It's only over the past decade that much in the way of Truth has come out.
Still plenty to go when it comes to Reconciliation, but I believe that many of us are trying to learn.
I liked that this last little flower had the good sense to be wearing its own orange shirt.
When we can only hope for some kind of balance where the good and the sane prevail in this world of ours that currently seems so dreadfully out of balance.
To my surprise (and in a good way for a change), even though I'm not much of a Royalist, I was delighted to find this article about King Charles and the balance he's been able to find in Romania. It seemed an apt ray of hope on this day of a new season.
First, it was Stephen Colbert's show getting notice. Now, it's Jimmy Kimmel getting yanked.
So much for freedom of speech.
To think that it was way last November that I wrote this:
(with gratitude to Martin Niemoller)
First they came for the truthtellers:
the journalists whose words aimed
to capture events, present them with
accuracy and fairness.
Then for the librarians, unafraid to defend
the sanctity of books, and all they hold
within their pages, even when small minds
choose to challenge what they contain.
After that, the teachers, whose loyalties rest always
with the children entrusted to them, guiding and
protecting them from hate and other abuse,
encouraging as they grow, like wide-faced flowers in the sun.
Who will remain once the truthtellers are gone?
Only the liars who know to twist words, bending them to their own mean ends.
While those who have been duped will stand open-mouthed
hungry and broken, by having been deceived.
We can only wonder just who will be next.
I was probably already a bit on the edge of feeling down, remembering that today is the 24th anniversary of the Twin Towers horror. I still remember being home that day, when some kind of spidey sense made me turn on the news--just in time to see the second building be hit.
I took a bit of comfort when I found a clue in this morning's crossword that led me to figuring out "the fruit that symbolizes peace in China" which turns out to be the apple.
It makes me think the idea of the apple being the 'forbidden fruit' in Eden as one I can just about believe, as it sure seems our species has pretty much always been engaged in wars. What a species. So much for having such big brains -- hard to understand how such idiocy could continue.
Today is apparently Star Trek Day, although it must be noted that though September 8th is the anniversary of the show's first airing in the US, here in Canada it premiered on September 6th. Maybe this was a sneak preview for benefit of William Shatner's fellow Canadians.
Fifty-nine years (since 1966), not a bad run for a show that began with lines about the starship Enterprise and "...its five-year mission".
As for the photo, it's a T-shirt from Vulcan, Alberta, a town that celebrates all things Star Trekkian, supposedly a shirt from Starfleet Academy, where crew members took their training. As for me, I wore the shirt (even though it's well worn, over all those years of 'training' as I watched reruns of the series) to a reading I was part of this summer, a reading where I read poems I wrote about Captain Kathryn Janeway, who appeared in Voyager, a later incarnation of this beloved series.
Sometimes though I think we're told to 'chill' a little too often, as the world seems crazy enough to maybe need to be a little worried about now and then.
Last week, I at least did something more constructive than simply 'chilling' as I was involved in two political meetings. One was a forum where potential leaders of BC's Green Party were making presentations and answering questions--an interesting exercise that helped me decide who I'd prefer.
The other was a meeting with Ernie Klassen, our newly-elected Member of Parliament. What a refreshing difference he's already making in our riding. For one thing, his office is actually OPEN Monday through Friday. The other, he's willing to meet with constituents no matter what their party affiliation might be. Such a wonderful difference from the last two MPs who've supposedly 'represented' us.
As for me on this Labour Day, my 'labour' focussed on overdue cleaning projects, as clearly this old fridge was needing.
Today was a day for making containers of pesto for the freezer. There are plenty of different ways to use it (ours goes mostly to pasta dishes), and probably just as many ways of making it.
All I do for the freezer packs is whir garlic (again, from the garden), basil, lemon juice, and olive oil in the little food processor. Later, when I'm ready to use it, I'll add cheese and nuts. Most recipes call for pine nuts, but those are soooo expensive, I generally use walnuts.
It may seem silly to some, but one of the reasons I decided to make this today -- besides the fact that the basil is growing like crazy out back -- is that I heard a friend read such a beautiful poem that she'd written. "Sweet Basil" it was called, and it's stayed in my mind all day.
I suspect I'll likely think of it again sometime this winter when I'm once again using this magically delicious concoction, pesto.
Those little raspberries though are a new discovery.
There's a vacant lot (for sale, of course) across the street and along with the free bouquets I've been picking there since spring, I recently discovered a wild raspberry bush.
The fruits are small, and there aren't ever very many, but WOW are they ever sweet and delicious.
You can bet I'm hoping that next summer the lot will remain vacant, and will again serve as my go-to flower shop as well as the spot for picking tiny red berries. Yum.
Home-grown potatoes always seem like such a miracle to me. After all, they started as small chunks of potatoes that had started growing 'eyes' and all we had to do was bury them in some good dirt. Then, it seems like not all that much time later, here they were: tiny potatoes, ready for becoming part of a summertime meal.
Maybe my affinity for good potatoes goes back to my own Irish roots, even though my people there somehow managed to make it through the Great Potato Famine. My grampa didn't come to North American until the early 1900s, and I'm still hoping to see where he lived one of these days, as Ireland is included on the travel bucket list.
In the meantime, fresh potatoes are definitely on the menu!
Despite so much time passing since her disappearance (back in 1937 when she would have been turning 40), her persona and the mysteries surrounding her life endure.
Earlier this summer, The New Yorker (June 9, 2025 issue) published an article called "Turbulence". It's full of some fairly damning thoughts about Earhart's husband, George Putnam. It suggests that he pushed to do things she shouldn't have tried, specifically the ill-fated flight around the world.
Earhart is still enduring in my own thoughts, partly because the mysterious theft of her statue still has no resolution (though it's assumed that it was stolen by metal thieves who found an unscrupulous dealer who melted it down), and partly because I always think of her on this, her birthday.
