Vindication!

A confession: I have always been a messy person. Despite that, I can generally find what I'm looking for quickly, but to anyone else, that pile on my table probably looks like nothing more than chaos. 

But last weekend, hurrah, the Globe and Mail ran an article (with the beautiful image above on the newspaper's front page) about how such habits aren't really so terrible at all. 

One of the instances author of the article Mark Pupo cites in his defense of clutter is that of the overprotective parent wanting to ensure their child's room is clean clean clean. My dad gave that a try, but clearly, he failed. About the only thing he accomplished was making me cry. 

Recently I've been working on a poem about my messiness, kind of an apology I suppose. It starts with the words, "If Marie Kondo came to my office, she would probably cry."

Only it turns out that even the 'only-keep-items-that-bring-you-joy Marie' has had a turn of heart. What happened? She had kids, and oh gosh, but sometimes kids make a mess. Yeah. 

And in my case, even some of us supposed grown-ups do too. Happy face time. 

A balancing act

Today's the day the Earth does its twice-a-year balancing act. Earlier this afternoon, we experienced the vernal equinox, that special event that marks (for those of us in the Northern hemisphere) the beginning of spring.  

But that isn't the only balance I'm thinking about. For one thing, a number of banks seem a little shaky these days -- even ones in Switzerland, traditionally the most secure (and quiet) banks in the world. It wasn't long ago, though I can't put my finger on where (maybe in a film I saw?) but I heard a line that really resonated: "It suddenly struck them; they couldn't eat money." Which leads me to thoughts about the balance we need when we think about 'developing' farm lands for industrial use. Huh?!

Today also marks the day when China's Xi and Vladimir Putin are meeting in Moscow. It's hard for me to think that much good will come of this. Super-power meets super-power, but it looks more like power-over-others than any kind of balance. 

And the one that faces all of us, today's report from the UN on just how urgently we all need to act to save ourselves from the worst effects of climate change. 

It seems just about the only balance is the one the planet marked today, achieving that perfect angle where day and night are equal. 

As for all those other kinds of balance I keep hoping for, I guess my local graffiti artists say it best: Dream. 

And the winner is...

What's the best thing about a film festival? Besides all those hours spent in the magical darkness of a cinema, maybe the popcorn. 

As a lead-in to this year's Oscars, we went on a road trip to partake in a film festival. (The lengths -- and kilometres -- some people will go to in the name of seeing a bunch of movies!)

Though I must admit that the festival's theme of resilience meant we saw some pretty hard-to-watch and overall depressing films, I don't regret for a minute that we went. 

One of the hardest for me to watch was Decision to Leave mainly because I'd just finished reading a book that was all about police procedures, and here I was stuck in the same loop again. Even tougher was the grindingly sad film set in Ukraine, Klondike, definitely not about the gold rush, but about Russia's 2014 seizure of Crimea. 

The one I appreciated the most was Rebellion, a documentary about the group Extinction Rebellion and their protests in London, England. Powerful stuff about dedicated, courageous folks -- and not without a sense of humour, an element I appreciated. 

By week's end it was time for the Academy Awards, and although I thought too many awards went to a single film (another time, another discussion), it was wonderful to see Canadian director Daniel Roher win for his documentary on one of the heroes of our time, Alexei Navalny. The other moment of special pride was when Sarah Polley won the award for adapted screenplay (from Marion Toews' novel, Women Talking). 

For now, I'll have to be happy seeing what films I can at my local cinema or on TV, and I suppose I can console myself knowing the popcorn's a whole lot cheaper here at home. 

Resilient

I can't help but feel sorry for the brave little bulbs that keep thinking it's supposed to be spring. They rise a few inches, and then they get dumped on. Snow, snow, and more snow. That's the kind of February and (so far) March it's been. Earlier today there were a few flakes, but when they stopped, I dashed out on a few errands. Wherever I went, people asked me (I seem to have that kind of face -- people talk to me) what the weather was doing. Every one of them expressed relief when I said that the snow had stopped. And maybe they just heard the relief in my own voice when I told them. 

Whatever, today is supposed to be the day that we all 'march forth' towards whatever goal or cause we may bear in mind. I like that one of the things we're supposed to do today is to try something new, especially something we've always wanted to do, but haven't got around to trying. 

So, will this be the day I start looking for online lessons so I can learn to play something beyond one-finger 'Mary had a little lamb' on my little electronic keyboard? Or do I need to think about something more exotic, more difficult? Or should I just knuckle down and finish one of my many unfinished projects. 

If resilience is something I can learn from the bulbs out front, it's probably something I can apply to my own daily life. 

As the date suggests, onward!

Hope in the face of horror

As we approach tomorrow's hideous anniversary of Russia's invasion of Ukraine, I am prompted to do something I don't usually do by posting a poem of my own. 

This also happens to be Freedom to Read Week, so I've been thinking about freedom -- as well as loss thereof, the situation now in far too many countries. Journalists and protesters are being executed in Iran; their colleagues in Russia are disappearing or being sent to prison. 

