Enjoying the signs

 We've had some beautiful signs popping up in our neighbourhood. Lovely lettering done in colourful chalks, all of them important, positive reminders. As I take my private strolls, I encounter them on the sidewalk, and no matter how many times I see them, they make me smile.

Small actions such as these are one of the reasons I am smiling today.

Of course, there's another sweet circumstance that always comes to mind for me on this particular date, April 10th.

It was another sign, and long ago, that made a child ask her mother, "What's Aprilioth?" The pair had been driving past the community centre, and an ad posted on the outdoor signboard was announcing an event scheduled to take place on April 10th. To the girl, the plain font, all in caps, meant the date looked more like a word than any specific day.

That child was author Eileen Kernaghan's daughter, and the question led to the setting of one of Kernaghan's wonderfully engaging fantasy novels, Journey to Aprilioth.

The signs are everywhere. We just have to be alert to them. Like they used to say at the end of every episode of Dead Dog Cafe: "Stay calm! Be brave! Wait for the signs!"

Getting re-engaged with reading

During these days of isolation and social distancing, one of the ways we can still get into someone else's mind is, of course, through a book.

I have a Kindle, but admit to still preferring the sensory pleasure I get from a book -- even just turning paper pages is preferable to me to clicking thumbs on the e-reader (in fact, I sometimes get sore arms from doing this).

By some stroke of luck, the last time I was at the library, I was inspired to grab more than my usual allotment of books. And I'll admit to having a houseful as well, many of which I've never read. Some of these might have been gifts (Lincoln in the Bardo for one); others just part of some overambitious spree.

Earlier this week, Geist Magazine put out a note encouraging all of us to support our local bookstores. I'm taking this to mean the stalwart independents. I've been compiling a list, and allowing myself a set price which I'm going to try to not exceed.

There were plenty of days in the past when I thought I didn't have time to read (though somehow, I suppose, I always read something -- even if just the back of the cereal box). But these days, that excuse has flown out the window, along with the many engagements that are usually on my calendar.

I'm happy to follow the advice on the cushion one of my talented artist friends made me and yes, read a book, read a book, read a book.

The challenges of isolation

The more we hear, the more I believe we may need to be getting accustomed to this practice of self-isolation.

Even though signs of spring have been with us for a few weeks, a chill remains in the air -- and I don't mean just the temperature, though that's been coolish too.

Some of us have been trying to counteract this. My next door neighbours have what I call a 'love tree' in their front yard. It's just hearts, a few with messages on them, but it cheers me every time I look at it.

Another way we've been trying to meet the challenge is with an evening 'meet-up' in the road on Saturday nights. Seven o'clock, and we gather -- keeping at least the prescribed two metres apart -- each in our little thickets of family groupings.

It's just chitchat, to be sure. But it's also a way of ensuring that everyone is well. It's also a way of helping each other out. Several of us are on a quest for toilet paper (of course, what else!). If we manage to get some, the neighbour across the street would be grateful if we can share.

Small things, but tiny steps towards reinforcing a spirit of community. Neighbours being neighbourly, and in a responsible way.

This Saturday again (provided it doesn't rain) we'll be out there with our lawn chairs, lifting cups or glasses to each other -- from our spots on either side of the road.

A banner for spring

I was going to post an item about empty shelves in the supermarket, but those aren't anything new, and they're mostly a cause for anxiety.

Instead, because this year brings us one of the earliest official beginnings of spring, a piece of new outdoor art is flying -- both here and on our house.

The banner was a Christmas gift from a dear friend, and today seemed like the right day to hang it by the door. And yes, the message of peace to all who enter is true and from the heart, even though these days there aren't many who are entering.

We remain healthy (touch wood) and we're taking the order to self-isolate very seriously. Spring break or not, it's not a time for gathering in groups. A time for catching up on missed tv series, reading books, and making phone calls to friends we can't visit with.

And, of course, wanting peace.

Weapons of Mass Protection

The cancellation of so many events has left me at loose ends. I'm accustomed to having a full-on schedule of events, whether those are ones I'm attending or participating in.

Today was supposed to be 'my' choir's Spring Concert. My head is still filled with many of the beautiful songs we worked on, though it isn't the same as standing with friends in the front of a church and singing them in harmony.

It feels downright weird to not have any sports on tv. Recent Sunday afternoons have been filled with curling. Otherwise, it's often golf that's being broadcast here.

The sun is shining, though it's cool out, but we did a bit of yard clean-up earlier -- the results of yesterday's windy gusts.