The plane above is the 'twin' to the one she flew nearly all the way around the world. Called 'Muriel' (named after Amelia's sister) is now ensconced in the museum at the town's airfield. It's the only original 1935 Lockheed Electra still in existence. A special aircraft, to be sure.
The Amelia Earhart Festival in Atchison, Kansas, has always been a memorable weekend of celebrations. My favourite part (besides meeting up with friends) has been the amazing fireworks.
Celebrate!
There's something about doing a jigsaw that takes me to some other shore, a place where other concerns disappear. Even so, there's usually some kind of system involved in putting one together.
Border pieces or 'edge' pieces are often an easy place to start. Their straight cut along one side makes them easy to find.
A lazy day, but still, a treat to have such a fun kind of distraction.
...not a weapon.
Yet, on July 4th Bailey McCourt, 32, was beaten to death with one by her estranged husband. Even though he'd been convicted of making threats to kill her, he was out on bail when he murdered her. What I'd like to know is why is this still happening?
There's a terrible irony in that today is a remembrance of Vancouver poet Patricia Lowther who was murdered (same choice of weapon) 50 years ago this September. Had she lived, later this month (the 29th) would have been Pat's 90th birthday.
Another irony is the fact that today is the launch of a new book, Creating in Dangerous Times. I guess indeed we are still living in dangerous times.
But when I went to make the filling, I realized I only had one egg in the fridge, and the recipe was going to need two. So, back to the drawing (dreaming?) board.
Luckily, Sunday morning was another 'delivery day' from the 'egg lady' who delivers fresh dozens from her farm out in the Fraser Valley. So, as soon as I got home, I made sure the butter was softened and got to work.
The strangest part, I am sure, is the fact that on Sunday, while I was cleaning up the kitchen, I turned on the radio and heard a feature on--you guessed it--butter tarts!
For years I've told people in my family that, if they wanted the recipe, they'd have to wait as "it's in the will." It's a recipe I was given by Betty, my once-upon-a-time mother-in-law, and she made it clear that it was special and to be kept private. So, imagine my dismay when I found pretty much the exact recipe in an old Canadian cookbook. Still, to be kind to the memory of Betty, I'm not saying which cookbook.
My only question now is: why don't I make these more often?
If you want to see just how intricate her work is, you might want to click on the photo to look closely at the patterned stitching inherent in the design.
The whorls and complex stitching aren't produced by AI or any program on her sewing machine--they're all her devising.
Looking at these complex patterns, I think they serve as a good metaphor for the fabric of our country--a mix of so many cultures and people.
This year, with the multitude of threats coming from the south of us, it seems all the more important to take this day to think about not only who we are, but who we want to be.
O Canada, our home on native land...
The overriding philosophy of late seems to be 'tear it down, build something at least 40 stories tall.'
I've been attending City Council meetings, and is it ever disheartening.
Neither the Councillors in Surrey nor the ones in nearby White Rock show an ounce of respect for the wishes of the public, even though (they seem to have forgotten), the public is the beast that elects them.
Thus, my feelings that democracy, as we once knew it, is crumbling--and not just here either.
But since this rainbow has been lolling about in my recent photos, it seemed like an omen that might get me going again. After all, something about it seems quite protective even if it does seem to be in the midst of a brewing storm.
We'll see how the next few days pan out.
One of the best ways I've found of working around the many varieties of lettuce from California has been the discovery of 'living lettuces' that are grown here. Not only do they last longer in the fridge, because they already have a well-established root ball beneath the leaves, they're super-easy to plant! All you need to do, once you've used the leaves is ensure there's still about an inch or so of greenery above the roots and stick the whole thing into soil. The 'salad bar' above is the result of just such 'recycling' and pretty much ready for harvest (at which time I'll do the same procedure again).
But apparently you don't even need to find the pre-rooted kinds of lettuce for this to work. Here's a video that demonstrates how to start lettuce using only water (as well as further videos on 're-using' green onions and more). I have to admit that when these little plants are starting out, they remind me a lot of one of my favourite film characters, Groot, from Guardians of the Galaxy.
Happy growing, along with heathy and delicious eating!
I'm the one who tucked the tiny bouquet into her hand. It was just my little way of saying hello to her, as she is one of my personal heroines. I can't imagine what courage it took to fly across the Atlantic, and in a plane reliant on a single engine! No fallback there, only fall-into-the sea.
I named this post "Heartbreaking" because earlier this spring, scoundrels (sounds like it was a pair of men) stole the statue, all seven feet of metal in her likeness. So far, "Amelia" hasn't been found. I, along with many others, continue to hope that the statue hasn't been melted down.
The real Amelia was lost once, back in 1937. This time, it's truly a crime.
There was a frame she used to build them on, rolling the edges as she sewed--always by hand--the same way I liked to sew the doll clothes I made. Must have been something in our genes.
Yesterday I attended a quilters' exhibit, and as you might guess from the photo above, I wasn't the only one amazed by what I saw. If you click on the photo you might be able to tell that the images on the white background are bits of applique. It's an art that confounds me; I can't imagine needlework that could be more demanding.
Reading the sign next to that quilt, the artist reveals it took her a year and a half to finish it. Not surprising, considering the demanding detail involved. And also not surprising, this was the quilt that won both main awards: the prize for best quilt as well as acknowledgment at being the people's choice. Hear, hear and bravo!
This rhododendron, which is probably 12 feet tall, has in the past always done me the honour of opening on Mother's Day. But this year, it decided to open early.
I'm not complaining. It's always beautiful, but usually opens after the lilacs are spent. This year, both of them are gloriously in bloom, almost as if they're trying to compete with each other.
