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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