Not even having our usual family Sunday dinner, as at least two of the regulars are down for the count, luckily only with bad colds, not the dreaded virus.

I can only think we're at least all learning better habits with all this hand-washing and leaving space for each other, not hugging or shaking hands. There's bound to be some good that comes out of this, even it's only some concentrated spring cleaning -- of ourselves, and maybe with the enforced isolation, of our house (or at least my office).

Here's to the power of soap, still they say the best solution of all.

Artspeaks

International Women's Day. A day to celebrate the many women who persisted. This piece of art is by a woman named Dani. It's part of a show called Herstory, an exhibit that opened the other night in a local gallery. All that I need to say for today. 

Not sallying forth

Plenty of people like to observe today, March 4th as a day to 'march forth' and do something, but I've been seeing it more as the day that spring is springing forth.

Not sallying forth, which I'd always thought meant dawdling in a forward direction. Only it turns out, its meaning is actually something much speedier sounding, with even a bit of abruptness to it. So I guess I even learned something today.

Whatever phrase, today made me feel that spring is finally here, and the little garden patch I walked past on the way to the dentist seemed to affirm that.

Even my teeth-cleaning day at the dentist felt like spring. It helps that their office is on the third floor and in line with a tree the crows seem to love to gather in. The blue sky and puffy clouds were putting on a pretty good show too.

This proved to be the day I even got to wear shorts -- really just because I was cleaning the hot tub, and refilling it so it's ready for a new season, something I usually do so it coincides with the equinox. But where that observance is a bit early this year (earliest it's been in a century), it maybe doesn't hurt to look after this chore a bit early too. Now it's just a matter of waiting for the water to come up to temp from what flowed out of the hose. So I guess I did 'march forth' and do something after all.

Leapification

Here we are at another Leap Day, a day that turns out to be full of odd celebrations and customs.

And really, February 29th holds a lot of potential as a great date for some rare and eccentric traditions. Just think, we'd have a full four years to plan our escapades.

Not a day for jumping, only leaping. We could leap to conclusions without fear of reprisal, feel our hearts leap at thoughts of true love, or spend the day in inspired speculations, making leaps of faith and logic.

About the only leaps I made today were small leaps of progress in the garden, as I gave both raspberry and blackberry vines their annual mega-prune. It's a job that always grants a share of satisfaction, maybe just because I know how tasty the summer crop will be.

As for the bridge sign above, the water flowing beneath it was beautiful and inviting. I think you were just supposed to swim from the bank below rather than cannon-balling off the railings.

Must admit to having several leaps in mind for myself, as I suppose we should all have a dream or two that requires, at the very least, some leap of imagination. Leap on.

Exercise your freedom...to read

It seems I usually am reading more than one book at a time. Okay, not reading with books in both hands, but one for afternoon reading, another at bedtime, and poking my nose into some other book or two throughout the day.

One of the books I've been reading (actually, re-reading) is George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four. It's amazing that it's held up so well over the many years since it was published. But I'm finding that quite a lot of it seems a little too spot-on, with ubiquitous surveillance cameras only one of those aspects.

Other parts of it that seem a little too close to reality are those that concern both writing and language.

Much of the writing depicted in the novel is actually re-writing -- the re-creation of history that's become inconvenient -- often because an individual was too caught up in the mores of his time. And yes, that individual is generally a man, but then that simply reflects how our histories have been written. And what the protagonist (Winston) must do in his job seems not all that different from ways we have recently been revisiting some of our own history. 

Even more chilling to me as a creative writer is the notion of machines spinning out novels. As with the revision of history in the book's Ministry of Truth, an entire department is devoted to the creation of Fiction. Books are conceived by directive of a committee, then the words are spun out by a machine. Sure, there's a department for rewriting, but somehow it doesn't sound very literary. And the same process is also true for pornography in Orwell's dystopian society, though only women are permitted to work in that section. Much too stimulating for men. Harrumph.

But even more bothersome to me is his vision of what he called Newspeak, a word that showed up yesterday as one of the answers to the New York Times crossword (one of my morning addictions, along with coffee).

Newspeak's goal was purportedly to simplify and clarify language (right...) by paring down the dictionary to only the most basic words, all of which could be modified with simple prefixes and suffixes. Thus, 'bad' becomes 'ungood' and a person who is particular righteous and law-abiding would be described as 'goodthinkful'.

And we can't forget Newspeak's brother, doublespeak, whose presence lingers in our midst like a bad smell. Examples that come to mind include "It's all good" (especially when things might be anything but) and "Have a good one." (A good what, I ask myself.)

