Rights. Equality. Empowerment.

It was nearly a hundred years ago that my grandmother got a job as an assistant to the sheriff in the city where she lived. No doubt--besides her brain--the tool she relied on the most was a typewriter, not unlike the one above which remains in a place of honour in my office. 

Not a lot of women worked outside the home back then, but she was a single parent--and heck, with four kids to feed, she needed an income. 

Oddly, for that era when women mostly stayed at home, my other gramma had a paying job as well. She worked in a bakery which, lucky for me, meant I was privileged to get fancily decorated cakes for birthdays and other special occasions. She also had four kids, along with a husband who was unable to work. 

On this day, International Women's Day, when we celebrate women and our many accomplishments, it seemed important for me to remember these two brave women from my family who preceded me, with a legacy I am proud to claim. As for those words in the subject header, they constitute the theme of this year's IWD, and I can only hope that soon they will actually be true for all of us who identify as women. 

What year is this?

As we come to the end of Black History Month, I'm left scratching my head over a 'decoration' I spotted in a nearby neighbourhood. It looked like an odd way to celebrate Christmas, but worse, I couldn't help but wonder who lived in that house. 

No, I didn't stop and knock on their door. In truth, I'm not sure I would have wanted to get to know them. 

Nonetheless, it made me question whether anything at all in our world has actually changed. 

Time to exercise your Freedom to Read

It's been slow seeping out, but news keeps circulating that libraries--especially those in schools--are getting rid of books. 

The reason for many of these culls has been absurd-sounding blanket rules that anything published before 2008 must go. 

Some of the glib reasons offered for these moves are that books before then weren't culturally sensitive enough to qualify in today's woke world. The overall excuse has been called an "equity-based weeding process" but under that banner books such as Anne Frank's The Diary of a Young Girl have been tossed. Isn't it worth knowing what it must have been like to be a young Jew in hiding from Nazis?

I can't help but also think of Joy Kogawa's Obasan, the first book that really shone a light on facts of the internment of Japanese-Canadians during World War II.

How many other important books have been tossed in the name of this absurdity?

This week is the 40th anniversary of Canada's annual observance of Freedom to Read Week. Maybe it's a good time--quick, while you can--find a book that's been banned (or 'challenged' if you feel like using the current newspeak), and try to figure out what's so darn scary about it. 

So what really happened?

It was a year ago today that the world learned of the death of Alexei Navalny. He'd been jailed in Siberia for trumped-up charges that he and his law team continued to challenge. 

The jail, above the Arctic Circle, was part of the old 'gulag' system from days when the USSR still existed. Not surprisingly, conditions there sounded miserable. 

Although officials claimed that Navalny died of a blood clot, this has been questioned. 

I suppose because I remain somewhat of a paranoid type, I have my own belief of what the circumstance was. Maybe you do too. 

How 'bout those brrrds!

It's been colder than normal here for over a week now. Apparently, it's one of the longest spells of zero-ish weather the Lower Mainland of BC has experienced.  

Those whose lives keep them outdoors must be having a miserable time. 

The only ones I've been able to help are the hummingbirds, accustomed to their fix of sugary nectar at our feeder. But in temps like the ones we've been having, that sweetened water would have frozen for sure. And really, a lot of good a block of sweetened ice would do any of them. 

So when it gets cold around here, a low-light lamp serves as a mini-heater for the feeder. It seems to be just enough to keep the nectar from freezing without letting the liquid get too hot for those little beaks. 

These past few nights, before going to bed, I've been peering out the window, and sure enough, there have been a couple of hummers perched on the feeder, heads bowed and resting, but overall, staying a bit warm. 

Must admit, it breaks my heart, thinking how much they look like unhoused folks who've found themselves a grated heater, a feature on many sidewalks in Vancouver. 

I have a feeling I'm not the only one who doesn't put out any kind of heating unit for those unfortunate souls with nowhere to live, or maybe even to spend a warm night. 

Standing on guard for thee

This is the day for the introduction of tariffs on items shipped to the US from Canada. 

According to much of the analysis I've been seeing, the plan seems ill-conceived and quite possibly even illegal--not that the person behind this decision cares about such matters, after all, he's been declared above the law, immune.  

About the only positive slant I can find in any of this is the fact that many Canadians have determined they won't be travelling south--maybe not for the next four years. And, of course, that we'll be more than ever, buying our own products, especially the tasty treats in the photo above. 

Lucky or yucky?

I've never been a big fan of snakes, and I suspect I'm not alone in this. My shoulders go up a bit even as I type these words. 

