I'll admit that I've spent a while poking around there, looking for inspiration perhaps, and have to say that one of the days most important to me is a meal that looks, at first glance, pretty ordinary, though the story that goes with it is anything but. 

Though I digress. Today's post is the result of a full-page ad I saw in yesterday's Globe and Mail, the Saturday paper I like to save for reading on Sunday. The ad reminds us of how the restrictions required during these pandemic times have made things so difficult for anyone in the restaurant trade (so I suppose this is my version of a 'Restau-Rant'). 

Costco and Walmart and the other corporate biggies are laughing as always, all the way to the bank with their profits. It's the family-owned, local businesses (so many of which are restaurants) that are suffering. We need to feed the businesses that comprise our local economy by letting them feed us. 

As you can see from the array of takeaway menus on the table, we have a great selection of restaurants nearby. Sadly, none of them are open now -- except of course for takeaway. Because I already had something mostly planned for tonight's supper, I'm not ordering in, though I plan to do so at least once in the coming week -- maybe twice, just because I can. 

The season of green

There are so many beautiful places to take a walk. This spot, in Aldergrove Park, looked so lush I just had to take a photo. It was almost an accident that I even stopped there, but I'm glad that I did. 

Not only because the scenery was great, but also because I found a great patch of still-tender nettles shoots. And luckily, I carry a pair of scissors as well as sturdy gloves in my car. While there are people who pick these without benefit of protection, I'm one who prefers to avoid their sting. 

I only took a small harvest, but enough to make a few packets for the freezer -- either for lasagna or manicotti as a spinach substitute, or else for my version of nettle-kopita (again, instead of the usual spana-version). 

While I poked around in the bush, I even found the first evidence of the season's berries, the always reliable, at least around here, salmonberries. A good sign for more bounty to come. 

Cinema as a public experience still matters

Saturday night at the movies. What a great tradition. Often with a meal at a restaurant beforehand, or a drink at the bar afterwards. 

The photo illustrates how our local theatre, the Criterion, is doing its best to support itself during the various stages of shutdown. 

Even though they've upgraded the seats, established a 'seating plan' so they can sell tickets and have patrons socially isolated according to protocols, they're not allowed to show films to paying clients. 

Last film I saw here was Tenet, a film I could have done without, but which was the only current film offered on the night I wanted to go. At least I got to have some popcorn. Something I have again tonight.

Another theatre facing difficulties is the heritage venue in Powell River, the Patricia, home to the Powell River Film Festival. This year, the festival was virtual, so I at least got to see a couple of films on my list, Zappa and Ammonite. 

And yes, to me, cinema matters. 

If you have ideas to help support it, please act.

Here's to keeping our local cinemas open!