I find it worrisome to have 'good' be the basis for such meaningless remarks. It seems like shades of the simplistic 'ungood' to have 'good' as the foundation for so many of our offhand, rote remarks. Although really, it isn't that I don't want life to be good, it's the diminishment of language that rankles me.

Anyway, this happens to be Freedom to Read Week, and I'm glad that even my socks (in the photo) have something to say on that. My advice? Learn a new word -- or better yet, go find a book that's been banned and read it.

Who knew, eh?

By one of those flukes of taking my time reading the weekend newspaper, I ran across an article on 'homegrown literature' and the importance of reading exactly that. It claimed that today has been proclaimed as "I Read Canadian Day."

Only, as it happened, I was in a bookstore today and as I made my purchase, I asked about the observance. The employee gave me the deer-in-the-headlights face, and said she didn't know what I was talking about. If the booksellers don't know about it, no wonder there's no promotion.

I remember that, during the '80s we had "Canada Book Day" and it fell on, I'm pretty sure, April 23rd. And whaddya know, apparently it still exists (though even the entry about it admits that few people know about this).

It really was quite the celebration, as the Canada Council provided a box of Canadian books to libraries that made a request.

And next week, there'll be another Canadian literary observance. If it doesn't come to mind immediately, you might have to check back here, as who knows, I might even do a post about it.

Read on -- and when you can, think about reading something written by a Canadian author.

Yesterday was for learning

Yesterday meant that a decade had passed since Vancouver's Olympic Games officially opened. There are plenty of stories online about the many ways this anniversary is being observed, as well as recaps of all that went on, right down to the glitches that were part of the torch-lighting ceremony.

But more important to me than attending the relighting ceremony might have been was my good fortune over being invited to attend a luncheon where the Calgary's mayor, Naheed Nenshi was the featured speaker. After hearing him, I'm not at all surprised that he was once named the Best Mayor in the World.

Because he was addressing members and guests of the Surrey Board of Trade, much of his talk concerned commerce and trade -- and even included his city's commitment to investments in art and culture. When he came into office, Calgary doubled its funding of the Arts, and since then, despite economic woes in Alberta, the City has managed to protect such funds.

But the real focus of his talk was how we need to start listening to each other. He said that in essence, we all want the same things: we want to save the planet in a state that will remain habitable for future generations and we also want prosperity for all. A big ticket to fill, to be sure.

One thought that I'm taking away from his speech is an anecdote he shared early on. He pointed to his necktie and told us that for nearly ten years he's been wearing purple every day. He reminded us that it's a secondary colour, made up of two primary ones, red and blue, which just happen to be the colours representing the two major political parties, long held as two viewpoints that stand in opposition to each other.

This idea of blending the two points of view, and of being able to hear both sides is the message that stays with me today. I'm hoping I might from now on be able to hear both sides better, and want to start practising something he said (and I'm quoting Mayor Nenshi): "I like to listen with both ears." Yes.

Brave

That's what I thought when I encountered this little primrose, its white petals couched in the white of a surprise snowfall.

Here I'd thought the groundhog would have been right -- after all, I don't think he saw any shadow the other day. And isn't that supposed to mean that winter is over?

I'm just hoping that next time I look at this little flower it'll be surrounded by green.

It's been a long time...

 ...and will be an even longer time until this happens again. The event? A numerical palindrome. Yep, along the lines of 'Madam I'm Adam' or my perhaps favourite, 'Do geese see God?' But not made up of letters, but numbers.

And today is one of the most remarkable of such dates, as the palindromes only seem to build and build on each other -- worth reading the article in this link for the many crazy details.

I'll admit, this morning when I'd looked at the number residing at the bottom of my computer screen I'd thought they looked cool. But it was only while I was watching golf on tv (yes, one of my many guilty pleasures) that one of the commentators remarked on the palindromic factor. So yes, I tried finding a way to create an image that would suit it.

Badly posed, but this kind of date event won't happen again while any of us are around. In fact, this level of palindromic effect in a date won't occur again until 03/03/3030 -- and who knows whether we'll even be on the same digital version of the Gregorian calendar when that rolls around. I suspect "Stardate whatever" might be more likely by then.

And yes, the most lovely representation of the figure two I found during my search was one of the brass swans who keeps me company on the ledge above the sink when I do the washing up. A very special and graceful number two for this pretty special 'two' of a day.

Another kind of new year

Saturday was officially the day to mark the Lunar New Year. Because I knew the restaurants would be crowded with people wanting to celebrate, I stayed home.