Thankfully, I remain free to write and publish here in Canada. My poem was included in a collection called Poems in Response to Peril. Proceeds of sales of the anthology go to funds in support of Ukraine. And yes, I am hoping for a resolution to the hideous events that continue across the globe.  

Finding hope

This morning I am feeding the birds, replenishing

supplies in the little cracked saucer, the one that’s sheltered

on the window ledge all winter again.

 

I’m filling it with seeds, still tight in their shells,

ones I hope the birds will disperse, carrying them

far and beyond—sunflowers that will rise up

 

from the broken earth. I am putting my faith

in their sturdy resilience, counting on them to grow tall

and turn their golden faces to the sun.

 

Which way from here?

Once again, I am posting about a small celebration -- this time it's a blogiversary, and a fairly big one at that. Seventeen years, an amount of time that boggles my mind. Where all have I been since then? The sign maybe says it. Nowhere, but now here... 

I started writing here as a way of establishing a bit of an online presence. At least that's what the workshop I attended proposed itself as -- starting a blog as an entry point to the world of the Internet. 

Since then, it appears that I've written a post here 1,199 times. So I guess that makes this number 1,200. That's a number that makes me happy, as twelve has always been my favourite number. I even have a poem about it in one of my books. 

Where exactly I go from here (with this, or for that matter, with a number of other possibilities) remains to be seen. I hope that some of you will continue to stick around. 

Sometimes...

...the groundhog gets it wrong. At least that's what I'm hoping must have happened last week on the 2nd when the critter must have seen his shadow in all that sunshine. According to lore, if he sees his shadow, winter is supposed to linger for another six weeks. But I'm saying NO to that. 

Small testament to spring though it may seem, I take heart from seeing the bulbs pushing their bright green heads up through the soil. And I love how they are so forgiving of my bad habits as a gardener, leaving all that stringy debris from last season still there. 

Soon I expect it will be warm enough for me to want to get out there with a clipper and some digging tools, and maybe then it will be prettied up enough for those anticipated flowers to burst into my bloom. 

Once upon a time...and now

It was not so many years ago that the word 'gay' was a synonym for 'happy' or 'carefree' or even 'frivolous' -- as in the 1934 film, The Gay Divorcee. Yet even that title involved some controversy, as it was originally called Gay Divorce, but divorce was then considered too serious a topic (or was deemed so by the notorious Hays Office) to have such a flighty name. Ahem. 

It was only by the 1960s that attitudes were opening up enough that the world we now know as LGBTQ+ would be called 'gay'. 

It seems bizarre to me that there are still places in the world where it is a criminal offense to be gay, that there are still countries where one can be sentenced to death over one's preference of sexual partner. 

So it was with great relief and joy that I saw the announcement from the pope (who's often referred to as 'the rock' upon which the Church is built) relaxing the Catholic Church's longstanding attitude toward gays. Yes, Francis still claims such activity is a sin, but then I suppose his job requires that much as this small step towards sanity. 

And I can't help but think he had to wait for the death of his predecessor, Benedict, to even be able to say what he has, because really, 'saving the world from homosexuality' as equivalent to 'saving the rainforests'? Not on my watch. 

Maybe the good news about the New Lunar Year, with all of its positive predictions really is true. I'm certainly hoping so. 

Another New Year to Celebrate

According to the Vietnamese version of the Lunar calendar, today is the first day of the Year of the Cat. For those of us who have learned to bow to the beliefs entrenched in Chinese culture, today marks the beginning of the Year of the Rabbit.  

And in keeping with the further tradition of combining elements with each animal in the zodiac, this is the year of the water rabbit, which sounds like it might be a good year for growing things. 

The rabbit in the photo is one that used to frequent our front yard, very likely because we're the 'bad' house where the lawn is only rarely cut, in keeping with the natural look of the rest of our yard. 

At least we aren't at the mercy of a Home Owner's Association who might send their patrols out to cut the lawn themselves and then likely hand us a hefty fine. 

I suspect that, come spring and summer, once the grass starts to grow again, the bunnies will be back. After all, this year has their name on it.  

Unofficial kindness

And a small kindness at that. It's an idea that was suggested to me by my friend who makes Christmas cards with me, and who also (like me) loves doing jigsaw puzzles. 

We often lend each other puzzles back and forth and she came up with a suggestion that might sound like 'cheating' to some, but made good sense to both of us. When you take apart a puzzle, bag up the edge pieces separately from the rest. In other words, you're giving the other person the kindness of a head start on completing the puzzle!

It might not yet be the official date to perform our random acts of kindness, but there's nothing wrong with doing such acts any old time.  

Imagine the other side of the world

This is how I'm imagining Orthodox Christmas might look in Ukraine. And yes, today is the day that much of the world, especially people in Eastern Europe, celebrate Christmas. 

The burning candle in the lantern is beautiful, but if I were in Ukraine, it might well be my only light, as so much of the country is without power. 

