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.