But staying home doesn't mean going without yummy treats. My local produce store has a freezer filled with ready-to-steam dumplings and lotus-wrapped packets of sticky rice. So, a little feast at home serves as a nice appetizer -- just a taste to encourage me to gather a crew for a trip into Richmond for a proper feed of dim sum.

I'll admit to having mixed feelings about this being called the Year of the Rat. According to tradition, it's the first of the twelve animals depicted in the Chinese zodiac. First or not, my associations with rats are less than savoury. Especially now that coronavirus is making the news.

Even though I understand it's passed by contact with fluids (mucus, etc.) and isn't an airborne virus (which sounds promising for not having it spread more than it already has), it's causing me some concern, as it's hard not to think about SARS, which initially didn't seem like such a big deal. I remember having to pass through Toronto's Pearson International while that epidemic was raging. Many people were wearing masks. My paranoid reaction was keeping my ears covered, as I'd somehow got it into my head that ears were a forgotten point of entry (not the usual mouth, eyes, nose).

So, we're being told that this one isn't airborne, and not like the Great Plague with the fleas from rats serving as carriers. Still, this morning when I brought my empty garbage bins back in, it was disconcerting to spot a rat slinking along the neighbour's lawn. I can only hope he was there on invitation to celebrate this new lunar year.

Ongoing inspiration

Because I'm a coward when it comes to cold weather, last week found me mostly staying in. Unless I was outside clearing snow off the walk, I was inside, doing my best to stave off cabin fever.

In keeping with the decluttering plan I started earlier this month, I've been cleaning up inside too, though using more subtle tools than the shovel I used outside. The focus has been mainly my office, where I've been sifting papers, getting rid of items I shouldn't have kept as long as I have.

But every once in a while, something special turns up. A forgotten photograph of a now-gone friend, or sometimes, as with the scrap of newspaper above, a timely piece of advice. The quote on the image above feels important and true: "Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter."

I'm old enough to remember that terrible spring when King was assassinated (and when only two months later, Bobby Kennedy would be too). Old enough to be shocked now to learn that a man who accomplished so much for civil rights, and left such an impact on so many, was shot when he was only 39 years old.

So this is my small observance for today, Martin Luther King Day, a promise to myself. With it, I am reminding myself to keep to my beliefs and to speak out when I see one of those many 'things that matter.'

Odd how a scrap of paper, nearly forgotten, can offer such encouragement. Ah yes, the power of words.

Goin' nowhere

Those of us who live in BC's Lower Mainland are generally blessed with not having to shovel ourselves out during the winter. Many express pity on us, as most of our precipitation falls in the form of rain, which yes, means skies that are often grey.

While today's skies aren't blue -- or even grey for that matter -- more whitish than anything, what's on the ground is definitely white.

So, what am I doing? Staying inside as much as I can (though yes, I bundled up and shoveled the walk on the odd chance the letter carrier comes through ("...neither rain nor snow nor gloom of night...??") with something for the mailbox. The radio is full of warnings, saying that roads are icy (even transit is having big problems), and cautioning everyone to stay home if we can.

It feels like a day for carbs, so pasta it shall likely be, especially if I can come up with a recipe that will want some time in the oven. And of course, a few more chapters in the novel I'm currently reading. Who knows, maybe even curling up under the covers and taking a hibernatory nap.

Wintry flowers

Some long time ago, or at least a time that feels long ago, George W Bush told the world that Iran had a stash of WMDs -- weapons of mass destruction. He used that line to justify yet another war.

The year was 2003, so it was just about the time Greta Thunberg was born. How's that for a way of understanding time.

But back to 2020, this morning.

I'd walked to a nearby restaurant and met some friends for breakfast. Afterwards, because I wanted to mail a thank you card, I'd taken the long way around and stopped by the post office to send it.

Then, taking one of my short cuts home, through a yard where a house used to be (and where nothing new has been built yet), I discovered a somewhat straggly-looking bunch of wild daisies. So yes, I yanked at a few branches and brought them home.

They reminded me of an article I'd had in a newspaper nearly 17 years ago -- about the daisy as symbol for peace. It's too long to paste into this post, but here's a link to the archives of the Globe and Mail, the place where it first appeared.

As the day wore on, we learned at least that a war had seemingly been averted. But, as if in some horrid balance, we heard the terrible news that a plane had crashed, killing all 138 people on board, with 63 among them from across Canada, many from here in BC.

A sad little bouquet for a very sad day.

Getting a start on good intentions

Probably everyone has a catch-all site they call the junk drawer. It's that place where things with no particular spot of their own gather together, often in shame.

It's no different at our house, and as you can see, our collection of odds and sods was starting to overgrow its home.