This is another day to be grateful -- for so many everyday luxuries we mostly take for granted: electricity and speedy Internet, water that's clean enough to drink from the tap -- and while we're at it, water that's hot on demand. 

Looking back, looking ahead

Already the second day of the new year and pokey me -- I'm still looking back. 

It was a year that didn't feel all that productive, especially on a personal level. No new book, though a number of entries in several anthologies. Not much in the way of travel or special events. Yes, there are a few exceptions, but they feel diminished through the lens of looking back. 

But as you can see if you play the video above, the best part about looking back is that it means you're going forward. 

That's the plan -- on many levels -- for the coming year. Goals? You can be sure of that. Whether they'll be accomplished remains to be seen, when at year's end, I find myself looking back again. 

P.S. The golden sculpture on the left (at the Marine Drive station on the Canada Line) is a piece of public art by Douglas Coupland, a representation of the famous 'Hollow Tree' at Stanley Park.

Spiders rule

 

Now that the big freeze has retreated, the spiders are back, though I'm not sure what they'll catch. I haven't seen a lot of small insects around. 

Maybe that big web will catch the last of this too-long-lingering flu bug we've had. At least it hasn't been covid.

Looking forward to the new year, with blessings and happy times for all!

Gettin' ready...

I'm one of those people who take a long time getting ready to do things -- almost anything. And Christmas is one of those long-to-prep celebrations. 

First place to start is summertime, picking berries. That's when the jams that will be gifts start getting made. 

Probably all year long, I enjoy trolling second-hand stores. It seems I always find something or other that goes into my stash of potential gifts for Christmas time (though birthday gifts often arrive this way too). 

One of the most fun parts of my big preparations is the making of the cards. This is a tradition, probably ten years on now, where my friend and I sit across from each other at the table (piled with our crafty supplies) and create our one-of-a-kind greeting cards. 

Yes, they've all been mailed by now. I can only hope they've all arrived at their destinations. 

From here, it's just a matter of continuing with the baking and other cooking (Swedish meatballs tonight, Cornish hens tomorrow). 

Whatever you do to celebrate, however you prepare for the day, I send my best wishes for a way to spend time with people you care about -- and yes, before too many more days go by -- some time to sit back and do nothing. 

Hummin' along

Somehow I doubt our little bird is humming 'White Christmas' though if that were the case, he'd be pretty close to being on time. We had a dusting of the snow today and even grumpy me had to admit that it looks quite pretty. 

I'm not sure how something as small as a hummingbird gets by when it's below freezing outdoors. It's clear that fluffing out their feathers must do something -- their own little 'puffy coats' I guess. 

This one (and pals) get a bit of a boost, as the feeder itself is now resting (as it did during last winter's coldest spell) over top of the lava light base. A small tin pie pan keeps the sugared water from getting too hot, but the perch must still be a little bit warm, as the bird will come and sit there for quite a long while.

But now that night has fallen, I guess the little birds are back up in the cedars, going into the temporary 'hibernation' they apparently do when the weather's this harsh. 

Sweet dreams, little hummers.  

All human beings are...

...born free and equal in dignity and rights.

Today is International Human Rights Day, a day commemorating the date the United Nations adopted the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Although that took place over 70 years ago in 1948, not every human is as free as terms of the proclamation hoped. I love the fact that one of my heroines (and friend of Amelia Earhart), Eleanor Roosevelt, headed the committee in charge of creating the declaration. 

The photo I selected for today is of a friend who is a great inspiration to me -- for her simple lifestyle, her love of nature, and her acceptance of everyone. It's a true bonus that a rainbow, long a symbol of both hope and peace, as well as its contemporary meaning of acceptance of sexual diversity, managed to appear in this shot of her beautiful hand. 

Oooops!

It's been a while since I posted anything, but this time I had a good reason -- or it sure felt like a good reason: I was away on a long-awaited holiday, an extended time for lazy relaxing, seaside in Mexico.

It was two weeks by the beach, with perfect weather every day. The breakfasts were amazing, with mounds of fresh fruit every day. Today, when I went shopping at my local produce store, the papayas (which I ate every morning during our vacation) clocked in at eight dollars a pound. Needless to say, I walked on by and settled for less expensive toppings for my morning yogourt. 

Lunches and dinners were every bit as fantastic, with such a range of flavours and ingredients, there was no getting bored. I even lucked out, finding two of my favourites: rellenos and tamales now and then. 

People were friendly, and very patient with my dreadful grasp of Spanish. As for the above situation at the pool, it had been a matter of striking up a conversation with people who were attending a wedding. The men were all dressed in white shirts and when I asked permission to take a photo, they jumped up from where they'd been sitting poolside to pose. Only thing was that one of the fellows stood much too close to the edge. Last view of his falling into the deep end was his hand trying valiantly to keep his phone dry. He emerged, safe but soaked. All I could do was apologize...