My dislike of them is, I am pretty sure, unfair. They can't help it if they have to crawl on the ground (or, worse, in my mind, through the branches of trees where they might 'jump' down onto me). 

The little face looking down at you from the top of this post is the head of a piece of art I bought when I lived in Australia--itself a land where snakes are as common as...maybe as mice (or raccoons?) are here. They're around, but you don't often (whew!) encounter one. 

The snake in the photo (I'll admit that I call him the not-very-original 'Snakey') lives high on a shelf in my office and looks down on me as I work at my desk. He was made from a root found in the Outback desert by an Aboriginal artist. The most challenging part of getting him back here to Canada was finding a box that would accommodate his length for the long flight to his new home. 

Finally, Snakey has made his way to being included on this funny little blog because in the Asian Zodiac, this is the year of the Wood Snake, a distinction that only gets celebrated every sixty years. So I guess my friend who's turning sixty this year should be in for some special times. 

One of my worst (and still most vivid) memories of snakes was the result of a 'favour' done by a well-intentioned friend. I'd been working as a substitute teacher for her, for a week when she couldn't be there. Because one's pay rate as a substitute went up after a full five days' work, she wanted to help me stick it out for the full five days. To make my Friday afternoon easy, she arranged for a visit that was bound to keep the children enchanted while I could sit back and relax. The only problem was that the guest presenter happened to be the 'snake lady' and her entourage of reptiles. 

I seriously considered bailing out and going home after lunch--could the pay rise be worth it??

Despite my fears, I stayed, and must have pulled out my best acting chops as I recall (shuddering inside even now) needing to demonstrate how friendly the python was by 'wearing' him across my shoulders. Ugh!

My own wood snake remains my friend, though his relatives who live in the garden and the forest can still sneak up on me (why aren't they called 'sneaks' instead of snakes?) are sure to give me a start. 

Let it bee...

Earlier this week I heard how many bees' lives it takes to make a teaspoonful of honey. Even though it remains my favourite number, I was shocked to learn it takes twelve. Not simply twelve bees, but the entire life's output of twelve worker bees (all of whom are female, ahem). 

If nothing else, this has given me a new respect for the little jars of golden sweet that I rely upon, especially as part of my breakfast. 

Each of the jars in the image are in steady rotation here. 

The tallest is from a pair of friends who live on Vancouver Island and who have been teaching themselves how to raise bees as part of their large, bountiful garden. 

The one on the right comes from Hornby Island, again thanks to the generosity of friends. 

The other, on the left, is plain old 'store-bought' though it too comes from Canada, but from far-off Ontario, so it's the one I consider more 'utilitarian' and I use it when the honey is an ingredient rather than a mainstay (like on toast or yogourt) as when I make salad dressing or barbecue sauce. 

Besides loving the taste of honey, I love the fact that it keeps so well, pretty much forever!

 

By Jove, that moon is big!

I think I have always been a fan of the moon, whether it's cutting the sky with a skinny crescent or giving us a full-on blast of redirected sunlight when it's full. 

I know the track it takes across the sky above our house, and how it's higher or lower in the sky, depending on the season. I even admit to a few personal traditions I follow, though howling isn't one of them. 

When I'm travelling anyplace near the Equator, I love how its crescent shape seems to lie on its back, rather than 'standing' upright, like a giant "C" in the sky, the way it does here in northern climes. 

Last night's, called the Wolf Moon, was so bright, I actually tried to take photos of my hand in its shadow. The moon's light was so intense, I thought it might work. But no, my little camera couldn't quite manage it; I only got a bunch of darkish blurs which I chose to delete. 

As for the moon itself, even taking a photo of it through the skylight (probably not as clean in winter as it could be) looked pretty great to me. 

And if you look closely (maybe click on the photo to enlarge it a bit), you should actually see the rounded ball of our solar neighbours, Mars. 

A confluence of dates

It was always a bit of a mystery to me how it was that Pierre and Margaret Trudeau managed to have two of their three children on Christmas Day. Both Alexandre ('Sasha') and Justin were born on December 25th, some kind of miracle, eh. 

So now that same son Justin has decided to resign (at last!) on, of all days, the feast of the Epiphany (as in I'm having an epiphany), the day the Wise Men arrived with gifts for the infant Jesus. 

So today it seems Justin has arrived with gifts of sorts for all of Canada. Right now it may look like a tangle of crossed wires, as we are all left to wonder just who may step forward and become the new leader of the Liberal Party of Canada. And yes, lucky thing there's a rainbow on the horizon.