For a year when I plan (okay, hope may be the more truthful word) to do a bunch of decluttering, though not on the scale of any Marie Kondo white dreams, I figure I've made a pretty good start.

Keeping score

This rusty little box has been on a shelf in my office for a score of years. I don't remember exactly why I decided to make a millennial time capsule, but it must have seemed like a good idea at the time. Noticing it yesterday, and being on the cusp of a new decade (one with two 20's in it no less), I decided the day had come to open it.

At first glance, it looked pretty rough inside. No critter had been into it, but time had taken a toll on some of the items.

The series of millennial postage stamps look much older than 20 years. But they bring a certain cachet to the treasure trove of items inside. I love the fact that they were issued in honour of humanitarians and peacekeepers, the people whose faces probably also belong on our money.

And yes, the price of a stamp has more than doubled since I stashed these away. These oldies cost 46 cents (and may not have had tax added on back then), while today's basic postage stamp for delivery within Canada is $1.05. With the addition of the 5 cents for tax, they're now a whopping $1.10. No wonder people have abandoned writing letters and sending cards. Email and texting are not only cheaper, but waaaay faster.

I can't remember having any big fascination with Wonder Woman, though I do admit to owning a lamp that bears her image.

Apparently there were several incarnations of her back then, even a Barbie version, one I never bought into.

Yet somehow I got my hands on a Wonder Woman Pez dispenser, so in she went too.

I didn't open her packaging, so can't attest to the condition of the candies, but remembering how unappealing Pez usually were (even when brand-new fresh), I don't imagine these would be very delicious.

As for the 'official' millennial candy, m&m's made a certain sense, especially to me, a person who's always understood (and appreciated) Roman numerals. Where M means 1,000, the choice of m&m's was spot on. It's probably good that I only kept the lid to the container they came in, or critters may well have been tempted to discover my little cache.

While the Harry Potter books had only been out for a few years in December of 1999, they'd already made their mark on kids (of all ages, including me). The Band-Aids with the glow-in-the-dark lightning mark were intended, I am sure, to be worn on foreheads. But yes, here they sit mostly still in their wrappers (except for the one I couldn't resist opening).

Other items in there seem mostly pretty silly -- a CBC medallion in celebration of 60 years, an old library card and even a membership card from our once-upon-a-time video store.

There's also a bunch of quarters, mostly bearing the number 1999, though it turns out they were called 'millennial' coins. It's the same old image of the Queen on the front, though younger by some years, but their verso sides have some interesting designs: Voyageurs, pictographs, even a vintage airplane. The one I like best, which is dated 2000, bears the name "Natural Legacy" with an illustration of a salmon, a tree, and a cloud with falling rain. Little silvery treasures to be sure, though none with much value, as at least one side of each coin is badly tarnished, probably from spending so much time in a cheap metal box.

The item that got me thinking about all of this was Saturday's Globe and Mail, with its article about Y2K because yes, what else turned up in my little time capsule from 20 years ago but several sheets of stickers, bearing fanciful warnings about the much-dreaded (then) Y2K bug -- something that was bound to screw up our banking and send us all back to some pre-techno age.

So much for that worry, at least. I'm sure we can come up with others, probably next will be the further invasion of AI into our lives.

Happy new year, happy decade, and hey, who's keeping score?

Not quite the usual

No poinsettia this year, but when we were walking with Nadia the dog, this little spot of brightness out in the field was impossible to ignore.

People who read this blog will know that this December has been unusual for us, one we won't forget -- ever.

I for one am looking forward to the coming days and new year being better and better and better.

Best wishes for a happy Christmas, or Hanukkah or whatever holiday you observe with those you love.

First day of winter

Last night was the evening the Earth reached that point in the sky where the season officially changed. Winter Solstice, the day the light starts coming back. Even though it's only about four minutes more every day, I'm sure that early in the new year we'll be noticing the change. 

To observe the change of season, and to honour our brother Tom, we hosted a gathering of close friends. Everyone brought delicious treats, along with plenty of great stories for sharing. A highlight was the sharing of music -- so many talented friends in our midst. Chris Birkett's song, "Turning Round the Sun" may have been the most appropriate for the occasion.

But beyond seeing the change of season, our view out the window has also changed. The big broken tree out back came down, thanks to the skill of our neighbour, Paul.

Change everywhere around us, and doing our best to go along with it all.

As my motto through life seems to be, Onward.

A lesson in black (and white)

That's the beautiful Nadia, wearing the saddest face around. She's been missing her master, our beloved brother Tom.