The only less-than-perfect aspect of the time there was the LOUD music provided by the local banda musicians. These groups wandered along the beach, stopping to play as often as invited (with 'donations' from would-be listeners). I'll admit that I wasn't one of the generous types who contributed to their cause. I guess it's something you need to be used to...either that or be deaf enough that the high-volume of the brass instruments (trumpets and tuba) doesn't bother you, and also that the thumping bass drum doesn't shake you to your core. Pretty intense on the decibel level, especially at 2 am. 

If nothing else, memories of the bandas make me appreciate the quiet of being home, where 2 am might only be disturbed by the sound of my own snoring. 

Leafy

 

Today's date November 18th, but back in 2008, marks the day that my sisters and I said goodbye to our mother. Like today, the weather was a beautiful sporting all the best of autumn's colours, and even its scents. 

Walking through leaves seems like a good way to remember -- not only with the act of putting one foot in front of the other, but also admiring the many different leaves and tints as they stir the variety of experiences over a life. 

I think our mother would be glad that we remember her, even if in somewhat odd ways. All any of us can hope, I suppose, is that we will leave our own leafy (or other kind) imprints behind. 

Lest we forget

Remembrance Day. A day for remembering so many important events and people. I love it that even the transit buses bear signs reminding us of the importance of this date. 

The radio has been full of amazing stories of remembering. If you have 15 or so minutes to spare, I'd recommend listening to Matt Galloway's sensitive interview with Candy Greff, this year's Silver Cross Mother who will lay a wreath at the War Memorial in Ottawa. 

One of the people I always remember this day is Kurt Vonnegut. Because today would have been his 100th birthday, it seemed like a good time to interview him again, something he once told me would happen again, so I guess, here we go: 

Interviewer: Well, I suppose the first thing I need to say besides hello again would have to be Happy Birthday. How does it feel to be turning one hundred?

Kurt Vonnegut: What an interesting reminder. Birthdays aren't really of any importance anymore. You must have forgotten how meaningless time is here. Calendars, dates, and whoa -- leap year (what a concept) -- those things are meaningless here. Though thinking of calendars, I recall some lovely scenic images that appeared on those. 

Int: But really, Mr Vonnegut, don't you have any thoughts about having a life that now would have spanned a century?

KV: A century, a minute, a year. It's all the same. When you get here, you'll understand that. As for what it might have been like to turn 100 on earth, I suppose I would have been given a medal or something equally useless to commemorate hanging around that long. And no doubt, the aches and pains I was already learning about would have only been worse. Really, I think I managed to check out at just about the right time. 

Int: Do you ever wish that you could come back?

KV: Not a chance!!

Int: Well, that was a speedy response. Can you comment further?

KV: They've already invited me to go back. There's a whole coterie of folks who think they might do better if they went back. 

Int: Really? Who are some of those we might be looking for again?

KV: You probably won't recognize them, as they won't get the same body, but plenty of folks seem eager enough to go back they'll hang around at the transit stations like puppy dogs hoping for adoption. Some of them whose names you might recognize are Diana Spencer, Adolf Hitler, Jim Morrison -- and oh yes, Marilyn Monroe and John Kennedy. 

Int: That's quite a list. And really, Hitler??

KV: Oh, you don't have to worry. He's been banned from ever going back. He's actually kind of pathetic, as he can't even paint any more, but tries sketching portraits outside whichever station he's decided to haunt. 

Int: And those others you mentioned? 

KV: Well, the Kennedy-Monroe request is especially tricky, as they want to go back so they can be together, but the only way that works is if they go back as twins, and that's not really what they're hoping for. As for Diana, even princesses don't get everything they want, though I thought that was one of the lessons she'd already learned. 

Int: What about you? When are you coming back?

KV: They've invited me -- more than once. But I keep turning them down. I mean really, there's hardly a continent that doesn't have some kind of war going on. Besides, the planet is basically melting. 

Int: Gosh, you're depressing me. Why do you do that?

KV: That's not my intention, dear. I'm only doing what I always did -- trying to make you think. 

Sadly, at that, he disappeared, back into wherever/whatever it is where he now dwells. Maybe next year, 101, we'll see. 

Anybody home?

At the rate high-rises keep mushrooming in the nearby area, I shouldn't have been surprised to see the same thing happening to the birds. High-rise heaven or not, crowded conditions seem to prevail. 

But thinking about birds today, my thoughts turn to Twitter, a platform I suspect I may soon need to abandon. 

I'm feeling disgusted over all that seems to be happening since Elon Musk took over as owner (in itself almost inconceivable that anyone could have that much money to throw around). I'll admit that for quite a while I thought of him as someone who might make a positive difference to those of us who still live on earth (who don't have the funds to take off to one of his proposed off-Earth resorts). But oh, I was sooo wrong. 

He's now in the process of seeing to it that half of the employees at Twitter get their marching papers, via the impersonal process of email no less. Do you suppose they'll all be given severance packages? Somehow I doubt that. 

It's ugly for someone as wealthy as he is to appear to have so little respect or care for his fellow human beings. Despite the colleagues of mine who've served as a kind of lifeline to me during these times of isolation, the Twitterverse no longer seems like a space I can morally continue to inhabit. 