But today, with a new blanket of fresh snow on the ground, when she came along with me on my walk around the farm, she decided to get silly.

First, she buried her snout (probably sniffing out a vole or some other interesting tidbit), then when
she popped back out, this was how she looked.

As is so often the case, it's the dog who has something to say in way of offering comfort.

Morning star

It's taken me a few days to get around to writing this. The photo is from Sunday morning, a bright Ontario sky.

The last time I saw this kind of configuration in the sky was November 2008, the morning after my mother had died.

This time, it was the morning after the visitation and memorial service for my dear brother-in-law, Tom.

We were blessed to know him, to witness his many talents, and to laugh with him. As for that morning star, I guess it was really a mourning star.

So much for democracy

Not so long ago an article came out in The Vancouver Sun with details about Surrey's proposed five-year budget plan. The details were appalling, pretty much excising any monies for the arts. But the arts weren't the only item on the chopping block.

About all I could do was write a letter to the editor; a few days later they printed it.

Since then, there have been other letters, and two meetings at City Hall that were packed with members of the public offering their objections.

Has this outcry made any difference? Not a chance. Steamroller is the word that comes to mind for our mayor's style of 'getting things done.' He insists he has the support of what he calls "the silent majority." That term was used by Richard Nixon as justification for continuing the horror of the Vietnam War. Since then, another person who's used this is none other than Donald Trump. Isn't there also a maxim about 'birds of a feather'?

There's bound to be more on this issue, especially with the final vote on this ill-conceived budget coming up mid-month. And even though he hasn't started listening, it's no excuse for us to give up. We need to keep writing letters, attending meetings, speaking out -- for the sake of our city and its future, we need to push back.

In praise of transit

Yesterday was one of those when I needed to go into Vancouver, a trip that's become more of a task over the years. Traffic has increased, it feels like ten-fold. The only bright spot has been improvements to our transit system.

But over the last few weeks, transit has felt threatened, as the unionized workers weren't able to negotiate a new contract that met everyone's needs. At first, the drivers stopped wearing their uniforms -- letting the public know that things weren't as they should be.

Their actions escalated with interruptions to SeaBus service, making travel from Vancouver to the North Shore very challenging.

The double-decker bus above, despite its 'not in service' sign was merely the driver taking a break, and wasn't a Vancouver bus at all, but one in Victoria. The moustache was their way of promoting men's health for Movember. The day I was over there, the driver who picked us up at the ferry told us all to just get on board. He wasn't taking any money that afternoon, a sign of solidarity with the Coast Mountain workers on this side of the water.

But tensions over here kept rising, with a complete shutdown of service scheduled for the 27th, 28th and 29th.

Fortunately for all of us who rely on public transit, a last-minute settlement came about, granting an almost-audible public sigh of relief.

Yesterday, while I was waiting to get on my bus, I saw a Coast Mountain driver waiting as well. I approached him and said thank you -- I suspect on behalf of many other riders that day. Surprisingly, he then thanked me. He explained himself by telling me that it was the support from the public that had made all the difference, and had enabled a quick settlement. Unlike the long strike in 2001 (123 days), this time social media had raised such an outcry, management pretty well had to pay attention.

Riding home on my standing-room only bus, I tried to calculate just how many cars were not being used because we passengers were using public transit. I'm still working on the numbers, but I know we represented a lot of cars not taking up space on the road. As for transit, I'm just grateful we have such an extensive and reliable system. Zoom, zoom, goes the bus, and sez I: hurrah!

Not just another day

 Not that any day doesn't have its distinguishing traits, this one marks the anniversary of my mother's death. Eleven years. A stretch of time it's hard for me to pin down in my mind. So long ago, it's hard to remember. So recent-feeling, it's hard to believe that it's more than a decade.

One thing she'd like (I think) is that I placed her photo in the golden star dish. The photo is one from before I was born and, while I don't think it really looks like her, I know it is one she was most proud of.

The bowl is a hand-me-down from her, so she'd probably be glad to know that I am using it. Even more so, I'm sure she'd like the 'star' association, as I'm quite sure her life's dream (if she hadn't had me and my sisters) would have been to be a film star. She'd even chosen a name for herself, one that sounded 'better' than her own.

This morning I heard an interview with Margaret Atwood, who's celebrating her 80th birthday today. I think my mother would have enjoyed listening to that too, especially with the many stories Atwood told about her childhood and reading and then deciding to become a writer. Yet another dream of my mother's, one she didn't manage to accomplish.

Still, she did more than I in so many respects -- for one thing, in bearing daughters, a couple of whom in turn gave her grandchildren.

Tonight when I go to my choir practice, I will do my best to sing as beautifully as she did, and I'll try to remember that I'm doing it for her.

Lest we forget

This morning when the big planes did their flyover for Remembrance Day, it was hard to not get teary. There's something about that sound of old propeller planes...

The white stones in the graveyard are all marking veterans, from more than one war, but all of them people who died too young.

I heard a young girl being interviewed about November 11th, and while she wasn't sure what a veteran is, she had a strong notion of what a soldier is. As she put it, someone who fights for peace. While it's kind of an oxymoron, I was glad of her understanding, as at least peace is a noble outcome.

This is tree protection?

Once again this morning, I was assaulted by the angry whine of chainsaws. More trees going down in the neighbourhood. Primarily to make way for bigger and pricier houses, certainly not doing anything towards sustaining our urban forest, as our city's pretty much feeble tree bylaws claim to do.

The rule suggests that only those trees that are growing on the spot where actual building is to occur may be removed. So, I wonder, are they really going to build the new homes on the lot above right down to the curb of the road?

The chainsaws are a miserable sound to have to listen to, more so because I know what they are doing.

Even worse though is the dreadfully woebegone mess they leave behind. So much for supposedly growing new trees as part of our efforts against climate disaster, especially now that the US has given official notice that it is dropping out of the Paris Accord, the agreement which was supposed to make a difference for humanity. But then, maybe the coming asteroid will look after everything for all of us. Cheery thought, eh.

Halloweenish

I'm amazed by the lengths so many people now go to when it comes to decorating their house and front yard for Halloween. So much for carving a pumpkin and putting a candle in it as a signal to kids that there might be goodies at the door.

At first glance, the house above looks relatively modest in terms of its decorations. But wait -- when you walk past, the cat seems to come to life! It turns from side to side and moans, and appears as though it's about to pounce. Yikes!

More and more graveyard sites like this are showing up in all of our neighbourhoods. Some of them seem downright grisly, with bones and amputations, complete with what looks like blood. I think, as a child, I may well have been frightened off if I'd encountered one of these. Must have been an even bigger wuss than I am now.

Whether these graveyards come with ghosts or not remains to be seen. Maybe tonight they'll show up. Who knows.

Boo!

A-scrunching we will go...

What a day for a walk through a beautiful forest preserve -- an amazing site dedicated to students and outdoor ed.

And all the while I was scrunching through leaves here, Greta Thunberg was leading a march in Vancouver, one that followed on the heels of the announcement that a group of students from across the country have sued the federal government for their lack of action on the climate emergency.

Good days for the Earth, our home sweet home.

Who knows?

Election day in Canada, and who knows what the result will be.

The flag out in the field holds its own foggy prediction, encouraging my hope -- that even the wind appears to be sending it to the left.

We'll see what tonight's results reveal.

Quite the pair!

I love these two Buddhas, sharing a laugh. They look to me like the epitome of what friendship means.

Yet today isn't a day when I'm celebrating Buddhism. Rather, I'm thinking about friendship. This is partly because a group of longtime friends celebrated a big birthday last weekend. It's also because today marks the birth date of Eleanor Roosevelt, a best friend to one of my heroes, Amelia Earhart.

The two of them shared many values, especially their vision of full equality for women. They also both hoped for peace, yet another goal I continue to hope for.

Best of all, they shared many good times, and the joy of flying was part of that.

I suppose, in addition to wanting to celebrate Eleanor, I'm getting excited at the thought of the tv show that's coming up just over a week from now. When I was in Kansas this summer, a crew from National Geographic was doing interviews and filming key persons in Atchison during the Amelia Earhart Festival. I suspect that my mentor and friend Louise Foudray should have something to say during that presentation. I sure hope she hasn't wound up on the cutting room floor. To see a preview of the program scheduled to air on October 21st, follow this link -- then scroll down to the words, "Expedition Amelia" for a sneak peek at what's in store.

But now, here's to Eleanor, and to long lasting friendships, wherever and when we may find them. Something to be grateful for always, but maybe especially on this Thanksgiving weekend.

Finding beauty

I'll admit to often finding beauty in odd places, spots where many people might just walk past. That was the case with this colourful assortment of autumny leaves, strewn across the stairwell outside my local library. I'd left my camera in the car, and decided I had to go back for it, as I knew the colours would fade or someone would come along and sweep them away. And yes, I realize they're placed sideways, but there's something I like about the unbalanced balance of the image that way.

Yesterday, with no camera in hand (I was driving, so not allowed, a good thing) I was struck by the sight of a straggly 'v' of geese flying across the afternoon's blue sky.