There used to be a saying, that something was 'for the birds' meaning that a thing was worthless. Despite its apparent 'market value' I'm thinking now that Twitter has just become something that the phrase 'for the birds' is altogether too good for. 

Boo...

This Halloween it's not just boo, but boo-hoo. 

Hardly any tricksters this year, just over a dozen. 

About all I can think to do with the remainders is give them to the Food Bank. And considering my own good fortune, I'll have to accompany those little juice boxes, goldfish crackers and chips with a cheque. 

Too much beauty?

Is such a thing even possible?

I've been looking at photos from my recent visit to Ontario, and it's nearly been nearly impossible to choose an image to use here. Sooo much gorgeous scenery, magnified by being there during the most colourful season. 

The idea of beauty and what it constitutes -- how does one define it? I think of the old chestnut, "I don't know much about art, but I know what I like." Even without knowing formal rules or schools of art, each of us knows what stirs our heart. 

And heart-wise, mine was broken a bit this morning by a few words I heard in an interview. The person said that art is no longer an offering in US high schools, as school boards have deemed such classes as too expensive. 

Speaking for myself (and many other of my peers in oddity, I am sure), I would not have been able to endure high school if it hadn't been for the acceptance of my art teacher and the mental (and probably spiritual) break that class provided. The companionship of other oddballs meant a lot too. 

So today's blog offers two small samples of things I find beautiful -- the brilliant colours of the changing leaves, and the gathering of birds as they prepare for the long trip to southern climes. To me, breathtaking. I can only hope that you also enjoy the beauty of these kinds of 'natural' art. 

Still parched

It's been too long since the last decent rainfall. One result, besides the brown lawns up and down our street, is the way the smoke-filled skies aren't clearing. 

This morning looked like heavy fog, only it wasn't fog. Everything was still shrouded in smoke, mostly from fires in Washington and Oregon states, our neighbours to the south. Air quality warnings remain in effect. 

Clearly the autumn crocuses are feeling the effects of no rain, and probably from the smoke as well. 

At least there's a bit of rain in the forecast. I can only hope the weather predictions are right, as everything could really use a drink of water. 

        quiet pink sigh

        the last breath of summer

        before the rains

 

A day for giving thanks

Even though today is Thanksgiving, we had our big feast yesterday. So, today is a day to enjoy leftovers. For us, that means our supper will consist of a little pot of turkey soup and our traditional 'special' turkey sandwiches. I call them special because that's exactly what they are. 

Based on the memory of an ultra-delicious meal at a diner long ago, they're a tradition the members of our family love to carry on. As with so many 'recipes' -- in this case, more of a formula than an actual recipe -- it's all a matter of the right ingredients, every one of which seems essential: 

Turkey (of course!)

Sourdough bread (white and soft, but with steadfast crusts)

Swiss cheese

Avocado

Alfalfa sprouts

Mayonnaise and salt and pepper, to taste

Whether you slice the turkey (or cheese) so it's thin as paper, or chunkier to give some real chew to the sandwich, those decisions are over to whoever plans to eat this extravaganza. 

In the meantime, I am grateful for the many blessings in my life, including (but not exclusive to) reliably wonderful leftovers. 

As for the little turkey in the photo, he rode the top of yesterday's dessert -- not pumpkin pie (an unwelcome guest at my table), but a molasses-y little ginger cake. 

Sisters in Spirit

Last week was a day that's familiarly called 'Orange Shirt Day' -- and while 'Red Dress Day' is officially observed in May, today is also a day when I am wearing my little 'red dress' pin. Like my orange shirt pin, this one, complete with its jewels and ladybugs, was also a gift from a friend who is dear to me. 

This is a day to think about the many -- mostly Indigenous -- women and girls who have gone missing, and who too often, when they're found, are dead. One such was Tina Fontaine, who was killed in Winnipeg and whose body was dumped into the river. When I was in Winnipeg, I tossed a special rock into that river, a sad little farewell to her, that went with hopes that no more women would meet such a fate. 

Sadly, the situation in Vancouver's Downtown Eastside has recently escalated with stabbings and rapes occurring with increasing frequency. 

All women everywhere must do all we can to look out for each other -- wherever we may live, as Sisters in Spirit. In the meantime, I suggest you consider watching the NFB film called The Red Dress. Even though it's less than half-an-hour long, it's not an easy film to watch. Despite that, I think it's an important one to view. 

Every Child Matters

Today is the second year we in Canada have observed Truth and Reconciliation Day. It was around this time last year that I was in Victoria and saw those many pairs of children's shoes lined up on the steps of the Legislature Buildings. It was a powerful statement reminding us that Every Child Matters -- a lesson that's now included in most school curricula. 

My observance this year is quieter, staying home, but with the suggestion of a new book to read (along with a glimpse of my little 'orange shirt' pin given to me as a gift by a longtime dear friend). 

If you'd like a nudge to read this novel, here's a link to a review of it. 

At the very least, we must all remember the past, or we are doomed to let it play out again. 

A new angle of the sun

The changing of the seasons always has a number of chores -- this season, it's primarily food-based ones. 