And then, beside me was a field of pumpkins, looking smallish but bright orange, all aglow with the promise of Thanksgiving and Halloween.

Strange, perhaps, but I love finding beauty in the world, especially when so many aspects of contemporary life seem to insist on being ugly. Better, I find, to look for the bright spots which mostly turn out be elements of nature. Yet another aspect of beauty to consider and maybe meditate on.

Time to listen

This week has illustrated that it's time for politicians to start listening to the people.

The photo is actually from last Friday, the day this week of Climate Action began. I happened to be in Victoria, where the streets around the Legislature Buildings were blocked off to all traffic (including public transit vehicles).

I didn't even try to get into the city to participate today. This post will have to suffice as my 'action' for the day.

It took several years of protests in the '60s (and into the '70s) for government to get the message that the war in Vietnam had to end, but eventually, those who were protesting were heard. I can only hope that with so many people taking to the streets again, those in power will listen. Especially with an election looming in less than a month, the time seems not only right, but urgent.

Water, precious water

Somehow I don't think that it was planned, but it feels right to have World Rivers Day in the midst of this week of Climate Change Action.

Today's photo isn't, I suppose, actually a river, but a tributary to one, so I hope it counts. It's called Early Winters Creek, a name I quite love -- not named after any person, but after the climate of the region. And it feeds into the Methow River, a site that features in my previous post.

I like to think of rivers and streams as the arteries and capillaries of the Earth. The life force flowing onward, always to the sea.

Later tonight will be the Autumn Equinox. Here in the Pacific Zone, it arrives just after midnight. Maybe it will reveal itself in some special dream.

In case you like the thought of listening to a river today, here's a little video featuring the sound of rushing water. The camera work is pretty erratic, but in this case, it's the sound that matters. Enjoy.

Poetry en plein air

One of the many pleasures of travelling through the Cascade Mountains in Washington state is stopping at Washington Pass for a stroll along the paths there. And one of the wonderful discoveries there -- beyond the fabulous views -- is the fact that there are two poems posted along the trail. The one above, "Silver Star" is from William Stafford's chapbook, The Methow River Poems. The other, "A Valley Like This," also by Stafford, is from the same collection.

But these two are only part of a group of seven of Stafford's poems posted at locations along the river.  Apparently, they were commissioned by the Forestry Service in 1993. I've yet to find the others, but plan to seek them out next time we visit the Cascade Loop.

Poetry seemed to be in the air, as even the rangers' station encouraged visitors to create poems of their own.

The display was simple -- just a sign which included the reminder that Gary Snyder and Jack Kerouac (and I'm pretty sure, Jack Spicer and Sam Hamill) found inspiration from time living in the woods.

Beside the sign was a table with some cutouts of 'foresty' words, but what a delight to find them.

And me, of course I'm wishing more of such public poetry would show up around here. There are some small haiku-like writings on rocks at nearby Blackie Spit at Crescent Beach, so I suppose I should be content.

What's yer sport?

Watching all the wonderful tennis this weekend (yes, I've become a convert -- I used to think it was the equivalent of watching a game of 'pong' with its hypnotic blips) has made me wish I were more of an athlete. But like they say, if wishes were horses, etc.

About the closest activity I can claim as a kind of sport is my twice-weekly sessions of deep water running at my local pool. The photo above holds a rack of flotation belts for participants in the class. Only, I'm the odd one out who doesn't choose to wear one.

I'm not sure whether it's the 'built-in flotation belt' I seem to wear around my middle, whether I'm in the water or out, or whether I'm just more buoyant than many people are. Whatever the reason, I don't choose to wear a belt. And since the activity is one that I enjoy, I manage to remain fairly faithful, year-round.

Maybe in my next life, I'll do something requiring more training and skill. But for now, I'll just keep runnin'...

A new way to celebrate

Although the first Monday in September is the day both Canadians and Americans observe Labour Day, many countries around the world celebrate Workers' Day on May 1st.

I'm sticking with the September observance, especially because a friend of mine (and a longtime union worker, no less) has come up with a brilliant new way to mark the date.

She's suggested that it be Jammies Day -- a day when those of us who get to stay home should spend it lolling about (knowing us, probably reading) in our pyjamas.

I'm just having a hard time deciding which of my two favourite nighties it should be: bunnies or kitties. But if that's the most difficult task ahead of me for tomorrow, I'm certainly not going to complain.

Here's to honouring workers of all stripes, especially those brave souls who fought for such basic rights as an eight-hour day or, praise be, the concept of the weekend. Yesss!