There's been plenty of clean-up of blackberry vines and spent veggie beds. Even the travelling rose had a number of its trailing stems clipped, oddly without a single rose hip this year (a first). The usual load of plums -- twelve bags for sharing with neighbours and friends -- was greatly diminished this year, with only a measly twelve plums. Not a single bag full, only a small bowl. Nonetheless, they were delicious as ever, maybe more so where there were so few. 

Not long ago I gathered a big bag full of windfall apples. This is a luxury I may no longer be able to indulge in, as it looks as though my friend's property will be 'developed' -- an ironic term, as the land will certainly be far less productive once it's paved. 

So far I've managed to freeze enough apples to make a couple of pies during winter. I've also made a few of what I call 'hand pies' (individual 'pies' made with store-bought puff pastry), several containers of applesauce and I've even managed to dry a few, thanks to our little fireplace units where all I have to do is slice the apples and let them rest on top of the pilot-only heat source. 

The equinox is also when I clean and change the filters in the Brita unit -- an easy way to keep track of when I do some of these maintenance chores. 

Technically autumn arrives at 6:03 Pacific Time, so suddenly I'm finding myself in a brand-new season. At least I reckon I'm pretty much ready. 

Unanswered

Nearly every photo of the queen shows her carrying a purse on her arm -- even the one of her standing in the lounge at Balmoral when she met with Liz Truss. Because her purse was often a lot frumpier than the rest of her attire, I'm left wondering who chose those handbags. 

Because a purse is quite a personal matter, I suspect the bags may have been of her own choosing. 

But what I'm really wondering about is what the heck would be in one of them?

Did she carry a lipstick, a comb? Did she need ID -- a passport when she travelled? Did she have her own credit card (gold, of course, I'm sure). What about a driver's license?? After all, she was famous for driving herself around in the Range Rover, though maybe that was only on her own property. 

And money, what about that? Consider what it would be like to pull out a bill and have your own face on it. 

The mystery of the queen's purse. Will that question ever be answered?

Changing light, shifting gears

So, could this really be the end of 'true summer'?

There's something about the last day of August that makes me feel that way. 

Maybe it's just because I worked in schools for years, and the very word 'September' carried a weight not borne by other months. 

I can't help but notice the way the angle of light is different in late August -- how even its hue is more golden. 

With luck, there's maybe even the scent of coming rain, or is that too only a matter of my imagination?

As if readying for the 'true autumn' that's no doubt coming soon, I not only picked more blackberries today, but I gave the bushes a hard prune -- mainly cleaning up the spent vines, the ones where only the stubs remained where berries had once been. 

With a long weekend ahead, I am grateful knowing that we'll be spending it at home, and not out racing down highways or lining up for ferries with others hoping for a final kick at the holiday can. 

Blackberries, tomatoes, and fresh green beans sound like plenty to me. 

S L O W leak

The street in front of our house has had a slow but steady stream of water trickling down to the nearby sewer for months. The photo above is from March when the problem was reported to the city and they drilled a hole (before that, it had been seeping out of a crack in the asphalt) so they could test the water as they tried to determine the source. 

After a few reports were registered, a man from the water department came out, assured us that it was NOT the beginning of a sinkhole (which some of us in the neighbourhood had feared), but then, aside from placing an orange cone on the curb, pretty much nothing happened. 

Last week they came out again and finally deemed it worthy of further inspection. This had a lot to do with the fact it hasn't rained in over a month, but the water on the road hadn't abated. In other words, it wasn't some kind of drainage problem which they'd been offering previously as an explanation.

In truth, what they discovered today gave us all a few exciting moments -- it looked a lot like water I'd seen at Yellowstone, though fortunately, this water wasn't hot and steamy. 

The excavation took a while, but when they got down far enough below the roadway, they discovered that one of the city pipes was leaking and they replaced the corroded 'saddle' that was allowing water to constantly seep out. 

Five months of wasted water, and this in the midst of drought conditions. Less than remarkable, but at least it's now repaired. And not too surprisingly, we've discovered the water pressure here in our house has improved. So, better than any sinkhole would have been -- a story with a nicely happy ending. 

Thrift store treasure

It's something that goes back to being about ten years old -- my love of wooden jigsaw puzzles. They're never easy to find anymore, but now and then, one comes my way. 

I was lucky enough to have a girlfriend whose family had a drawer filled with amazing wooden puzzles. Often, the scenes they depicted were battles aboard old-time ships, sails filled with smoke and flame. 

This one, a much calmer scene, a mega-bargain from one of my best-loved thrift shops, may be my all-time favourite. Not only were all the pieces there, the precision of the cuts and the marvel of their varied shapes sets this puzzle apart from any other I've ever done. 

There were a number of pieces that had very specific shapes. The two resting outside the image looked like a little house and a derby hat. There was also a complicated curving bishop's staff, as well as two plumb bells a surveyor might use. 

I'm not sure exactly how the jigsawing might have been done -- with a laser maybe?? That would almost have to be the case, as the pieces are mostly quite tiny. 

And yes, I've already taken it apart. Sadly the photo below is a bit fuzzy, but if you look carefully, you can probably see the cutest of the pieces, the bunny waiting his turn to join his friends in puzzle-land. 

Lights, Camera, Conversation!

Already just about halfway through August and this is finally my first post. As the photo suggests, there's been so much going on, life sometimes feels a little blurry. 

That was just one of the days from this past week, being part of a film shoot in Vancouver. 

Because long ago I'd had work published in a magazine called Branching Out, I was contacted by a woman from Toronto and invited to participate as an interviewee for a film that's being made by Marusya Boicurkiw. It's a documentary, Before#MeToo which explores the second wave of feminism (though I suppose I must have missed the first, who knows). 

It was a busy morning with takes and retakes, but was mostly a matter of good chat among friends, old and new. 

And I'll admit I'm looking forward to seeing the results, though I doubt I'll be there for more than a glance or perhaps, a 20-second comment. 

Afterthoughts

My last post, about the Amelia Earhart Festival, left out one element of the festival that's always been important to me -- the traditional Saturday night display of fireworks. 

There've been many times I've sat beside my friend Louise (whom everyone else called Lou), oohing and ahhing as the pyrotechnical show entertained us, lighting up the sky above the Missouri River to the sounds of the 1812 Overture. 

This year, there was no Louise. After a long life she left us, but her absence wasn't the only thing that had changed for me about the fireworks. 

Ukraine, and specifically Odesa (which I've at least learned to spell the non-Russian way), where a man I've met -- in Atchison, no less -- still lives, in an apartment with his aged parents. Every time I hear about Odesa in the news, I can't help but worry about him and his family. His emails have reported the shriek of missiles flying overhead, on their way to some hideous destination, not long ago, a mall where he'd often shopped. 

Last night we were invited to a friend's place to get a strategically great view of the local (White Rock) fireworks display. And again, I admit to a few inward shudders when I heard their boom-booming noises. I know the fireworks we watched were strictly on display for entertainment, but because I've probably watched too much news coverage of this hideously destructive war on Ukraine, hearing those crackling sounds and deep booms has lost some of its appeal. I can't help but think they sound just a little too much like the sounds of machine guns and exploding bombs. 

A very BIG birthday

If Amelia Earhart were still alive (please know that I am not one who holds a belief that she might still be hanging around), today she'd be turning 125. Even the futurists with their predictions of life spans of 150 years aren't there yet -- not much more than 100 is about tops for anyone. 

The house in the photo above is the building where she was born. Once the home of her grandparents, it's now the Amelia Earhart Birthplace Museum. 

The people milling about in front have been partaking in this year's Amelia Earhart Festival, a long-standing annual celebration in the town of Atchison, Kansas -- a celebration that was only resurrected this year, after two years when it was cancelled (on account of that pesky virus whose name I don't even want to use). And yes, I was lucky enough to be there again this year, along with my book based on Amelia, Flightpaths. 

One of the reasons I love Amelia is that she wrote poetry. Sadly, much of it was lost when Amelia and her husband George lost many of their belongings due to a house fire in the home they shared in Rye, New York. 

Her accomplishments went well beyond poetry and even flying. Feminist, promoter of peace, mentor to many, heroine. 

Bear with me...

It's been too long since I've posted anything here. And really, I have no excuse. Stuff just sometimes happens, I guess. 

But I suppose I was reminded that I'd said something to the effect that I'd write about the bears we saw when we went up the coast last month. 

And now bears seem to be everywhere in the news! There was one in Alberta that must have freaked out a couple of tourists from Thailand. Another report cites how many black bears are being killed here in BC. But the crummiest of these has to be the killing of a bear that wandered onto a golf course in a park in the city of Burnaby. I really don't understand why it wasn't tranquilized and relocated. 

When I raised this question with my husband, he figured it had everything to do with costs. And yes, I reckon it's a lot cheaper to shoot and kill a bear than to hire the transport to take it someplace safe. 

If every decision in our contemporary world is based on money, well, I give up and we're all screwed. 

But to take your mind off such negative thoughts, here's a video I took when we were on our northern tour. Yep, those are mighty big claws, but all they're doing is digging for clams or other tasty bits along the shore. As for the shakiness, that wasn't fear. It's simply the fact that I was standing on a boat and small waves were rocking us a bit. 

Dark days indeed

I remember a book cover that looked a lot like this photo. It may well have been an old edition of Darkness at Noon, a grim tale by Arthur Koestler, one that may be worth looking at again, with Putin now in place of the Stalinesque character, Number One, in that book. 

Besides the horrors going on in Ukraine, North America has had its own share of dark days, with mass shootings spanning the US from Buffalo to California and Texas. 

Today comes yet another body-blow, though no guns were used. 

This time the weapon at hand was the mind-blowing decision by the US Supreme Court to overturn the longstanding Roe v. Wade, which granted women the right to make decisions about our bodies. 

I can only share the concerns of many others when I ask, What's next? The cancellation of same-sex marriage (would all those couples find their marriages have been annulled?)? 

It will be interesting to see what happens in this autumn's coming elections, whether people will stand up for these important human rights. Although who knows, the next move might be to again take the right to vote away from women. 

Looking for light...

They're baaack!

And so are we. After a lovely, not-too-adventurous adventure of sorts -- a trip that took me farther north in British Columbia than I'd been before -- we're back home again. 

Main part of the trip saw us combining ferry rides and driving our car so we could get to Prince Rupert. Our province is huge, so even though the main ferry ride was almost 18 hours in duration, our destination was only about halfway up the coast. 

As far as pandemic restrictions went, most people seemed to have become good at distancing, though we were encouraged to wear masks when indoors. I liked the placement of the caution sign, between photos of the beautiful traditional masks.

We were lucky enough to have booked a cabin, so we spent much of our time there, looking out the window, napping, or watching a movie on the tv in our room. I'd certainly encourage anyone taking this trip to spend this little bit extra for the comfort and privacy (two beds, even a private bathroom, complete with shower and fluffy towels). 

One thing that surprised me on our "Northern Expedition" was the number of berries already out -- everything from the salmonberries (above) to thimbleberries (still in bloom, forming berries) and even wild strawberries. Even though these strawberries are barely the size of my pinkie nail -- nothing like the gigantic GMO ones often for sale in the supermarket -- they pack a powerfully sweet punch of flavour, and we did a bit of sampling. Mm-mmm. 

Besides seeing water, water, water, there must have been a couple of million trees on view. We also saw quite a few species of birds, from eagles to the odd turkey vulture, and even managed a glimpse of a humpback whale, showing off, flicking his tail in our direction. 

One of the major highlights of the trip was seeing grizzly bears in their undisturbed habitat. Next post will be some of those images. For now, I'm still putting away the last of the items we took along, and dreaming about where we might go next. 

Tide's out!

A beach is always interesting, and always in its own way. 

This is a beach south of Vancouver, those long tides always a sign of coming-soon Solstice. Two weeks today. 

First quarter of the June moon this morning. When it's full on the 14th, it's supposed to mean the first strawberries will be sweet. 

Sun shining again today, but still, that gusty breeze has something almost autumny about it. Towels didn't seem to mind though, flapping on the line, and oh, I so love the scent they bring into the house! 

With written records indicating celebratory observances from as long ago as the 13th century, a lot of people seem to think the world looks a little brighter as they mull the thought sumer is icumen in.

Hard at work

What a job! But hey, someone's gotta do it. 

And really, it would be hard to find a prettier place to work than in the heart of a full-blown rhododendron blossom. 

Luckily, some of the bee's pals have been poking their way into blossoms on our fruit trees, as there are now a few eensy plums and peaches, as well as heaps of quince -- the promise of autumn bounty. 

A Sad-iversary

I can't quite bring myself to call it an anniversary, as that conjures happy celebrations in my mind. This one, observed yesterday, is not a day for celebrating. Yet it's certainly important enough to mark and remember. 

It was a year ago that the announcement came, telling us that 215 graves had been found on the site of a former residential school here in BC. 

This morning, poking through a stack of books in the living room, I once again opened a book that tells a story of life in such a school. Called The Ledgerbook of Thomas Blue-Eagle, it's a contemporary re-creation of just the kind of books children were given to keep their lessons in -- leftover ledger books donated by the local bank. No matter that the paper was lined for keeping accounts; children kept their own accounts, in this case, with details of a boy's young life. 

Text accompanying the image above reads in part:

At night we had to wear long red suits that scratched our skin. We slept on iron beds. It was very different from sleeping in my warm tipi under buffalo robes with Two Painted Horse nearby. Each boy was allowed only one keepsake to remind him of home...

This book and its story comes from the US, where things were somewhat different than here in Canada. For one thing, I don't believe children in our residential schools were allowed to keep anything, not even their long hair. 

Because I've been away (and offline), this blog has been empty for a few weeks. But with an observance as important as this one -- with even our Governor General in attendance -- it seemed like the right time to come back to the big limb. 

Indie Bookstore Day on the Sunshine Coast

It was a great day to be able to visit BC's Sunshine Coast.

First on the agenda was a reading at Gibsons Public Library. It was one of the first times I'd been able to read to a live audience -- but not only a live group, but some Zoom participants as well. 

Afterward I zipped up the 101 to Sechelt and Talewind Books, a store about which I'd heard many a tale (all good). My reason for any urgency? Saturday was Independent Bookstore Day. 

With some guidance from the very helpful employee, I bought a few books, including the most remarkable treasure, The Lost Words. Its subtitle: a book of spells, suggests its purpose is to conjure back words that were removed from a widely-used dictionary whose editors had decided the words were no longer all that relevant to childre. Dandelion, Raven, Fern. Really?

All in all, a wonderful find -- and truly, all because I encountered a human being/worker in an independent bookstore who led me to a book I am sure I will value always.